The name “Boogie Down Bronx” had always evoked hip-hop beats in my mind, but I had yet to experience it firsthand. Crossing over from Manhattan into Mott Haven, I was immediately struck by color and sound. Under the rumble of the Third Avenue Bridge, a massive mural burst into view of a bright tableau of faces and letters spray-painted on the concrete.
A block away, the distant thump of a bass line mixed with the melody of a Spanish guitar. In that moment, I realized I had stepped into a living canvas of street art and music. This was the Bronx I had been missing, and it was about to steal my heart.
Murals, Memories, and a Neighborhood Reborn
On that first walk through Mott Haven, every corner felt like a gallery. Elaborate tags and characters danced across roll-down gates and building walls. I found intricate murals tucked under bridge arches and down alleyways , each one a burst of creativity transforming the once-gritty streets.
The style was unmistakable – bold, large letters in wild colors, the kind of graffiti lettering that was born in the Bronx during the 1970s subway graffiti wave. What some might have once dismissed as vandalism now commanded respect as public art.
In fact, locals told me graffiti had been outlawed on subway cars in 1989, but Bronx artists simply took to the walls instead. The result today is an open-air exhibition of Bronx pride and history.
Strolling along 138th Street, I came across a huge mural reading “Welcome to Mott Haven,” freshly done in vivid blues and yellows by the famed TATS CRU – a collective of legendary Bronx graffiti artists known as “the Mural Kings.” Their stylized letters practically leapt off the wall, transforming the gray cityscape into a welcoming rainbow of Bronx swagger.
TATS CRU’s roots run deep here. Once a “gang of kids spray-painting and tagging around the South Bronx,” they evolved into pioneering artists who now do commissioned murals for schools, businesses – even giants like Coca-Cola.
Yet they never abandoned their home. “Once they made it, they could have gone anywhere, but the TATS CRU chooses to remain in the South Bronx,” one local explained, pointing out the crew’s studio door on a quiet side street.
I peeked into The Point Community Development Center in Hunts Point (a later stop on my journey) where TATS CRU has its headquarters. Sure enough, a proud sign painted by the crew proclaims “The Point” from the rooftop, visible even from the Bruckner Expressway.
It’s as much a part of the skyline here as the brick tenements and factory chimneys. Over lunch at a nearby cafe, a teenager named Moises told me reverently, “Their work is known all over the world” – but in the Bronx, their work is personal.
Each February, I learned, the crew repaints the famous Big Pun mural in Longwood, renewing it with fresh colors and imagery to honor the late Bronx rapper Christopher “Big Pun” Rios. It’s like the most sacred mural in the Bronx, another young graffiti fan had said of that piece. I made a mental note to see it myself later – a pilgrimage of sorts.
Back in Mott Haven, I continued my art treasure hunt. The local street art scene felt dynamic and welcoming. I passed the storefront of Bronx Native, a trendy shop adorned with graffiti-style artwork, where a sign advertised open-mic nights for local poets and MCs.
Around the corner on Lincoln Avenue, I discovered WallWorks NY, a gallery co-founded by Bronx graffiti pioneer John “Crash” Matos. Crash is a bit of Bronx legend – he started tagging subway cars as a teen in the ‘70s and went on to have his art shown in galleries worldwide. Now here he was giving back to the neighborhood.
The gallery was hosting a show mixing “downtown and uptown art styles,” bridging the Bronx street aesthetic with the fine art world. Inside, amid canvases and prints, I met a young artist who told me, “Crash opened this to showcase our stories.”
Indeed, Crash’s daughter, Anna Matos, the gallery director, believes graffiti is often the first form of art Bronx kids connect with – a way for urban youth to be seen and heard.
As I admired a colorful canvas, she likened street art to a treasure hunt, with hidden gems in plain sight: “Sometimes the best pieces are hidden just out of sight, but when you find them, they are like a gut punch on their message,” she said. I couldn’t agree more – exploring Mott Haven truly felt like a treasure hunt, each mural a reward waiting to be discovered.
One mural that particularly struck me was painted on a brick wall near Bruckner Boulevard. It depicted a Bronx salsa dancer twirling in a whirlwind of music notes and spray-painted letters.
An older man who saw me admiring it chimed in: “They call the Bronx El Condado de la Salsa – the Salsa Borough – and the hip-hop borough, you know?” He grinned proudly. I would soon learn just how true that was, as my journey shifted from visual art to the musical heartbeat of the Bronx.
Beats, Rhymes, and Community Canvases
If Mott Haven was my introduction to Bronx street art, Hunts Point was where I truly fell in love with it. I hopped the 6 train to Hunts Point Avenue and emerged into a neighborhood famed for its industrial landscape – and its cultural resilience.
Here, the streets themselves seemed to talk. On one side of Hunts Point’s signature produce market, I found a massive mural that read “I 💜 The Bronx,” painted in blocky letters the size of box trucks.
TATS CRU had tagged their name subtly in a corner – this was one of their newer works, a love letter to their borough in spray paint. Standing before it, I felt the sentiment deeply. Around me, delivery workers and truck drivers paused to snap photos of the mural with pride. The Bronx loves you back, I thought.
A short walk brought me to The Point CDC, which is more than just a community center – it’s the beating cultural heart of Hunts Point. Outside, murals cover every available surface: I recognized a globe painted on the roof (TATS CRU’s doing, as I’d read) symbolizing the Bronx’s global influence.
The front entrance boasted a brilliant mural of children reading books under a streetlamp, signed by local youth artists. Inside, I stumbled onto a lively afternoon hip-hop workshop. The sound of a DJ scratching vinyl and kids beatboxing echoed through the halls.
I learned that The Point hosts a monthly concert series called “The Art of Lyric” where local rappers and poets perform. I could practically feel the next generation of Bronx music being born in that very room.
It was here at The Point that I also encountered members of TATS CRU in person by sheer luck. They were preparing for a community mural event that weekend. Wilfredo “Bio” Feliciano – one of the crew’s founders – was sketching outlines on a wall as a small crowd watched.
He joked with onlookers in between spray bursts, the embodiment of how far graffiti artists have come: from being chased off subway yards to being celebrated at home and paid to paint around the world. I chatted with him briefly, expressing my admiration for their work.
Bio nodded towards Hunts Point’s streets outside and said, “Of course the community influences what we paint… If we painted a lake with some birds, people here would say, ‘that’s cool, but what does that have to do with us?’”. His words stuck with me. The Bronx’s murals aren’t just décor – they’re mirrors held up to the community. Every piece has to mean something to the people who walk by it daily.
The Sacred Big Pun Wall
Not far from The Point, down at Rogers Place and Westchester Avenue in Longwood, I finally visited the Big Pun mural I’d heard so much about. TATS CRU first painted this memorial for rapper Big Punisher, the Bronx’s own platinum-selling hip-hop legend, back in 2001 – and they repaint it every year on the anniversary of his passing.
Rounding the corner, I was greeted by Big Pun’s larger-than-life likeness gazing out from a wall, clad in his trademark bandana and gleaming chains. This year’s design featured him surrounded by symbols of the Bronx: a silhouette of Yankee Stadium, the number 6 subway train, and a Puerto Rican flag fluttering behind his shoulder.
The mural always features Pun’s image framed by icons reflecting his life and career – sometimes Bronx landmarks, sometimes his name in platinum records.
It’s a living tribute that evolves with time, just as his legacy does. A small group of fans had gathered, leaving candles and taking photos; one woman quietly said to me, “I come every year to see how they changed it this time.” I felt goosebumps.
This wasn’t just street art – it was a community ritual. The wall itself had become sacred ground, where art, music, and memory converged. Standing there beneath the elevated Intervale Avenue subway station as trains clattered by, I understood how a mural can be the soul of a neighborhood. The love that TATS CRU and the Bronx poured into this wall made me fall even harder for street art’s power.
That evening, back in Hunts Point, I sought out a spot I’d heard blends both art and music seamlessly: The Boogie Down Grind. It’s a hip-hop themed coffee shop – the Bronx’s first, in fact – located on Hunts Point Avenue. By day, it serves up espresso and coquito lattes; by night, it turns into an informal community lounge.
Walking in, I was greeted by murals of hip-hop icons on the exposed brick walls and classic boom-bap beats playing softly in the background. The vibe was warm and creative, with people of all ages gathered – some on laptops, others debating Biggie vs. Tupac, a few playing dominoes in the corner.
As one of its founders puts it, this “hip-hop coffee shop celebrates – and brings together – the community through art, music and caffeinated beverages.” I sipped a perfectly brewed cafe con leche while admiring the décor: a graffiti-tagged skateboard hung from the ceiling and album covers of Bronx hip-hop legends adorned the tables.
That night happened to be Open Mic Wednesday, and soon a crowd had assembled for live performances. I watched as a local poet performed a spoken-word piece about growing up in the Bronx, followed by a young MC spitting rhymes in both English and Spanish. Each performer earned snaps, claps, and supportive yells from the audience. It felt like a family jam session.
Between performances, I struck up a conversation with an elderly gentleman tapping his foot at the bar – turns out he was DJ Jazzy Jay, one of hip-hop’s pioneering DJs from the Bronx.
I nearly dropped my coffee in surprise. Jazzy Jay was humble and friendly; he told me how he sometimes DJs community events to keep the Bronx’s hip-hop spirit alive. In fact, he had just spun a set at a recent block party celebrating 50 years of hip-hop, right here in the Bronx.
My ears perked up – 50 years of hip-hop. Of course, 1973-2023. The Bronx invented hip-hop a half-century ago, and this year the borough was celebrating that milestone with pride.
Jazzy Jay invited me to a special anniversary jam that weekend in Mill Pond Park. And that’s how I found myself spending a sun-drenched Saturday at an epic Bronx block party marking hip-hop’s 50th birthday. It was the first day of summer, and an array of musical artists came together for a Bronx block party to honor a hip-hop legend – in this case, the legend of all hip-hop.
The outdoor stage featured MCs from different eras, b-boys spinning on cardboard, and graffiti artists doing live murals on plywood set up along the Harlem River waterfront. I spotted TATS CRU’s Bio and Nicer spraying a commemorative piece with wildstyle letters proclaiming “1973–2023.”
Nearby, the famed Lady Pink – one of the few female graffiti pioneers – added her signature flourishes. The beats of DJ Kool Herc’s classic breaks thumped through huge speakers (Kool Herc himself, the Bronx DJ who started it all at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue, was being honored with an award that day ).
I joined a crowd in shouting along to Chuck D’s performance on stage, and marveled as the Rock Steady Crew breakdancers elicited gasps with their moves. The energy was unbelievable – it was a Boogie Down reunion of generations. Strangers danced together; children painted on a community mural canvas; elders nodded their heads approvingly.
At one point, Elena Martínez – co-founder of the Bronx Music Heritage Center – took the mic to remind us of something: “Hip-hop was born here in the Bronx, but there’s so much else.
The Bronx is also the home of jazz, of salsa, of doo-wop… We want people to stop being scared to come to the Bronx, and to start coming here to celebrate music history with us.” The crowd erupted in cheers.
I felt a swell of affection for this borough that has given the world so much creativity. Here I was, a traveler initially uncertain about venturing to the Bronx, now completely at home and uplifted in its celebration. The Bronx, through its street art and music, had embraced me like one of its own.
Fordham and Beyond
By the time I made my way up to Fordham Road in the central Bronx, I was already smitten. And still, the Bronx had more to show me. Fordham is a bustling commercial district – known for discount shops, street vendors, and the chaos of everyday Bronx life. It’s not the kind of place I expected to find public art.
But I was wrong. Right at the intersection of Fordham Road and Creston Avenue, I nearly stumbled over a painting on the asphalt itself. A giant, brightly colored shopping bag was painted spilling its contents across the pavement – out tumbled a yellow teddy bear, a red movie ticket, a blue hamburger and other whimsical items strewn playfully on the ground.
It looked like a cartoon come to life under my feet. Far from mere decoration, this asphalt mural literally stopped traffic – drivers slowed down to look, and pedestrians smiled as they crossed the street.
Later, I learned this piece was created by Bronx-based artist Laura Alvarez as part of a city grant to beautify the area. She chose those colorful motifs to represent the neighborhood’s businesses and cultures, past and present. “The community is the one that has to see this piece of art every day,” she said, “It’s important that they see themselves in it.”
That quote resonated with me as I watched local families posing on the painted ground for photos. Indeed, there were toys, food, and movie stubs depicted – things anyone from Fordham could relate to.
A few blocks away on Bainbridge Avenue, I found another new mural stretching across the entire side wall of a Carvel ice cream shop. This one was a cheerful panorama of local landmarks: the Bronx Zoo’s lion, the gothic towers of Fordham University, even the orange “D” train rolling on its elevated tracks. It felt like a Bronx postcard rendered in spray paint.
The artist, Daniel “Art Man Dan” Bonilla, had included a message in stylized lettering: “Dedicated to the people of this neighborhood.” Later I read that Dan, who grew up nearby, hoped the mural would brighten residents’ days, because “it’s for them, it’s not for me.” Standing before it, I saw his point – passersby were pointing out familiar sights in the mural and laughing, as if finding hidden Easter eggs.
A group of schoolkids shouted excitedly when they recognized the cartoonish blue cobra from the Zoo. Public art like this isn’t just about beauty; it’s about belonging. Even amid the honking cars and street vendors of Fordham Road, these murals created a sense of community pride, a pause for joy.
They certainly brought a smile to my face. The Fordham Road Business Improvement District, which sponsored these works, said their goal was to reflect Bronx culture while making the area more inviting. By that measure, they succeeded brilliantly – I for one felt very invited.
After seeing these pieces, I realized street art in the Bronx isn’t confined to one or two hip areas – it’s spread across the borough, from the South Bronx up to these northern reaches and beyond.
I even heard about murals on the walls of the Bronx Brewery in the Port Morris section, and colorful facades in Kingsbridge painted by graffiti icons like Cope2 (a Bronx-born artist whose bubble-letter tags once dominated subway cars).
In fact, wherever you go in the Bronx, if you keep your eyes open, you’ll likely spot some vibrant artwork: a DJ Kool Herc portrait on a schoolyard wall, a “Boogie Down” slogan on a storefront grate, or a series of painted utility boxes celebrating everything from the Yankees to I Love Lucy (yes, Lucy’s star Desi Arnaz once played music here, as the Bronx’s Latin music roots run deep).
By now, I was thoroughly in love – not only with the street art, but with what it represented: a community expressing itself. And the soundtrack to that self-expression was all around me: the hip-hop beats, the salsa rhythms, the chatter in English and Spanish, the noise of daily life. The Bronx’s music and art are intertwined, each amplifying the other.
South Bronx Salsa
My journey wouldn’t be complete without diving into the Bronx’s Latin music heritage – after all, this is El Condado de la Salsa, and you can’t fall in love with Bronx music without feeling the sway of the congas and the brass. One afternoon, I made my way to a tiny shop on Prospect Avenue and 163rd Street, in the Longwood neighborhood.
Above the doorway hung a simple sign: Casa Amadeo. Stepping inside felt like stepping back in time. Vinyl records lined the walls from floor to ceiling, from Celia Cruz to Tito Puente, and the smell of old album jackets mingled with the sweet notes of a bolero playing on a turntable.
Casa Amadeo is the oldest continuously run Latin music store in New York City, opened in 1941 and still thriving. It’s more than a record store – it’s a cultural institution. The owner, Miguel “Mike” Amadeo, is a nonagenarian Puerto Rican musician and songwriter who has run the shop since 1969. He welcomed me warmly, happy to share stories with a curious visitor.
Mike showed me around the cozy space, which doubles as a museum of Latin music history. He pulled out dusty vinyl of La Lupe and Juan Luis Guerra, and even pointed to some cassettes of local Bronx bachata bands from back in the day. Tacked on a bulletin board were sepia-toned photos of Mike with salsa legends – and indeed, he is one: he penned songs for giants like Celia Cruz and El Gran Combo.
At 90 years old, he still comes to work daily, sometimes breaking into song on Friday afternoons with his friends over a little rum (I might have witnessed a discreet swig and a melody while I was there). I asked Mike what the Bronx was like when he moved here in 1960.
His eyes lit up as he described a golden era: “The Bronx was a music mecca. There were literally cabarets on every block where you could go grab a drink and listen to live music. The trios were big back then,” he said, reminiscing about the 1960s scene.
I pictured Longwood and nearby Hunts Point in those days – bustling with Latin clubs, guitars and percussion reverberating out of every bar. Mike’s shop was a hub for musicians; he told me how young Willie Colón or Héctor Lavoe would swing by looking for gigs, back before they became salsa superstars. I could feel the weight of that history in the air of Casa Amadeo.
I left the shop with a treasured souvenir – a vintage vinyl of the Fania All-Stars, purchased for a few dollars and a promise to come back. But the Bronx wasn’t done showing off its salsa soul.
On Sunday, I headed north toward Orchard Beach, the city’s only public beach, nestled in Pelham Bay Park at the Bronx’s edge. Every Bronxite knows that summer Sundays at Orchard Beach mean one thing: Salsa! Sure enough, as I approached Section 5 of the parking lot, I heard the unmistakable tumbao of congas and the brassy blare of a salsa band echoing over the boardwalk.
What I found was a huge outdoor dance circle already in full swing. Hundreds of dancers – from elegantly dressed older couples to sneaker-clad teens – were spinning, swaying, and smiling. A DJ under a tent was selecting classic salsa dura tracks from the ‘70s, and the crowd whooped as each new song started.
This was the famed “Salsa Sunday” tradition of Orchard Beach, a Bronx ritual that has been going strong for over five decades. Every Sunday from Memorial Day to Labor Day, Puerto Rican and Latinx communities (and anyone else who loves music) gather here to dance under the sun. I found myself engulfed by the infectious energy.
A friendly middle-aged woman named Iris grabbed my hand and pulled me into the dancing area. “¡Vamos a bailar, mi’jo!” she laughed – “Let’s dance, my son!” And so I did my best basic step, trying to follow her lead on the 1-beat as is typical Bronx style. The air was thick with the scent of empanadas and sea salt, and the ground literally vibrated with the rhythm of feet pounding in unison.
Between songs, I took a break and chatted with a group of regulars who had set up beach chairs and a cooler of refreshments (a mix of water bottles and Corona beers).
They explained that this wasn’t just a party – it’s a cultural cornerstone that keeps the Bronx’s Latin music legacy alive. Many of them had been coming since they were children, brought by parents or tíos and tías who in turn had been coming since the 1970s. “This is how we honor where we come from,” one abuela told me in Spanish.
She pointed to a baseball cap she wore emblazoned with “El Condado de la Salsa”, the nickname she was clearly proud of. Indeed, the Bronx earned that title as the place where Cuban, Puerto Rican, and Dominican sounds mixed and flourished into New York salsa and Latin jazz decades ago. And here it was, flourishing still.
As the DJ switched to a cha-cha-chá, I watched a grey-haired gentleman execute a suave turn with his partner, never missing a beat. Nearby, a young couple improvised a mix of salsa and freestyle moves, laughing as they almost collided with another pair. Everyone was welcome on this dance floor, regardless of age or skill – the only rule was to feel the music. I can’t overstate how welcome I, an outsider, was made to feel.
By the end of the afternoon, I was sharing cold coconut ices with new friends and being taught a few classic salsa steps (I managed not to step on too many toes). Under the golden late-day sun, the DJ ended with the Johnny Pacheco & Héctor Lavoe hit “Mi Gente” – “La la la la la la la Bómbón…” A spontaneous chorus of voices joined in. I felt a lump in my throat. This was community. This was the Bronx.
A Love Letter to the Bronx
As the sky turned tangerine over the Bronx that evening, I realized just how profoundly this borough had affected me. I came as a curious traveler, admittedly with some of the typical New Yorker hesitations about the Bronx. I left with my soul enriched by its art and music, and with a new passion ignited.
The Bronx made me fall in love with street art and music in a way I never anticipated. It’s one thing to see a beautiful mural or attend a great concert – it’s another to feel the heart behind it, to understand the community spirit that nurtured it. In the Bronx, every mural I saw and every song I heard carried the imprint of the people.
The art wasn’t on some distant museum wall; it was right there on the stoops, under the bridges, on the playgrounds – part of the fabric of daily life, demanding your attention and dialoguing with you. The music wasn’t confined to concert halls; it spilled out of parks and community centers, inviting everyone within earshot to dance or nod along.
One evening before I left, I took the 4 train up to 161st Street–Yankee Stadium and walked to the Grand Concourse, the Bronx’s broad boulevard of dreams. As I strolled, I noticed banners on the streetlights – the Bronx Walk of Fame – honoring famous sons and daughters of the borough: Grandmaster Flash, Little Richard, Prince Royce, Rita Moreno.
It struck me that so many of them are musicians or artists. The Bronx seems to mint creativity. And it’s doubling down on that legacy: I passed the construction site of the upcoming Universal Hip-Hop Museum at Bronx Point, slated to open soon near the very spot where DJ Kool Herc once DJ’d in a rec center.
It made me smile to know that future travelers will have a state-of-the-art museum to learn about hip-hop’s Bronx origins – but I thought, in a way, I’ve been through the real museum already. It’s all around, in the parks and streets and shops and people of this borough.
Before heading back, I took a final detour to 1520 Sedgwick Avenue in the Morris Heights area – the unassuming high-rise where Kool Herc threw his historic party in August 1973, birthing hip-hop.
There’s a sign out front now that reads “Hip Hop Boulevard.” I stood there imagining that night 50+ years ago: the feedback of the speakers, the kids breaking in the rec room, the magic spark of a global movement.
And then I thought of a scene earlier that day – a young graffiti artist I’d seen in Mott Haven, spray-painting a fresh mural of a boombox and a B-boy silhouette on a construction fence. Nearby, a couple of teens bobbed their heads to music from a phone, watching him work. The torch is being passed in real time.
As I left the Bronx, I found myself humming a tune – a blend of a salsa rhythm and a hip-hop beat in my head – and mentally planning my next trip uptown. The Bronx had cast its spell on me. It taught me that street art can speak, music can build community, and a neighborhood’s vibe can fundamentally change you.
I went looking for murals and songs, and I found a family. In the words of one Bronx MC I heard at that open mic, “They built the bridge for us to walk over” – meaning the pioneers paved the way. I’m so grateful I crossed that bridge into the Bronx.
My advice to any traveler seeking something real and enriching: come to the Bronx with open eyes and ears. You, too, might just fall in love.