At 16, Sael Varela was rapping in his central Florida bedroom closet, blankets tacked to the walls for makeshift soundproofing, an old, all-in-one computer humming beneath a tangle of wires. He had asked for a microphone for Christmas and taught himself to record on FL Studio, hauling the setup to friends’ houses. “It was super chaotic,” he says.
From age 8 to 16, he had learned polyrhythms on hand drums at a non-denominational Latino church, an experience that grounded his sense of rhythm, culture, and spirituality.
Varela, now 26 and living in Newburgh, grew up in poverty. He is Dominican and Venezuelan, and an early encounter with the criminal justice system shaped his adolescence. He was incarcerated at 13 for three weeks and on probation until 18. “That led to a deep dive into structural American racism,” he says.
Those experiences run through his work. Varela describes his art as anti-capitalist and politically charged, driven by frustration with complacency and “living in the belly of the beast.” In the song “A lot going on in my head,” he sings, “Are you caring to see, or are you looking to invest? Are you experiencing, or are you looking for a check? Inner peace was always the goal, bro.”
“My art is a protest,” he says. “We’re taking our time back through creating for ourselves, for the world. We are art creating art.”
Varela fronts Vael Sarela y Su Orchestra and plays piano in Newburgh Is Alive on Planet Earth and Abi Ho and the Counting Sheep. His live sets draw on Afro-Caribbean and Latin influences to create “revolutionary dance music.” His solo output veers experimental: rap, poetry, digital production, visual art on thrifted canvases, and stenciled clothing prints.
Access to studio space has always been precarious. Over the years, he has recorded in his mother’s garage, friends’ apartments, and borrowed spaces across Florida and New York. Equipment has been pieced together through gifts, loans, and garage sales. He once went a year without a laptop, turning to analog loopers, congas, and a borrowed mixer, creating a “zombie setup.” “I can’t express how grateful I am for those people who helped me out,” he says.
Financial instability still threatens to stifle his art. Varela has held jobs in fast food, construction, retail, and restaurants. Now, he drives car haulers to support himself. “As I get older, this is more emotional for me,” he says. There are moments he considers quitting music altogether because “it just doesn’t make sense,” but he can’t. “It’s a blessing, but sometimes it also feels like a curse.”
Community keeps him grounded. He organizes events, collaborates widely, and sees his art as inseparable from the people around him. “It’s my being and why I am to create and be in community,” he says.
What Varela hopes to spread is simple: “Self-love, self-care, to create a foundation of revolution. Just know you’re beautiful. Somebody cares about you. I care about you.”
This article appears in April 2026.
