Smells like reggaetón…

[Video]
[5.33]

Katherine St Asaph: Writing about smell is like dancing about you-know-what, listening to it in another language is like that but seen through three shades, and doing so with this tepid a track is just pointless.
[5]

Jonathan Bradley: A wobbly spray of keyboard arpeggio whose title translates to “your scent.” (Or that’s what Google Translate says anyway.) It’s a powerful perfume, strong enough to cast a malefic gloom over the entire song. Both rappers adjust to the atmosphere adroitly, but the tune never coalesces into anything more than aesthetic. 
[5]

Brad Shoup: Considering the last few years’ wealth of meet-hot club songs, it’s odd we don’t have more songs going beyond the visual to celebrate the sweat, the scent, the earthiness of another body. The title does a bit of work toward that end, but Yandel’s the only one who approaches the subject, and he’s pretty much fixated on perfume. Ah well. It’s icy reggaetón, and an appropriately aggro performance from Wisin provides the fire. Still, not much stank.
[6]

Jonathan Bogart: W&Y are at the point where they could release a single made up of nothing but production, publishing, and label credits being shouted out for three minutes, and as long as the beat stuck, it would end up on every Latin pop playlist in the country. This one has a woozy, time-for-the-creeps-to-come-out vibe that isn’t engaged by either Wisin’s Akony drone or Yandel’s boast-by-numbers rapping. They’ve done better, and they probably will again, but this doesn’t inspire anyone to even get off the couch, let alone on the floor.
[5]

Alex Ostroff: The sung bits are oddly placid for a song whose percussion codes so strongly reggaetón. It’s a striking contrast, and one that works quite well, at least on a musical level. I’m not sure how I would dance to this, though. The motions it prompts from me have more in common with those drawn forth by drifty post-dubstep house tracks than a dancehall and reggaetón club night.
[6]

Anthony Easton: It’s telling that the exhortation to move your body is mixed so low, sung with little or no energy, and seems perfunctory. 
[5]