If you can’t dance, just tug on your suit jacket, there’s a good boy.
Brad Shoup: A little homage to Psy, horns stretched as thin as pongee, lazy stabs at melody. It sounds like someone literally making EDM in his sleep. I almost rewarded it accordingly.
Anthony Easton: I love how this speeds up, and slows down. It has a complexity of narrative that Yankee usually leaves on the curb as he speeds by. It might beJiménez, who has one of the great come-hither whispers in pop music. Actually his spitting and her slithering with that rollercoaster of energy is supple enough to be really pleasurable. Another point for the horns.
John Seroff: Exhausting and flat reggaetón retread autogargle. At long last, who do we have to collectively stop paying to make this infernal international Guetta infestation end? Are we going to have to start a telethon?
Crystal Leww: If this were only a Natalia Jiménez, it’d be a perfectly inoffensive albeit bland pop track, but Daddy Yankee is playing so many roles poorly that it?s not enjoyable to listen to at all.
Edward Okulicz: A bit of a mess, really, as if one of those Some Guy ft. Everybody Else songs (possibly involving Pitbull on one side of the “ft.”) had one dude trying to do all the various bits. Given the sound of the track, it’s effectively bog-standard Europop or diluted K-pop that only sounds like where it’s from because of Jiménez’s sultriness; Daddy Yankee might as well be recording a jingle for a frozen pizza.
Tara Hillegeist: I confess I stopped thinking about Daddy Yankee not too long after “Gasolina” dropped; his album sales being as huge as they are, even glancing at reggaetón will put you somewhere his fingertips have touched soon enough, but though I’ve heard them all I couldn’t tell anyone what his other consistently mega-selling tracks sound like to save my life. Nevertheless I have a fondness for his blockbuster approach to reggaetón that no amount of disinterest in Yankee himself seems able to shake. This starts off as more of that same, Yankee’s crotch-rocket delivery pleasingly familiar in the windup, buoyed by the expected floaty female vocal sample from Jiménez, but about a minute in, Jiménez herself shows up and stops the club pulse Yankee rat-a-tat-tatted in on in its tracks, immediately followed by an assault of fluttery horn stabs. Yankee’s never been what I’d describe as relaxed about making other people’s bodies move on the floor before; he’s always made it clear whose hands were in control of the beat. Not this time. The interruption signals the moment “La Noche” follows Jiménez’s lead and rips itself loose onto crazy, wide swivels, a sonic full-body undulation so pliable its apex is the stratosphere. From that moment on it’s her show to lose, her whooping, sloping vocals digging Yankee a guest-artist hole on his own track. Wildly different stuff for such a firmly-established brand as Daddy Yankee’s, but I suppose that’s what a decade of guaranteed market success will bring you.
Jonathan Bogart: I’m far from gruntled to hear Jiménez retreating into anomyous-reggaetón-hook-slinging, with only hints of the fire she’s capable of late in the song, but I guess needs must when a disappointing solo album drives. Daddy Yankee’s the star to hitch your wagon to if you’re looking for a hit in the Latin world, and has been for ten years, but the voice of “Que Te Quería” and “Me Muero” deserves better than this exhausted sub-RedOne party fuel.