The Singles Jukebox

We still have mixed opinions on these two, and on summer…

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[5.62]

Juana Giaimo: Enrique Iglesias has reinvented himself from a dramatic ballad singer to a nightclub hitmaker — and Wisin’s feature shows it. Unfortunately, “Duele el Corazón” retains part of his sentimental side: “With him your heart hurts and with me your feet hurt.” What a terrible line. 
[5]

Peter Ryan: Enrique’s never exactly been an innovator, but this is truly monumental auto-plagiarism, rare in its shamelessness and its success. Not only does this outshine the original, throwing some tension and brazen attempts at homewrecking (“I don’t care that you live with him”) into his dance-party debauchery, but it’s also far and away the best of his outings with one or both of his favorite reguetoneros (Wisin is fittingly outrageous here). It sounds vital in a way Julio’s progeny hasn’t in years, highlighting his relative dweebiness on “Bailando” as well as the degree to which it succeeded on the merits of Alexander Delgado’s contributions. By contrast, here the urgency in his breathy-scratchy verses plows headlong into the most indelible chorus this side of “Bailamos” — sure, it sounds familiar, but the melody’s been honed razor-sharp and it really does deserve a beat this big and dumb. The best part is the beautifully simplistic summary of the difference between her shitty boyfriend and Enrique — he hurts her heart, but with Enrique it’s just her feet — who can argue with that? Don’t overthink it, just keep dancing.
[7]

Will Adams: The cynical club trash Enrique Iglesias spewed out for five years is an increasingly distant memory, which is cause for celebration in itself, perhaps a party at which “Duele el Corazón” will be played. It won’t get noticed, though: the guitar and reggaeton arrangement sidesteps politely, and Wisin is there because he has to be. A summer jam this is not.
[5]

Thomas Inskeep: Upbeat, boilerplate reggaeton given a personality only by its artists.
[4]

Alfred Soto: Iglesias, these days looking a salamander after a mint julep rubdown, coos the usual honeyed entreaties over a reggeton beat and acoustic guitar; Wisin, playing the stooge, wheezes the worst Spanish rap I’ve ever heard. Duele mis oidos. 
[3]

Rebecca A. Gowns: This is a bop! It’s such a generic Latin pop song, and the rhythm lopes and drags as it goes on, but it’s still a bop! I wanna hear this everywhere, over and over, until I become so saturated with it that I shut it off immediately when I hear it. Enjoy it now, hate it later; a snow cone in a paper cup that will soon turn into a slush of syrup in a limp, clammy container.
[7]

Cassy Gress: There’s a fantastic rumble to the bass drum here that balances the crispness of the guitar and the airiness of the accordion. Wisin is growly like Pitbull, but instead of winking swagger he just embodies emphatic need.
[9]

Jonathan Bogart: Feather-light even by the diaphanous standards of Iglesias fils, the pleasures here are all purely superficial: beachy guitar strums and reggaetón fills, with Wisin showing up for as perfunctory a guest spot as has ever made a pop song a guaranteed summer hit. I just hope it goes away by, oh, let’s say this time next year.
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