Monday, June 20th, 2016

J Balvin – Bobo



Alfred Soto: I don’t know if anybody can record fresh reggaeton. In 2016 it’s too often an indifferent preset over which a dude shouts bad come-ons in stentorian tones. 

Crystal Leww: We’ve covered J Balvin twice before on TSJ, and the songs all have the same reggaeton beat pattern featured prominently at the forefront of the production, just at slightly different speeds. “Bobo” is not quite as slow as the snoozey “Ay Vamos,” but it’s not quite as fast as the exciting “Ginza,” either. Somewhat appropriately, “Bobo” ends up being just fine. The hook is cute, but the rest of the song falls apart around it. 

Juana Giaimo: Since “Ginza” was released, I’ve pointed out several times its influence in the reggaeton scene. But the reason why these singles all failed and J Balvin still has the lead is because he only aims at the danceflor. Rather than offering deep words to a broken heart, he opts instead for a warm beat. Just like a night at a club, where dancing turns into a never-ending loop in which we get pleasantly lost, J. Balvin enchants his girl with twisting song structures to the point in which no one could truly define what verse the chorus is. “Don’t cry for a fool,” he sings, and if we wanted to be meta-reggaeton, the fools would be all the ones trying to be him.

Ryo Miyauchi: The slow rock of “Bobo” is a come on disguised as a helping hand. Not a new strategy by any means, but it’s player J Balvin who makes his game an intriguing one to witness. A pitch more blunt, and he’s no less aggressive with his advances than his reggaeton peers. A tad weaker volume, and he sounds too brash to convince. Same can be said about Infinity Music, the producers, whose idea of fun seems to be to throw Balvin the sparsest disco and see how he fares with such space. And he succeeds the tricky game effortlessly.

Tim de Reuse: “Anemic” is the first word that comes to mind regarding most aspects of this tune, but the unpretentious “la, la, la”s of the chorus are delivered with enough dumb sincerity to be a little charming.

Taylor Alatorre: This sounds the way all music does when I’m nursing a hangover — melodically coarse, blearily repetitive, insistent on thumping my skull into a slow, enervated submission. The la-la-las should be the easiest part to get right, yet they’re the most strenuous hurdle in a song whose call to dance feels more like a taunt than a come-on. Don’t wake me, I plan on sleeping in.

Josh Langhoff: David Brooks no le llega ni a la suela de los zapatos.

Reader average: [5.5] (2 votes)

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