Filed to the “Songs Whose Runtimes Are Higher Than The Score They Got” bin…
[Video]
[5.57]
Kylo Nocom: The initial disappointment of a dour ballad from somebody who has demonstrated fascinating idiosyncrasy both within Calle 13 and as a soloist quickly disappears. In spite of the melodrama of an extended autobiographical self-tribute, Residente’s heart-on-sleeve writing extends the track beyond base sentiments into genuine insight.
[7]
Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I’m a sucker for long, meditative raps about loss and memory, so “René” was an easy sell. What makes it worth its 7 minute runtime is not just its conceit but the skill with which Residente delivers it. He’s never overwrought or vague on any given bar, and his metaphors and references build castles around him. Even the parts of the track that didn’t initially work for me end up contributing to the overall effect — the way that the barebones strings and piano arrangement erupts into a joyous rush of rhythm just as Residente finishes his final bars is a great release, a necessary catharsis after the rest of the track’s journey of the soul.
[8]
Katherine St Asaph: Has a gritty charm and affecting string arrangement, one that lasts about about 4 minutes fewer than the runlength.
[4]
Ryo Miyauchi: Residente’s lengthy, anguished self-cleanse via rap is inviting as it is alienating. He opens a vast part of his biography as well as his own depression but displaying no interest to make that heart-to-heart lyrically entertaining. The “beat,” more like a mourning string section, is also drained of color. It falls to the same issue as Dave’s “Black” or the less inspired monologues of the lineage of Meek Mill’s “Dreams and Nightmares”: their effort to put pain on paper is hugely respectable yet just hearing them out is a burden.
[5]
Oliver Maier: From a translation, I’m more interested in the detailed, personal images of Residente’s childhood than I am in his gripes with the IRS, among other fairly bog-standard celebrity woes. The full effect is lost in translation, no doubt, and I’m curious as to whether I’d find him moving or Macklemoresque if I spoke the language. On a musical level, though, I’m pleasantly surprised that a seven-minute rap song with no drums doesn’t feel all that long, and I can only chalk that up to a strong delivery.
[6]
Ian Mathers: I often lament being fluent in only English (and yes, despite years of trying, language learning doesn’t seem to work for me well at all), but rarely as much as when you get this sort of combo, where the focus is placed so fully on understanding, on feeling what he’s saying as he’s saying it. You can read along with translated lyrics but it’s not at all the same. I’m left with the warm burr of his voice and the ache throbbing through it, the standard-but-effective piano and strings quartet, and the sheer duration of his unburdening. It still hits; that it doesn’t hit more is, genuinely, more on me than him.
[6]
Alfred Soto: An homage to the many 1970s spoken word murder ballads that often charted in America and almost as boring. I understand every word Residente says and wish I’d read those words in a column for The Atlantic.
[3]