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Alfred Soto: Colombian star and Puerto Rican trap star interpolate Jamaican band’s biggest international hit for the sake of harmless reggaeton. Destined to be blasted from taxis and rideshare vehicles for the rest of our lives.
[6]
Edward Okulicz: I have always had a pathological hatred of “Sweat (A La La La La Long),” and hearing Shakira, who is usually charisma personified, sing part of it doesn’t improve it, or help “Me Gusta.” Maybe it would if she sounded like Shakira, though; her voice is identifiable on the verses but on that hook it could be any singer, as if she recorded that bit through shower glass or something. It’s hard to hear any particular chemistry between her and Anuel AA, as the overall impression is tired and tiring and the stars’ personalities are all but bleached out of the track.
[3]
Juana Giaimo: “Me Gusta” sounds just like the theme of the lyrics: a broken relationship. Shakira and Anuel AA lack chemistry, and neither of them seem truly comfortable. Anuel AA’s voice isn’t suitable for melodic reggaeton, and Shakira sounds tired, especially if you compare it with other reggaeton hits by her like “Chantaje,” which is so dynamic. Here, they also tried to make it dynamic, but failed. Neither the Inner Circle post-chorus or the trap beat in the bridge have something to with the rest and instead, they just confirm this song is a mess.
[4]
Joshua Minsoo Kim: Anuel AA’s ad-libs don’t help to set the tone for a song about a crumbling relationship, but little here feels emotive at all. Both he and Shakira have moments where their vocalizing has a sense of longing, but “Me Gusta” mostly just chugs along in undramatic, dreary fashion.
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Brad Shoup: It’s grimly funny, though they play their weariness really close to the surface. The ending posits that a switch to ska-pop is just what they need to fix things.
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Josh Langhoff: The lovers worry they’re being taken for granted, and they propose different ways out of this sad scenario. This proves a neat metaphor for their hackneyed chord changes (see also “Despacito,” “El Perdón,” others), which worry I’m taking them for granted, or maybe vice versa. Maybe the chord changes count on me taking them for granted so I can appreciate other sonic elements — the singers’ pathos, say, or minute variations in drum timbre from section to section. Maybe every long-term relationship, whether lovers in love or listeners with genres, relies on the parties learning to take certain elements for granted, as an idiom; maybe the unique, twisting scaffolds we build atop those idioms are the stuff of love, the occasional soul-shaking disruptions of those idioms (“Mi Gente”) the stuff of life. Maybe maybe maybe, ly-ly-ly-ly-long; I could be convinced.
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