In a Bayamón, Puerto Rico congregation in the 1990s, teenage William Omar Landrón occasionally preached — then, after four years, walked away from the pulpit to sing instead. He had already been listening past the hymnal: his own biography records that "from an early age" he was drawn to the pioneering rapper Vico C and to Brewley MC. He worked his way in as a backup singer for the reggaeton duo Héctor & Tito before half of that pair, Héctor el Father, produced his 2003 solo debut, The Last Don, whose breakout single "Dale Don Dale" made him reggaeton's newest voice almost overnight. His 2006 album King of Kings cemented a nickname critics had already given him — the King of Reggaeton — and by 2010, "Danza Kuduro" carried that crown further than any single before it, topping charts from Argentina to Italy to Sweden.
Before reggaeton had the word for itself, there was Vico C — Brooklyn-born, raised in San Juan's Puerta de Tierra, discovered by the hip-hop producer DJ Negro in 1985 and nicknamed "El Filósofo del Rap" (the Philosopher of Rap) for lacing Spanish-language rap with moral argument. His 1992 hits "Saborealo" and "María" were still playing when a teenage Landrón was coming up; his own biography records that "from an early age, he showed interest in the music of Vico C and Brewley MC." The debt shows in structure more than sound — Don Omar kept the rapper's dense, argumentative flow and grafted it onto reggaeton's dembow pulse.
listen forVico C's "Saborealo" rides a spare early-'90s hip-hop beat built entirely around his rapid, clipped Spanish-language flow — every syllable landing on the beat like a drum hit. Don Omar's breakout "Dale Don Dale," a decade later, keeps that same percussive, syllable-forward delivery but drops it onto reggaeton's rolling dembow rhythm instead of a boom-bap loop — the rapper's cadence surviving the move from one genre's backbone to another's entirely.
A Spanish-language profile of his early influences credits the salsa of Héctor Lavoe and his bandleader Willie Colón with giving Don Omar's music its "ritmos energéticos" — energetic rhythms — alongside merengue and traditional Puerto Rican sound. The debt became literal in December 2007: for the tribute album Tributo Urbano a Héctor Lavoe, Don Omar took Lavoe's actual 1978 vocal, horn, and conga tracks from "El Cantante" — the Rubén Blades-penned confessional that made Lavoe salsa's tragic hero — and rebuilt the song around a reggaeton rhythm bed, singing alongside a voice that had died in 1993.
listen forLavoe's 1978 "El Cantante" is a slow-building salsa lament, his voice cracking on the confessional lines about a singer's private grief behind the stage persona. Don Omar's 2007 version keeps those same vocal takes nearly intact — the crack, the phrasing, the grief — but slides a dembow rhythm underneath the horns, so the two records are, audibly, the same performance wearing two different rhythm sections thirty years apart.
Reggaeton's chassis was built before Don Omar ever picked up a mic. In Panama during the 1990s, El General translated Jamaican dancehall into Spanish; the Recording Academy's own Grammy.com history of Puerto Rican music traces reggaeton's roots directly to "the Spanish reggae tracks that artists like El General recorded in Panama," crediting Don Omar as one of the vocalists who then carried the sound into "an international phenomenon." A Spanish-language profile of his youth adds that reggae specifically taught him to build "deep and relaxing sound atmospheres" — the slower groundwork dancehall's snap and hip-hop's flow were layered onto.
listen forEl General's 1990 "Tu Pum Pum" rides a bouncing, insistent dancehall riddim under sing-song Spanish toasting — the beat doing the work, the vocal chanting more than narrating. Two decades later, Don Omar's "Reggaeton Latino" keeps that same chanted, hook-forward vocal approach but tightens the riddim into reggaeton's signature dembow snap, the genre claiming and renaming the rhythm El General had translated from Kingston to Panama City first.