photo: julio enriquez · cc by 2.0 ↗Vicente Fernández was born in Huentitán El Alto, Jalisco, in 1940 and spent his childhood dreaming of the ranchera stars he watched at the movies. He won a Guadalajara singing contest at 14, then spent a decade being turned away by Mexico City record labels — until Javier Solís, the reigning king of ranchero-bolero balladry, died suddenly in 1966, and CBS México went looking for its next great voice. Fernández signed within weeks. His real coronation came with 1972's heartbroken hit "Volver, Volver" and 1973's "El Rey," a José Alfredo Jiménez song he made so definitively his own that the U.S. Library of Congress inducted his recording, not Jiménez's original, into the National Recording Registry in 2025. "Mi vicio es cantar," he said of the more than 100 albums that followed — a stubborn, prolific reign that lasted until his death in 2021.
Jiménez was, in English Wikipedia's own framing, Fernández's "main musical influence" — though the relationship was tangled; Jiménez reportedly disliked how Fernández interpreted some of his songs. When Jiménez died in 1973, Fernández inherited the songbook outright. His recording of "El Rey," cut that same year for the album El Ídolo de México, became so completely his that, per Infobae, "audiences often forgot who originally composed" it — and in 2025 the U.S. Library of Congress inducted Fernández's version, not Jiménez's, into the National Recording Registry.
listen for"El Rey" turns on one boastful closing line — "y sigo siendo el rey," and I'm still the king — and the two recordings deliver it differently. Jiménez sings it almost conversationally, guitar and violins kept spare behind him, like a private joke among drinking companions. Fernández's 1973 recording widens the mariachi behind him and stretches that last word nearly an extra beat, turning Jiménez's dry, private swagger into the full-voiced, stadium-sized proclamation that became Fernández's signature.
Solís was one of two idols Fernández named from childhood, alongside Pedro Infante — but the debt runs deeper than admiration. In April 1966, Solís, the reigning voice of mariachi-backed bolero-ranchero balladry, died suddenly after gallbladder surgery; within days, per Quién, record labels were already searching for "su nuevo Javier Solís," and Fernández signed his first contract that summer. Decades later, on 2014's tango tribute Mano a Mano, Fernández finally recorded Solís's own signature song outright, claiming "Sombras Nada Más" rather than just the opening Solís's death had left him.
listen forBoth readings keep "Sombras Nada Más" as an aching Argentine tango, but neither hides it inside a trio or piano-and-strings arrangement — Solís set the template of draping the melody in mariachi horns and strings instead, and Fernández's 2014 version, cut for an album billed as tangos "a la manera de Vicente Fernández," leans into that same mariachi frame, trading Solís's smoother baritone for Fernández's more theatrical, sustained hold on the title phrase.
Infante is the one idol Fernández names in his own words: as a boy of "6 or 7," he told his official biography, he watched Pedro Infante's films and informed his mother, "cuando yo crezca voy a ser como ellos" — when I grow up, I'll be like them. More than four decades later he put the vow on record, cutting Infante's 1948 Nosotros los pobres theme "Amorcito Corazón" for his own 1991 album El Charro Mexicano.
listen forSame melody, four decades apart. Infante floats it lightly — a film-star croon over a discreet backing, the sound of 1940s golden-age cinema. Fernández's 1991 version thickens everything: a fuller mariachi behind him, the phrasing pushed toward the huskier, full-throated ranchera delivery that was his signature by then — the boyhood promise to become like Infante, now sung in a voice unmistakably his own.