One to tide us over til we get back to regular service tomorrow…

[Video][Website]
[6.38]

Alfred Soto: Where Amerie presents herself as a normal woman with feelings, Ciara’s built an impressive career as a polymorphous, infinitely recombinable genetic matrix, with her cooler-than-ice-cream voice the most persistent strain. Here she rides the beat up and down for however long she needs to until they merge into pure electronic bliss. Then Luda reminds her and us that she’s not turning herself on, but since he sounds more anxious than normal maybe she is.
[8]

Kat Stevens: CiCi sings almost exactly the same gentle tune as she does on “Like A Surgeon”, but without “Surgeon”‘s ridiculous medical metaphors and stain-inducing bassline “Ride” feels like a very poor retread indeed. Ludacris does his best to inject some pace into things with some perky chattering but the end result fails even to be stupid, let alone stupendous.
[2]

Al Shipley: Her personality is as blank and paper-thin as her voice, and the chest-thumping bravado strains credulity worse than that attempt at a melismatic vamp at the end. I try to avoid using this term as much as possible, but Ciara just does not have any fuckin’ swag.
[3]

Chuck Eddy: One of the unsexiest sex songs I’ve heard lately, which is saying a lot. Luda’s touchdown and the screw-chopping at least salvage Ciara’s tedium somewhat, but this theme has been pulled off with palpable personality and imagination and humor so many times before — Lee Dorsey’s “Ride Your Pony,” Disco Tex and his Sex-O-Lettes’ “Ride A Wild Horse,” Blake Baxter’s “Ride ‘Em Boy,” Jamie Principle’s “Baby Wants To Ride (X-Rated)” Laid Back’s “Wild Horse” — this just pisses me off.
[3]

Martin Skidmore: It seems like ages since the last The-Dream job — which in his world, means over a week. It’s a medium-paced number that doesn’t strike me as one of his best songs, but Ciara glides over it in very sexy style, and Luda, my favourite guest-verse rapper, is as entertaining as ever. I don’t normally mention videos, as I rarely watch them, but the vid here is fantastically sexy.
[8]

Jonathan Bogart: Wow. I’m not sure I ever expected to say that a great Ludacris guest verse was the worst thing on a track, but I was really digging the slinky, cooing reverie Ciara was setting down and he comes in mixed way too loud and hyper and managing to sound like a beery oaf blundering through karaoke even though he’s really as nimble as ever, it’s just a terrible mismatch of production and performance. Remix this to cut out the guest verse and it’s an easy 9 within reach of a 10.
[6]

Chris Boeckmann: A worth successor to both “Oh” and “High Price,” “Ride” represents another chapter in the always-thrilling “Ciara and Ludacris Battle a Tidal Wave Beat” saga. Pretty much just pure swagger, this is Ciara’s least interesting performance yet (remember that seductive push-and-pull with the “Oh” beat? or those crazy-ass opera vocals on “High Price”?), but isn’t her swagger totally awesome?
[9]

Katherine St Asaph: I don’t remember Ciara being so anonymous. The former Princess of Crunk is reduced here to cooing rote come-ons about how guys love the way she rides it — but don’t worry, censors, she’s just riding the beat! Luda doesn’t just phone it in; he tweets it, undoubtedly en route to collaborator #513. The video’s a standard writhe-fest, and it’s telling that the porniest parts don’t include Ciara’s face. The sequoia legs get screen time, as do furs and navels, but they could be anyone’s. Maybe Ciara was 100% on board with erasing herself this fully, but I sure don’t want to believe it.
[3]

John Seroff: Jukebox Flashback Time: While discussing Robyn, Al Soto wondered aloud “how the hell a Swede’s interesting haircut makes her more worth Pitchfork’s time than Ciara.” If we’re willing to leave the red herring of race alone, it’s not a bad question. Here’s my answer: true or false, Robyn is perceived as self-objectifying ironically. Whether because of her advanced age (210 in rock star years), her heavily-accented chirp or her less-cheesecakey presentation, Robyn doesn’t entirely commit to offering herself up as a legit sexbot. The younger, tighter and more sultry Ciara is another story; the lion’s share of her career has been about having her Goodies appraised by a buyer’s gaze. The girl really does market it so goooooood that one could start to lose the suspension of disbelief and see her as less musician and more video vixen. This stripe of near-naked sex appeal may scare off a certain streak of poptimist as pandering and unartistic. Their loss; Ciara’s about much more than just twerking her skinny ass and “Ride” is only the latest proof. The-Dream’s got a good solid beat here but it requires the subtle touch of sweaty humanity to bring it to life. Think about Aguilera’s brittle post-coital “I needed that” on “Not Myself Tonight” or Rihanna’s withering “Is you big enough?” on “Rude Boy” and then compare that to Ciara’s honeyed, good-to-go, bluesy willingness to “handle her bidness/like a big girl should”. Shades of Mama Maybelle and of a lady who’s in control and loving it. Like sex, pop is only dirty when it’s done right. “Ride” is really, really right.
[9]

Alex Ostroff: On first listen, “Ride” seemed slight and underwritten, especially for a lead single. Over time, however, the sludgy production, cascading swirls of electronics and subdued vocals burrow their way into your head, revealing the song to be not sleepy but hypnotic (most notably on Ciara’s stuttered and echoed “try-y-y-y” and “buy-y-y-y”). No matter how many times Ci tags in Ludacris, he always turns in a worthy middle eight, and this guest spot is no exception. He attacks the beat with verve and wit – the best moment might be the Chopped & Screwed ‘sweet dreams’, but what really makes the difference is an audible enthusiasm that couldn’t be faked for Bieber, McCartney et al.
[8]

Alex Macpherson: Seems slight at first, until you realise that tunnel vision is the point of such monomania. Leaving firework flares of glitter and stardust in her wake, Ciara’s grind remains as elegant as can be.
[8]

Jordan Sargent: “Ride” is arresting in its self-actuality. Ciara commandeers a beat that creeps and stomps in a manner so tightly coiled that it feels one second away from busting, while singing about doing exactly that. But there’s a knowing confidence here— in the stuttering to punctuate verses, in the elongation of the chorus— that both says that we have a monster on our hands and confirms it as such. When the chorus doubles down and grinds harder and closer to the floor (or your hips) (or face), Ciara, Tricky and The-Dream harness the total power of their creation for a moment that’s as powerful as any that pop has produced this year. I imagine them cackling.
[9]

Additional Scores

Anthony Easton: [7]

It’s here. 8pm UK time. Tonight.

BE HERE.

(Online streams of Eurovision can be found at http://www.eurovision.tv, http://www.bbc.co.uk, http://www.svt.se, http://www.nrk.no, http://www.rte.ie/live and several other places)

Second semi-final of the Eurovision Song Contest tonight – same deal as Tuesday night, lots o’ huggin’, lots o’ dancin’, etc. etc. , and we’re liveblogging the whole thing in that wee box below. The festivities kick off at 8pm UK time, which is 3pm EST and different times elsewhere (6am Australian).

For those of you not living in a place where you can see it on telly, streams can be found at:

http://www.eurovision.tv
http://www.bbc.co.uk/three
http://www.rte.ie/live
http://www.svt.se
http://www.nrk.no
http://www.ard.de/kultur/

Is it just me that watches this video and gets reminded of the Kemp brothers as Ronnie and Reggie Kray?…

[Video][Website]
[5.60]

Jonathan Bogart: Jesus Christ. Give the Killers an inch and look what happens.
[3]

Mallory O’Donnell: I think I liked the Killers better when they were just pretending to be British.
[2]

Iain Mew: Successfully marries doomy post-punk and synth-pop in a way which even outdoes Editors’ recent efforts in same for portentousness. Love the range of gorgeous synth osscilations deployed throughout and the occasional dramatic Brett Anderson crack in the singer’s voice, and while there are a few bits between that don’t quite cohere this is hugely promising stuff.
[8]

Martin Skidmore: The dreadful singing of the first line was almost enough to make me abandon this immediately, but I know my duty. To be fair, it has more energy in its music than the last one, but they still can’t create a fresh lyric, and by that I mean even one fresh line. The singing remains awkward and unappealing, and this is an entirely insubstantial song.
[3]

Edward Okulicz: It can’t be ignored that this features some downright horrible singing — Theo’s attempted snarl on the titular line grates — but the synth swirls and dreamy chorus (“turn away, turn away”) take them slightly further away from the moodiness of Tears For Fears and towards the pure pop bliss of Pet Shop Boys — I mean, this one even sounds happy.
[8]

John Seroff: Pitch perfect mimicry is much less impressive when I have no nostalgia for what you’re aping. You see, I’m only barely aware of the musical history of Pet Shop Boys or New Order (i.e. just enough to hear their fingerprints all over this) and so I’m forced to take this on its own merits. It’s… okay? A bit petulant and garish for my taste, but if that doesn’t bother you, there are some charms to be found in the melody. Can’t see this getting any real traction in the States, though.
[5]

Katherine St Asaph: If nothing else, Hurts know how to build anticipation. The intro is faux-eerie bullshit, but it’s effective bullshit. And the song itself doesn’t disappoint; it’s surprisingly tawdry synthpop, and Theo sounds like he actually has a spine. Somehow, too many tracks miss this.
[7]

Ian Mathers: I apparently love these guys so much that they can adapt a song by their old, unheralded indie band and I’ll still love it. The portentous videos, the outsized emotions, the retro backing — at this point, it’s going to take a lot to make me question their instincts or their aesthetic. There’s liking a band’s songs, and then there’s falling for their whole view of the world, and Hurts can count me in the latter camp.
[8]

Alfred Soto: I keep hoping that these dudes conjure as effortless a piece of fey melodrama as “Wonderful Life” but all I’ve gotten are reminders why Camouflage and When in Rome had accidents instead of moments.
[5]

Alex Ostroff: “Wonderful Life” is still their crowning achievement, but with every tantalizing single Hurts release, they further render the past decade’s 80s revivalism moot. Regardless of whether or not the 1980s ever actually sounded like this, the high melodrama, baritone vocals and pulse of the synthesizers evoke the Socratic ideal of James Murphy’s “borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered Eighties”, walking the tightrope between melancholy and rapture without ever stumbling.
[7]

Nowt to do with this, but can I just point out how naffed off I am that no-one got my tremendous joke here?…

[Video][Website]
[6.62]

Alfred Soto: Nice clatter and drone, recorded by a young woman with too much Rough Trade vinyl stacked in her closet and too smart to affect boredom her first time out. It’s a good sign that she’s singing about/to a young woman trapped and covered in shit. Now that she’s defined the limitations she’s gotta project past them.
[7]

Martin Skidmore: My oldest friend’s favourite band ever was Dolly Mixture, so I bet he’d love this lot, who have a similar ultra-lo-fi old girl-group sound. Sadly, there isn’t enough of a tune and the singing is too flattened and affectless to do much for me, and I can’t see sounding as if you recorded a single in a barrel as a good thing.
[4]

Iain Mew: The fuzz seems pervasive first go, but it soon parts to reveal a sharp, taut song. It has no real need to shy away, then, except perhaps that it would miss the beguiling way the harmonies remain a little clouded by the fog, as if the call for help is coming from a great distance. Neat stuff, though as far as instant pop thrills go, it’s still not quite up there with their near namesakes’ “Can’t Get You Out of My Thoughts”.
[7]

Chuck Eddy: This song would probably sound better if its fadeaways didn’t make it seem embarrassed about having a melody. But at least it has a melody, and a pretty one. And it’s proud of its la-la-las. Actually, I hear a pinch of Raincoats — though that may just be because I didn’t pay much attention to less ingenious precedents that came out of, say, Olympia, Washington in between.
[6]

Ian Mathers: The chorus was a nice surprise; honestly, the demands of this kind of song are low enough they could have gotten away with just the low-key rumble of the beginning. It’s a pretty good chorus too, enough to elevate “Jail La La” over most of its competition in the increasingly crowded neo/retro garage field.
[7]

John Seroff: Grungy, enjoyable lo-fi girlpop that’s got enough backbone to not sound like a bald knockoff and smart enough not to overstay its welcome. Nice scopitone-style video too. “Jail La La” may lack the little bit of oomph necessary to really stick around, but maybe it’ll work better in the context of a full album? Anyways, I wouldn’t kick this out of bed for eatin’ crackers.
[6]

Jonathan Bogart: One nice aftereffect of not keeping up with indie rock is that when something from that vague region does catch your ear you don’t immediately have to compare it to all the other things that came out recently that sound like it, you can just enjoy it for what it is: a garagey girl-group stomp in the vein of the Luv’d Ones, only with cuter vocals.
[8]

Katherine St Asaph: Sunny retro-pop after a bottle or two of wine, an eyes-closed sprint through some unknown alley and a knife fight. Vocalist Dee Dee slips into ’60s mannerisms as if they’re the only sounds she can hear over the haze in her head. And it works well enough that you can’t tell whether that shit-covered, high-as-a-kite woman is a cellmate or the speaker herself. If only the morning after really sounded like this.
[8]

(that’s not one of the entries, we just feel it conveys the sentiment. Also he looks like Nelson Muntz)

ANYWAY – the first semi-final in this year’s Eurovision Song Contest is TONIGHT at 8pm UK time (3pm EST, adjust that for wherever in the US or Ca-na-da you are), and the Singles Jukebox is gonna be liveblogging it. All of it. JOIN US.

And sometimes he is sad. A complex beast indeed…

[Video][Myspace]
[4.92]

Katherine St Asaph: Dude, you just made it, and Hayley’s presence here gives you even more crossover appeal. So could you wait until you’ve released, oh, more than two singles to gripe about how sucky and transient you find worldwide fame? You’re like a partier who sulks by the window waiting for the cops to arrive. At his own party.
[3]

Erick Bieritz: Terms like “emo-rap” are usually among the most useless in popular music, taking an already-hopelessly distorted genre and soldering it onto the front of one that hardly needs any more qualifiers. That said, it may actually apply to this impossibly wimpy track, because the phrase “can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky like shooting stars” must have been copied from the lyric insert of a Deep Elm compilation or a Sunny Day Real Estate-inspired LiveJournal entry. Kanye did this ages ago with more subtlety, and any artist who is on the unsubtle side of Kanye is in a bad place.
[3]

Matt Cibula: It’s aight, but all in all I’d rather be listening to the (unfairly maligned) Gym Class Heroes.
[4]

Al Shipley: As far as pairings of XXL-hyped new jack rappers and white girls go, it beats the hell out of Wale/Gaga, but that ain’t sayin’ much.
[4]

John Seroff: Sadly, no matter how much you tart this up with Hayley’s cooing, B.o.B’s mediocre middle class 2007 nostalgia, vamping Casio horns or military toms, there’s still no mistaking the soggy Ryan Tedder-esque core of “Airplanes” for anything but weak chumming for glum teens and television montages. Which is not to say that I doubt kids (and TV execs) won’t take the bait; the phenomenal success of ‘Beautiful Girls’ suggests that B.o.B may have found his commercial niche as the herald of non-threatening, rapalong, Deep Thoughts, inspirational emo-pop. Nice work if you can stomach it.
[4]

Ian Mathers: It’s hard to describe how little B.o.B. makes me care about his woes (sure, monetizing doing what you love sucks, but do you know what sucks more? Getting a day job), but the production is lovely and surprisingly enough I kind of love Williams (whose band I also don’t care about) on the chorus. I’m torn between thinking I’d like to hear Williams tackling a song like this on her own, and thinking instead that all she needs is a more interesting rapper to work with.
[6]

Martin Skidmore: Hayley out of Paramore sounds very good on this, emotional and yearning, much better than on the group’s last. B.o.B. himself sounds okay, pretty strong and confident, if rather dated.
[7]

Alfred Soto: Drawling like Alanis and elongating vowels like Avril, Hayley Williams plays exactly the sort of chick to whom a moderately interesting, unexciting rapper would direct a song: by his lights I can understand why she sounds “exotic.”
[6]

Jonathan Bogart: His name is on the most consistently listenable overplayed single on pop radio over the last month, which was enough to get me on board; and her band is apparently pretty good. I’m not sure this truly qualifies as next-level -— I turned on the radio and heard “Nothin’ On You” right after listening to this, and it’s still one of the best reasons to be cheerful in 2010 -— but it’s as much a great conceptual hook as it is a great vocal one, and I imagine given the right frame of mind it could even be uplifting. I’m still a little nonplussed about the fact that a kid born in 1988 is all on this seasoned-wisdom tip, but if he keeps up the quality I got nothin’ to say.
[8]

Rodney J. Greene: The crash of the rap market has had bizarre consequences. Where there once was ample room in mainstream channels for rap hits that had crossover potential but still appealled to rap’s core audience, today’s rapper is faced with two near-mutually exclusive choices: make rap music or sell records, one or the other. Continue making rap songs for rap fans in full knowledge that you are now cordoning yourself into a crowded niche economy, or go as M.O.R. as possible in a reach for demographics that still pay real money for music. This fundamental split is why we now have a rap song scaling the charts that, when played at an event I was at this Saturday, caused a teenage girl near me to blurt, “Is this the Backstreet Boys song?” upon hearing the intro. If only it were.
[4]

Anthony Easton: This reminds me of the 70s, when a string of comedown melancholic anthems about air travel leaked from LA and NY. I wish I liked this more, because there is nothing sadder or lovelier or more passive than “Daniel”, or “Planes and Trains” by Dionne Warwick, and it just sort of glops on noise and effect and ruins the potential.
[5]

Chuck Eddy: Has at least a smidgen of jet propulsion to it, and I’d rate both vocalists slightly better than competent. Don’t get the metaphor at all. I can probably name a couple hundred better airplane songs, but at least this beats the Chili Peppers.
[5]

The modern rapping man is a complex beast. Sometimes he is happy…

[Video][Myspace]
[6.22]

Jonathan Bogart: In which Bobby gets showed up. His genial old-school flow worked great on the classicist “Nothin’ On You” and didn’t get in the way on “Airplanes,” but T.I.’s on autopilot here and he’s rapping rings around him, as is the otherwise undistinguished Playboy Tre. It’s a pleasant enough get-together, but shouldn’t a statement of purpose sound more, you know, purposeful?
[6]

Al Shipley: This song would’ve been more convincing earlier in B.o.B.’s career when he seemed more like a ’90s Dungeon Family nostalgist than a devotee of The Love Below, but it’s still a strong posse cut where he gets handily outshined by both his superstar mentor and his less famous sidekick.
[7]

Rodney J. Greene: Ever since I took to his debut single, 2007’s “Haterz Everywhere” (notable as likely the first rap song smart enough to swipe the trance-synth-as-hook idea from “My Love”), I’ve been waiting for B.o.B to release another rappin’-ass rap song. This isn’t quite as satisfying as I had envisioned, because, to B.o.B, “tough” apparently means loud and disjointed. This isn’t too surprising, as the videos for his two more street-minded singles both betray an unconvincing theatricality, but such a characteristic didn’t affect his actual rapping on that previous effort. His veteran guests here know better, though. T.I. is especially lucid, finding ways to incorporate the fad of “garbage bag” punchlines without them sounding corny or, their greater sin, disruptive. In fact, he’s fairly hilarious, especially when he promises to “put ’em down under Australia, Sidney.”
[7]

John Seroff: The production elevates nicely over B.o.B. on “Bet I”, biding time until TI and Tre show up. There’s plenty to entertain in the meanwhile: fuzzed out metallic echo chamber coughs, machine gun percussion and loopy figure-eight electronic flute fill the space snugly. It’s noisy and engaging in the same expansive way as “Shutterbugg”; both are rapid, maximal, tilt-a-whirl rides.
[7]

Matt Cibula: This lost a point — because what kind of manager would bat T.I. in front of Playboy Tre? — but withal an enjoyable booty-bouncin’ bragfest, minimal in many senses (including in originality and vision) yet still fun and effective.
[7]

Ian Mathers: Sometimes this kind of belligerent confidence can come across as winningly brash; certainly, T.I.’s biggest hits demonstrate that. But here he’d be better served by more laid-back menace and less frantic wordplay, which plays less like he’s eager to get back to business and more like he’s trying too hard. It’s still better than the relatively anonymous B.o.B., whose delivery suits the middling production well enough that he practically disappears. It’s down to Playboy Tre to inject some personality into the song, and he mostly does that by having a vaguely annoying voice.
[5]

Chuck Eddy: Bet I…am not the only person who who’d rather hear B.O.B. with Hayley Williams. (Unless I am.)
[4]

Additional Scores

Michaelangelo Matos: [6]
Martin Skidmore: [7]

His squizillionth US number one, for what it’s worth…

[Website]
[3.55]

Al Shipley: Back when everyone else seemed to adore and respect Eminem a lot more than I did, I hoped that he’d quit it with the blond dyejob and the cartoony lead singles, and start collaborating more with popular rappers and producers outside of the Aftermath stable. Be careful what you wish for.
[1]

Rodney J. Greene: Thanks for reminding me: When you get down to it, the blame for all this soft-rock/rap crossover schlock doesn’t, as commonly attributed, fall to Jay-Z or Kanye or whomever for messing with Coldplay, the style really started a few years earlier as this guy here ran out of ideas. Thanks, Marshall.
[3]

John Seroff: In which Eminem embraces his inner Dr. Phil, squashes the beef in the same verse that he starts it, dismisses his last album as “meh”, flirts with grocery bag lines like “quit playing with the scissors and shit/and cut the crap”, channels his buddy Elton for a self-help chorus that is more absurd than anything South Park could come up with and generally makes me a bit embarrassed for him. But the flow is still there! It’s hard to care with lyrics like this (or, to be fair, with any of Em’s lyrics from the past four years or so) but goddamn: the raw talent is still there. Em makes me so sad; it’s like he has a magic pen and all he can think to do with it is draw cocks on everything.
[4]

Martin Skidmore: “Everybody come take my hand / We’ll walk this road together through the storm / Whatever weather, cold or warm” may sound as if it comes from some fatuous charity single recorded by the top 10 in American Idol, even aside from the stupidity of “through the storm / Whatever weather”; but no, it’s the latest single from the man who was once the most exciting lyricist on the planet. To be fair, he does apologise for Relapse here, but there is nothing in this that doesn’t suggest another apology won’t be needed next time. Tired, tepid, nasal, with no ideas in the music and more bad lines than we’d have thought conceivable ten years ago.
[1]

Alfred Soto: My first thought: “Why so glum, chum?” My second: “Em’s the last person whose hand I want to hold as we walk through a storm.” The spare backbeat and Slim Shady’s darkened, slightly huskier voice are becoming, but this is as boring as a twelve-step program.
[5]

Chuck Eddy: As often happens when he slips into goody-goody sincere mode, I’m touched by his conflictedness, and rooting for him even though there’s no reason I should really care. And even though I still miss Slim Shady, and kicking bad habits usually just makes music worse, and I’m not sure he’s saying anything all that revelatory about what he’s going through, I’d rather Em be cleaning up his act and even feeling sorry for himself about it than phoning in drug-horror bullshit like last year; at least this has potential to take him somewhere he hasn’t been before. Also wonder how Hailie’s doing, now that she’s almost 15.
[5]

Ian Mathers: In much the same way that I’d think that Lady Gaga’s existence is good for pop music even if I didn’t like her music, I’m very happy to hear Eminem back to something approximating his old form (in spirit if not necessarily 100% in skill) even though I doubt I’ll be playing “Not Afraid” very much. Pop music is a more interesting place with Em actually working, and not just making novelty tracks.
[6]

Jonathan Bogart: I’m definitely pro-Eminem having any kind of comeback. I’m unconvinced that this will actually do it. Compared to “Crack A Bottle,” it’s even kind of lame, self-serious Apollonian dedicatory rap instead of dumb Dionysian party rap. But I grin every time he gets to the “raising the bar” metaphor, and the gospelly chant of the chorus is infectious, even if the sentiment’s kind of exhausted.
[7]

Edward Okulicz: The art of giving a speech is simple: tell people what you’re going to say, then say it, then summarise it snappily. “Not Afraid” is based upon the idea that because a rap song is shorter than a speech, you just need to tell us what you’re going to do, you don’t have to go to the bother of actually writing something compelling – really, this is all plan and no execution. All Eminem does is assure us he’s going to face his demons and not go back to Relapse is sufficient when in fact all he does is blather on without charm, spark or wit. To my mind, his only successful demon-facing track is “Guilty Conscience”, which worked even in character. A relapse to Relapse? No, this is getting way down to “Ass Like That” levels of sheer banality, though at least without the silly voices.
[2]

Katherine St Asaph: Instead of promising to face your demons, why don’t you do it? Or at least put this shit on your blog, preferably protected.
[2]

Michaelangelo Matos: “I shouldn’t have to rhyme these words in a rhythm for you to know it’s a rap.” And I shouldn’t have to type these words for you to read them. Or acquire this food in order to eat it. In other news, this kind of sounds like . . . Bubba Sparxxx’s “Deliverance”! Except, um, not good.
[3]

And the road doth fork…

[Video][Website]
[5.33]

Chuck Eddy: Bobby Brown once advised me that if I find a Tenderoni that is right for me, I should make it official, give her my love. Sadly, this is not her.
[4]

John Seroff: My initial disappointment when this “Tenderoni” did not prove to be a Bobby Brown cover deepened when I recognized it as an uncredited remake of “Wearing My Rolex”. It’s not as if we didn’t have Jukebox sweetheart “Take That” to scratch that itch already. Kele’s main additions to the formula are a vague rough-trade narrative and a inscrutable crooning baritone chorus; both of which work surprisingly well. There are a few good ideas happening here, but not enough of them to recommend this more than half-heartedly.
[6]

Iain Mew: On the last Bloc Party album Kele sung “You used to take your watch off before we made love/You didn’t want to share our time with anyone”. Guess he must have reciprocated, judging by the way they’re now wearing his Rolex, eh? Bad gags aside, the familiarity of the sounds wouldn’t be so bad if he did more with them, but the confidence in any other hooks isn’t there and the song virtually vanishes into itself when it reaches the chorus.
[5]

Ian Mathers: Give me a remix of this that keeps chaotic energy of that chorus all the way through, and I’ll love it. This version… the verses drag too much. I want more yelling, more digital falsetto, more giant sized synths.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: Hey, it’s a slowed down version of “Take Off” by Jack Rokka, only with Betty Boo replaced by he out of Bloc Party who could barely hold a note before and hasn’t improved at all since then. And “Take Off” itself was just a knock-off of “Yeah Yeah” by Bodyrox to begin with!
[3]

Kat Stevens: I’m pleasantly surprised! Kele’s unintelligible vocal on the chorus conjures up memories of my favourite sort of 1995 euro-house banger; the exoskeletal ‘zzjranng’ synth might be left over from 2006, but 2006 was bloody awesome (I spent the whole time at the Combination Bodyrox and Booka Shade). All Kele needs is to cheer up a bit on the verses and then he might just get his very own Rolex to wear.
[7]

Martin Skidmore: I suppose the amateurish dancier beats are more appealing than Bloc Party, but there’s still an indie rock sensibility in how they are used, as if synths are merely a modish substitute for electric guitars. The main problem, though, is his rotten singing, flat and lifeless as ever, and the lack of a tune or hook.
[2]

Alfred Soto: Bloc Party’s Silent Alarm was one of those impressive debut albums by an English act that left many wondering what the fuss was about months later. Subsequent albums showed they had songs without a sound. Kele’s solo outing has a sound in search of a song — think new Dizzee Rascal with sleazier kicks. Now that Kele’s officially out I understand what all the winks and hints of old meant. What I can’t figure out is why his singing is the aural equivalent of winking and hinting.
[6]

Cecily Nowell-Smith: Remember last year, when Bloc Party released a vaguely likeable piano-house retread called “One More Chance”? And we, or at least I, went around saying something along the lines of– yes but isn’t the sparse retro charm of this song entirely ruined by how bad Kele Okereke’s voice suddenly sounds? I think Kele remembers, because in this lead single off his solo album his vocal is hushed, swamped, spangled, always ceding centre stage to those shiny turbo-house synths that sound like Tron bikes. Plus rather than retro he’s gone for the sound of now, or at least the sound of 2008’s “Wearing My Rolex”. Still, I like the way those big crunchy metallic robo-chords fall slightly too fast — when his voice pings into garbled falsetto and some sudden drums stutter in, for a few seconds there’s that sickening glee of propulsion you get in a good racing game.
[7]

Jonathan Bogart: I don’t think I’ve heard a better sound than that throb-to-flutter sequencer line in ages. I don’t even care about the words; on first run through they’re not totally embarrassing, which is good enough for me. I’d dance anywhere this got played.
[8]

Anthony Easton: I find the density of the competing signals here, and the stretching/breaking apart, the construction and deconstruction of musical possiblities fascinating.
[7]

Katherine St Asaph: The hints of menace at the beginning give way too quickly to cookie-cutter electro. Neither the loopy synth line at the end nor the enmuscled boxer distinguish it from the surrounding puddle of dance-R&B goo. It’s a shame; I’d love to hear the other directions the first 30 seconds could have gone.
[4]