If only it had scored .14 higher Tirzah would have been eligible for an upgrade to “Gleefully.”

[Video][Website]
[5.86]Iain Mew: The part where she sings “feels like it’s raining super slow” over not much is so on point that it stretches the lack of affect a bit too thin. Apart from that, the whole experience is one of floating in the ocean and also in space, and its inky blankness is its strength.
[7]

Alfred Soto: As familiar as a phone call from a friend, “Gladly” reflects the washed-out sullenness of a person tired of living with the truth. Tirzah drops these declarative truths on flat beats like Neneh Cherry or Tricky, and the voice accumulates pathos as the keyboards become more aqueous.
[7]

Julian Axelrod: Like lying at the bottom of a swimming pool or watching rain hit the roof, it’s intoxicating to pine for something just out of your reach. Tirzah blurs the line between starry-eyed romantic and jaded dreamboat, her romance kept at a remove. One of the most disorienting and enchanting love songs I’ve heard in some time.
[7]

Will Adams: I appreciate the attempt to avoid falling into the landfill of “chill”-tagged R&B, but the lo-fi effects slapped on to what can’t be more than four total tracks makes for listening that’s soporific and tedious.
[4]

Juan F. Carruyo: An effortless romp of a tune perfect for hanging out in the park with your drink of choice. There’s a few lovely details: the phased piano that bookends the track, adding a bridge just when the song is about to be over, to my delight and the stutter in the kick drum that reoccurs in the chorus. This is a miniaturist’s dream and you’re welcome to join.
[7]

Edward Okulicz: The production stakes (and quality) have gone up so much in the DIY-n-b style Tirzah essays here that “Gladly” sounds downright primitive. Or at least like the dead, flat drums are a first draft. I’ll give the melody a bit more credit and say it’s a third draft. This isn’t spare, it’s empty.
[3]

Jonathan Bogart: Scrappy post-apocalyptic pop balladry, featuring cavernous echo and stumbling next-house-over piano. It never raises the temperature enough for her declarations of passion to sound credible, but as an echo of pop past it’s dimly haunting.
[6]

Fun fact: your editor is drunk right now.

[Video][Website]
[4.83]

Vikram Joseph: We’ve all got our cheap musical thrills of choice, and sad, strung-out, reverb-y guitars have always done it for me, so this hooked me in from the first few notes — enough, even, to somewhat bypass my inherent queasiness about trad-country tropes like drinking whiskey to get over girls, and references to (forfucksake, it’s 2018) “good ol’ boys.” It’s also, oddly, in thrall to late-90s pop – the verse melody is a dead ringer for Robbie Williams’ “She’s The One” (though thankfully not as wet), and the whole song (but especially the line “[whiskey] ain’t doing what it should”) calls to mind another soft-rock duet entirely. The harmonies swell and soar, though, and the production’s good enough to distract from the tired sentiments.
[6]

Alfred Soto: Florida Georgia Line had a hand in writing this twangfest, in which Aldean growls through the boilerplate with conviction and to which Lambert contributes okay harmonies. Brantley Gilbert would have rocked this up, Lambert herself would have pathos-ed it up. 
[5]

Iain Mew: Jack Daniel’s posters and their monochrome aw shucks appeals to authenticity have been the most annoying the Underground has to offer for years. I don’t know if its US ads take the same approach of cloying mythologising of those folks down in Lynchburg, Tennessee, but this song sure does it for them.
[5]

Stephen Eisermann: What was the point of including Miranda on this track? It’s still a boring vocal, bland instrumental, and average lyric, it just has Miranda collecting a quick check by upstaging Jason on the chorus. 
[4]

Edward Okulicz: When I see Miranda Lambert’s name, I expect a certain high standard, and so to hear her doing backing vocals feels like I’m being denied something really good. The song that’s doing the denying is half a clever concept, half a decent chorus, half a convincing vocal performance. Tempting though it is to be savage for being denied more of Miranda, I’ll be fair and give it half the marks.
[5]

Juan F. Carruyo: A tear-in-my-scotch ditty beset by distracting electronic flourishes that may signify innovation for Aldean’s producer but sound awful and dated already. As much as I can sympathize for an alcoholic’s plight, there’s not enough detail in the lament to carry enough weight, just an overall sense of malaise. File this one under ‘bland.’ 
[4]

Actually not his real name, so I’m holding out hopes he changes it to Bryce Snapchat.

[Video][Website]
[3.75]

Will Adams: I’d love to know which shitty A&R guy championed a central lyric this stupid, but even more I’d love to know at which point Bryce Vine, despite showing flashes of charisma, decided a central lyric this stupid would do the rest of the heavy lifting.
[4]

Alfred Soto: Upped a notch for dropping “ottoman” into a rap song, downed several notches for the brain damaged hook (“You’re the next Drew Barry/And I want more,” ugh).
[3]

Iain Mew: It hinges on a nonsense phrase that’s as half-baked as the rest of it sounds. In that spirit, maybe he should Drew Barry less.
[4]

Katherine St Asaph: I am not a lawyer, but recent precedent in music copyright case law suggests that SZA should sue for infringement. If not that, then for all of our sakes.
[3]

Stephen Eisermann: You ever start dating someone who just oozes confidence and swag and even if they aren’t the most attractive or intelligent or successful, they’re definitely the most charming? That is Bryce Vine in this song. The chorus and the play on Drew Barrymore’s name is lazy and childish, but he delivers each line with such sensuality and charm that it’s hard to fault him. Prior to first hearing this song, I had no idea who Bryce was or what he looked like, but through the song and his voice/delivery alone I was attracted to him. And when you release sexy songs like this, that’s a damn good talent to have.
[8]

Juan F. Carruyo: I was worried by the title that this song would turn out to be exploitative. Then the chorus hit: “You’re the next Drew Barry/and I want more” and I let out a sigh of relief, it’s merely cheesy and gross. 
[1]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Miguel’s “Do You…” except infinitely less smooth, charismatic, or convincing.
[2]

Julian Axelrod: Who knew Miguel and Wale’s misguided “Coffee” remix was so influential? Luckily, Bryce Vine shares the former’s knack for surreal imagery. (“Coffee on the flintstone/Jewelry on the ottoman” is a lovely couplet.) Unfortunately, he also shares the latter’s penchant for monstrously dumb puns like that titular clunker. And if you miss Wale’s braying horndog schtick, don’t worry: there’s a remix.
[5]

About as hard to follow up Mitski as it is to write a protest song everyone likes…

[Video]
[4.90]

Alfred Soto: In the terse muscularity of the guitars and their yowl, Dead Sara sound like Pearl Jam this time out. Unlike PJ, though, “fuck Donald Trump” is no metaphor and it does nicely. 
[7]

Ian Mathers: Someone send Maynard a memo: see, you can make your political lyrics as clunky as you want, even a little self-righteous, if you just bother to write a fucking song to go with them.
[6]

Alex Clifton: Loud, angry, political, actually rockin’, and well-structured. Resisting through music has always been punk, and Dead Sara translate their rage beautifully into something that feels good and powerful to sing. It’s an adrenaline rush from start to finish, and for once it makes me glad to feel alive in the Darkest Political Timeline.
[8]

Nicholas Donohoue: Dead Sara is making the case both that conservatism is not the new punk rock and that the new punk rock is kinda lame.
[4]

Claire Biddles: The refrain “Fuck you, Donald Trump/Fuck you, everyone” made my eyes roll all the way back into my head — maybe the misguided nihilism would be less annoying if the song actually went, but it’s just a dull rehash of every hard rock cliche since the ’90s.
[2]

Will Rivitz: Like most hard-rock songs of its ilk, the lyrics suck (think Green Day on “Holiday” but worse), but like most hard-rock songs of its ilk, that doesn’t really matter. Forget layers of fuzz – “Unamerican” is a two-ton concrete slab of fuzz, tinny production pulling everything high and low towards a focused midrange band of pummeling soot and vocals glowering with exactly the same timbre as the lead guitar. Ears are boxed, grooves are had, floors are stomped. 
[6]

Katherine St Asaph: Loud buzz, loud melody, and attitude borrowed from about ten different songs, Trump-era and otherwise. The first two still get you pretty far.
[6]

Tim de Reuse: Parts of this are well-composed: it’s got the fuzz, it’s got the “yeah yeah-yeah yeah”s, and it’s got a few punchy, insightful lines. (The trend does seem to be that women can only be truly virtuous Americans while occupying the roles of “daughter” or “wife who doesn’t make a fuss about anything,” huh?) But there are elements that don’t make any sense: the repeats that drag out what ought to have been a hi-energy sucker punch, the phoned-in self-serious bridge with no apparent thematic point, the “fuck you, Donald Trump / fuck this, fuck everyone” too on-the-nose to be emotionally convincing. Like, I’m frustrated too, I get it! I grew up in a red state and I wanted to “be an alien” so bad I moved to Canada. But there are way more pressing, interesting, and catchy reasons for that than the catch-all of “fuck everyone,” which, as sincere as it feels when you shout it into a microphone, is too generic a sentiment to act as an effective indictment of modern American patriotism.
[5]

Jonathan Bogart: I loved Dead Sara’s “Weatherman” so much in 2012 that I muscled it into that year’s Amnesty, and I still love its righteous, knotted-funk fury. But I’ve never loved anything else they ever recorded, and this least of all. Yes, of course, fuck Donald Trump, and fuck America, and maybe there are teenagers who will hear this and feel like the world’s broken open for the first time, but Godddddddd, this is the equivalent of a pink pussy hat at a Black Lives Matter rally.
[3]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Trump wins this one.
[2]

Hard to follow up Mitski, isn’t it?

[Video]
[4.43]

Juan F. Carruyo : John Mayer is a cold, calculating technician, so for his latest trick he tries to summon some sweet ’80s soft rock vibes. Never mind that he’s been soft since his debut — his biggest problem is that for all his gifts as a journeyman guitar-slinging hit-maker, his moves seem received, not internalized. I do wonder how can he coax so little joy from his own music, yet he sounds so ecstatic when he’s pretending he’s Jerry Garcia. Maybe get Michael McDonald for the next one. 
[3]

Alfred Soto: I’m supposed to feel grateful that this pucker-lipped scoundrel uses Linn drums and a Mirage-era Fleetwood Mac rhythm but can play guitar better than the Haim sisters. 
[4]

Ian Mathers: Whether or not every generation needs its own soft rockers or not, they’re certainly going to fucking get them, and to be fair to Mayer there’s some little touches in the production here that seem promising. There’s no excusing a line like “pushing 40 in the friend zone,” though, whether he means age or speed. I don’t doubt his sincerity, or even his talent, just his judgment (although not in regards to the video, which whether or not it’s to your taste is a perfectly reasonable register to make a music video in the year of our lord 2018). The rest of the song never quite sinks to the depths of that line, but it also never quite gets as dentist’s-office-enjoyable as something like “Still Feel Like Your Man” (and that song interpolated Primitive Radio Gods, fer chrissakes). A perfect 5; not 100% sure I’d feel moved to touch the radio dial/skip button, but god knows I’m never going to seek it out.
[5]

Julian Axelrod: I can count the John Mayer songs I’ve heard on one hand, so I’ve only known him as a noxious public persona and longtime critical punching bag. So when I hit the first verse, I was pretty worried — “pushing 40 in the friend zone” sounds bad coming from any guy, but it sounds especially bad coming from this guy. And then came a pleasant surprise: a sleek, sly, self-effacing bop fit for the pleasant birth and painful death of a summer fling. Credit’s due to No I.D. for restraining and refining Mayer’s schtick for 2018, more effectively than he did Jay Z’s on 4:44. But Mayer’s no slouch either — true to the song, it feels like I’m seeing him for the first time.
[7]

Stephen Eisermann: A groovy track for sure, I’m just not sure I buy John Mayer as the singer. Coincidentally, it sounds like something that belongs on the La La Land soundtrack, a movie that seriously miscast Gosling’s role.
[5]

Will Rivitz: You know that scene in Alien where one of the movie’s titular characters bursts out of the chest of a crew member? “New Light” is like that, but if the chest were impervious enough that the alien couldn’t escape, and also the alien is a song that successfully balances Mayer’s trademark smoothness with an excitingly vibrant groove and the chest is Mayer’s Magic-106.7-ass monotone delivery. 
[4]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The production is endearingly kitsch, even if it’s basically just the funk preset on a Casio. Everything else is just half-assed. Even the guitar solo sounds like it doesn’t want to be here.
[3]

Critically acclaimed artist becomes even more acclaimed…

[Video][Website]
[8.36]

Eleanor Graham: Retired from sad, new career in loud sad.
[9]

Julian Axelrod: Mitski doesn’t do half measures. Every song hits you with the full force of her emotions: the highs feel like you’re flying, and the lows feel like she’s ripped your guts out with a rusty knife. Each record has been stronger than the last, and while “Geyser” covers a lot of ground in under three minutes, it’s almost frighteningly assured. Mitski sounds like she’s created a suit of armor out of the climaxes of another band’s best songs, an impervious rock goddess leading a cavalry of horns and organs and vicious guitars into hell to battle for her love. It roars and soars and growls and moans, collapsing to the ground so it can stand to fight once more. It is the sound of one woman giving you her all, even if it kills her. And this is just the first single.
[8]

Alex Clifton: “Geyser” is several songs at once. It begins foreboding and mystic, almost terrifying (I hate how jarring the glitch noise noise is every time, although that’s the point), and suddenly transforms itself into a love song of purest passion. Beginning at a melancholic point and ending somewhere happier not even two minutes later is emotional whiplash at its finest, and it somehow makes me cry every time I hear it. Few songs feel like a raw nerve that’s just been tapped, pain and love and joy all shooting through it all at once; this is one of them.
[10]

Katherine St Asaph: Starts out sounding like it’s going to turn into Carina Round or Rose Kemp, then glitches for a second like it’s about to turn into NIN or The Future’s Void. It turns into neither of those, but rather two separate codas: a geyser-strong rock chorus, as promised, and a stately, meh ballad surrounding it. Two out of three ain’t bad.
[7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: The first half is brilliant–a Desertshore-esque gothic dirge that reveals itself to be a prim Julia Holter-type offering. The modulation to a major key isn’t recognizably detrimental at first, but this shift ends the song on an anticlimactic note despite the roaring instrumentation. The winding vocal melodies, while in line with the lyrics, are also a bit too fastidious to leave a considerable impact. And yet, I find it all so utterly appropriate. That spike of noise in the beginning signals an unrest that’s bubbling underneath, and the transition to familiar Mitski tropes reveals the freedom and confidence she’s finally arrived at. While the final vocal melodies may feel inappropriately rigid, there’s a clear understanding that she’s come to this point from a place of both emotion and intelligence; people need to work through things from both perspectives if they want to exclaim boldly, “I will be the one you need.”
[7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Maybe it’s the organ tones in the intro serving as bait, but “Geyser” reads as religious in a deep sense — not godly but ritualistic. It helps that the lyrics are less verses than chants, psalms to the very art that Mitski practices. This is the lushest that Mitski has ever sounded, all cascading horns and rolling drums, and she wears these grander things magnificently. The only shame is that the song is so short — it’s a holy experience that feels like it could be carried on for a bit longer.
[9]

Alfred Soto: The massing of feedback for the purpose of building drama rarely gets done as expertly as Mitski manages, and for half the length of the most recent Florence + the Machine leak. 
[7]

Nicholas Donohoue: Mitski was the most charismatic artist I saw last year. Standing on a stage that would soon be occupied by Run The Jewels and Lorde, she was rigidly static with sheer vocal might, letting her band rage to her emotions. That “Geyser” captures that physical presence in a tidy, pin-prickle soul churner enamors me, and I don’t know if I should let loose or hold firm. 
[9]

Juan F. Carruyo : Mitski carries herself with a solemnity that inspires admiration and coupled with a vocal performance that is as captivating as it is restrained, but by no means lacking in emotion.
[7]

Ian Mathers: I’ve now written and deleted four completely distinct, much longer blurbs for “Geyser” because they were all just attempts to talk around the fact that it’s incredible in ways that I’m not sure how to articulate.
[9]

Pedro João Santos: Puberty 2 was all about being anathema to happiness–the confessions of Mitski, not for the pleasure of coming clean, but purely for an existential necessity. These were serrated declarations on life, attempting to grasp all its vicissitudes in a fleeting chokehold, lamenting and screaming relentlessly. As it turned out, a second adolescence was as inquisitive as the first and twice as draining. By the end, she vowed to submerge her fury, hiding it in a button-down, forging peace of mind. I like to think “Geyser” is the next chapter. An ominous, suspenseful organ kicks off the song in a way suggestive of bubbling anguish. Something is rising, but it’s clear it’s something else. And it majestically turns into overflow–pure, raw guitar-led potency being unleashed into the world, ridding itself of all contempt for a radical, statement of love; unspecified love, love in any capacity. This is personal vindication, the catharsis that extinguishes the ravaging fires from within. Happiness is a new hope, and this is Mitski’s monument to it, one of precipitous, violent beauty — the sound of a woman consumed not by something external, but herself, fully formed and braced for the future.
[10]

Looking for your first time on the Jukebox to be a largely “meh” affair? Uh, not sure why you’d want that but go ahead I guess and emulate Calvin Harris…

[Video][Website]
[4.86]

Alfred Soto: The Danish singer pairs with the British-German producer duo for the expected EDM drops and mildewed kicks.
[2]

A.J. Cohn: As unsatisfying and lackluster as many a first time. 
[4]

Stephen Eisermann: It’s very easy to look past the weird glorification of one’s “first time” in this because who really listens to lyrics while dancing mindlessly at a Vegas club, drink in hand? This song belongs in every club and movie montage about nightlife because it is quintessential house music, for better or worse.
[5]

Iain Mew: The latest attempt to find new ground in well-mapped territory blends a tropical sexy sexual sex song with the deeper emotional thump of a “With Every Heartbeat” or indeed the last time Medina was in the UK top 40. She’s adept enough at performing both to get something out of it, but the lyrics falling into coy cliché is a worst-of-both-worlds situation.
[6]

Katherine St Asaph: Lightning, this is what you came for — all the way back in 2016.
[5]

Will Adams: Rehashing the lightly moody deep house Calvin Harris’s “Thinking About You” half a decade after its peak would be a bad call if not for the facts that a) “Thinking About You” is a banger; b) Medina is always an excellent choice for a house vocalist; and c) “First Time” has the better ending guitar solo.
[7]

Juana Giaimo: “First Time” is a rather typical EDM track: straightforward synths, strong vocals, a steady beat that speeds up during the drop — which of course features some kind of high-pitched noise. It’s definitely not the first time someone’s done this. 
[5]

Looking to get a high score at all? Simple! Just be Róisín Murphy…

[Video][Website]
[7.43]

Katherine St Asaph: Most people — and I won’t generalize further — prefer Róisín Murphy’s music playful, but I prefer it serious, visceral like a strike to your bones. Her best recurring theme is desire that’s bigger than you (“when I think that I’m over you, I’m overpowered”), that takes all your logic, dignity or maturity and destroys it (“rendered defenseless at the slightest hint of suggestion”), and replaces it with obsession that’s all-consuming to the point of derailment (“I risk my reputation, just to get a room”), impending doom (“ticking like a time bomb till I receive your reply”), and eventual destruction (“are you coming to find me, or waiting until I’m dead?”) So while she’s not actually singing “suicide,” as some reviewers heard — it’s “so as I [can’t breathe],” the vowel distorted by the accompanying palpitation, an intake of breath, try it yourself — you get the sense the feeling’s at about the same level of danger. That danger is ridiculous; the percussion and high-pitched frisson mean business, but the porno slap-bass, spy-movie synths and loud panting mean camp. And the lyrics, while as precise as usual — the “either in or out” after “I can’t breathe,” hyper-aware of exactly when one’s functioning stopped — also include the likes of “this is ridiculously sexy,” slamming the door to camp firm. But then, the language and moves of sex, generally speaking, is objectively ridiculous, thus all the more maddening when they work. Basically, this is six minutes of sonic edging; thank god it didn’t come out in [NOTHING HAS EVER BEEN MORE REDACTED] lest I be exquisitely dead.
[10]

Alfred Soto: After two albums of theoretical dance songs, she returns to ridiculously sexy and bass lines, slapped and plucked. “This wait is driving me crazy” might have been me anticipating an album as marvelous as 2007’s Overpowered. “All My Dreams” takes the best parts of Siouxsie and the Banshees’ “Peek a Boo” and hitches them to an arrangement whose percolations never stop fizzing. 
[7]

Ryo Miyauchi: Róisín sings as if she hears a much different beat in her head than the one actually presented by Maurice Fulton, who hands in one drunken funk slapping together key pieces from about three different classic house tunes. It’s slightly tough to find stable ground with such echo and commotion, and that breathy, punctuated chorus stumbles any sort of momentum. Yet no matter how alien the groove may be, the way she dances to the beat manages to turn delirium into a fascinating disco.
[6]

Juana Giaimo: A little bit sinister and a little bit danceable, “All My Dreams” needs something to unify all its elements. There are some metallic noises in the middle of the track and for a moment it seems that they’ll work as a transition, but after a few seconds the same repetitive beat and minimalistic synths are back.
[5]

Ian Mathers: As someone who’s used to liking what Murphy does in theory but never quite viscerally getting it in practice, this is a nice surprise. Not sure if it’s the bass line or the extended length or the slightly episodic structure (it’s definitely not the bit where she proves she knows all the syllables in “ridiculous”), but “All My Dreams” is the most I’ve ever actually enjoyed a Róisín Murphy song (including “Overpowered”).
[8]

Edward Okulicz: “All my dreams come true” is supposed to be a description of a good state, so it’s unlikely anyone’s sung the words with such fright. You could take out all the drums, demented slap-bass and anything that could be interpreted as a topline and just leave the panting backing vocals and “All My Dreams” would be interesting, too.
[9]

Jibril Yassin: A sensual fever dream with plenty of the fever to match and by fever, I mean overwhelming cacophony of….everything.
[7]

Looking to earn your highest score as a lead artist since 2015? Simple! Just name your next song after a Street Fighter character and watch the points pile up…

[Video][Website]
[7.57]

Pedro João Santos: The quintessence of Nicki Minaj has always been her malleability: menacing, hard-edged in one minute, effervescently batshit in the other. This was best evidenced by the smörgåsbord of theatrical rap and faceless, exhilarating pop defined by Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded. The Pinkprint absorbed these phenomena through mellower Nicki’s confessionals, usual braggadocio and less ostensive sexuality. (See also: the power of a Grammy exorcism.) So it’s surprising to arrive at “Chun-Li” and see how she thrives best in the amalgamation of it all. It’s notably streamlined: acerbically cutting, antagonistic bars superimposed on a sharp, horn-punctuated beat. Yes, the greater instance of fanfare on this tough-as-nails ode to Bad Guy Nicki via Ninja Nicki is literal. The song not only excels by contravening her recent plaintive instincts and depending on her inexorable ferocity and competence — it earns an instant spot among her finest.
[9]

Alfred Soto: Unless a miracle happens, it’s already peaked in the top ten and falling. The best solo Minaj single in years, “Chun-Li” deserves to blast out of every car. Following “2 Chainz” with “ding dong” and a backdrop that incorporates a horn bleat and wobbly synth line will do it. “They need rappers like me” — don’t we ever.
[8]

Rachel Bowles: There’s no way this finesse was a coincidence, surely? I doubt anything the Queen of Rap does is by chance. If so, it hurts to know that my favourite rappers are warring but not to hear it. Though “Barbie Tingz” is my favourite of the two declarations, “Chun-Li” follows the same pinkprint: stripped back beats and Nicki’s incredible charisma and cadence. That understated purr — an iteration of her signature trill — is a divine touch. Lord knows we need rappers like her.
[10]

Tobi Tella: The Nicki Minaj-Cardi B comparisons irk me; just because there are now two mainstream females who are popular and undoubtedly rappers they have to be compared and pit against each other, while there are a million men in the rap game that sound the same. That said, I think having competition put some fire in Nicki, because comparing “Chun-Li” and the singles she released last year, there’s such a difference in the amount of passion put in. It’s an abrasive, aggressive song — exactly what anyone would come to listen to Minaj for. She gets in some great punchlines, and even the ones that don’t work (sorry, you can’t convince me that “Lara BEEN Croft” isn’t stupid) are delivered with so much fervor that you stay in the song’s energy until she drops another great line. It even has the trademark Nicki Minaj WTF moment, with her suddenly comparing herself to King Kong for about 30 seconds in the middle of the second verse. Nicki just delayed her album, but if it’s all the quality of this and “Barbie Tingz,” it’ll definitely be worth the wait.
[8]

Ryo Miyauchi: Nicki’s creative enough to craft her own cartoon voice instead of borrowing one from the most overdone movie in hip hop, but I suppose there are few out there that provides a better voice for the delusion of grandeur than Tony Montana’s. Sadly, though, “Chun-Li” finds Nicki more on the point closer to the fall than the rise to power. There’s a labored energy to elicit cleverness from the collage-like spread of references to rhyme schemes, as if to prove she’s yet to grow out of touch.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: The easy confidence Minaj exudes as she rides the boom-bap beat for about half of the run-time of “Chun-Li” is a delight. More hard punch than Spinning Bird Kick, but satisfying. But she sure runs out of steam some way through the second verse, repeating lines about King Kong, dropping a 2 Chainz-related clunker and eventually almost strangling the song in its last seconds with asking for a Wi-Fi password. It’s a pity, because she sounds primed for a fight, and the production is like barbed wire knuckles in velvet gloves.
[6]

Jonathan Bogart: Eight years between “let me get this straight, wait, I’m the rookie?” and “oh, I get it, they paintin’ me out to be the bad guy.” Well, sure. Not to endorse some facile “either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain” pop mythography, but one of the reasons Nicki has to work harder than any of her peers to maintain her credibility (well, besides sexism, or rather a nested subcategory within sexism, because none of this would apply if she wasn’t a woman) is her relentless pursuit of beef. Fight enough people, and at a certain point you’re no longer a ronin, just a bully. But God, nobody fights more entertainingly.
[7]

Wishful thinking! Try [5.60] out of ten…

[Video][Website]
[5.60]

Alex Clifton: I was annoyed that the Arctic Monkeys were not going to release any singles prior to the release of Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, and in one sense I think I was justified by that: it’s irritating whenever someone announces an album project well in advance and refuses to give a taste, especially when they hint it’ll go in a vastly different direction than previous work. On the other hand, after listening to the whole album, I get why they went that route: it’s really flipping weird to release singles from concept albums that are heavily dependent on the other tracks for context. Alex Turner’s gone from drunk greaser cowboy to sci-fi receptionist film buff, which is quite the transformation. It feels like a dreamier version of some of his work with The Last Shadow Puppets. As is the case with nearly everything Turner’s ever touched, the songwriting itself is pretty solid, but it runs a little long. Four out of five minutes would have done.
[7]

Iain Mew: Something clicked when I stopped thinking about Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino as This is Loungecore and considered it instead as a semi-successor to Super Furry Animals’ Rings Around the World. They both have communication and outer space as themes, but more important are a couple of key realisations both bands work with. The first is the potential surrealism of the routine. A couple of fantasy elements and lots of the very specific mundane can be much weirder and more evocative than fantasy alone: overpriced unreal estate; the well reviewed taqueria on the moon. Alex Turner’s gift for observational storytelling proves just as strong with the narrative squeezed down, phrases like “start your free trial today” and “four stars out of five” taking on a new life with room outside of context. The other related realisation, and the one which makes “Four out of Five” so powerful, is what to do with that blankness, that the melancholy emptiness of grandeur is best conveyed by focusing on crafting the grandeur. So as they build momentum from an acoustic space oddity to a sweeping epic, the original fuzzy riff lurks like a gaping maw below to offer a hint of precarity, but we keep looking up and up, the melody going round in smaller and increasingly spectacular circles. When the full magnificence of the structure is revealed and the guitar counterparts start bursting like fireworks in the sky, sparkling like dragonflies, the depth of the nothing behind it all turns crushingly poignant.
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Claire Biddles: The first time I encountered “Four out of Five” was via a screenshotted lyrics booklet excerpt — “hokey cokey with the opposite sex”, what overblown nonsense was this? I didn’t bother listening to the song; thought I already knew they’d lost it. Then Iain compared “Four out of Five” and the rest of Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino to the Super Furry Animals’ masterpiece Rings Around the World: both sonically and — crucially — in its cultivation of lyrical surrealism via juxtapositions of ordinary phrases and benign observations. Then I thought back to the time I saw Arctic Monkeys in a working men’s club in Barnsley in 2005, Alex Turner making dad jokes about bingo and “turns” between songs despite being written about in that week’s NME as mysterious and begrudging of their imminent fame. I remembered that they’ve always been funny, despite the kneejerk, convenient willingness (by me, among others) to paint them as either po-faced or purveyors of accidental Partridge-isms. I’m not sure if I love this version of Arctic Monkeys, but it’s fun to put in the work to uncover the irony in pop sometimes.
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Juan F. Carruyo : An Arctic Monkeys agnostic, I’ve watched them long outgrow the need for people like me. Their newest effort seems a concentrated effort to separate the loyal from the dilettantes, but it manages to keep enough of their DNA to keep it on brand. I find their obsession with James Dean unfortunate, and they’re one round-stage tour from becoming a U2-sized drag, but right now they’re merrily skirting the line between artful ambitions and commercial market value. They’re not hacking it out, either: the song shifts gears around two-thirds in. They’re expecting the listener to remain engaged that far into it. I did, so a success it is. 
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Stephen Eisermann: A stunning redirection, what begins as a somewhat familiar Arctic Monkeys takes a sharp left during the bridge and fully indulges in the theatrical sound. It’s exhilarating hearing the musical shift, all the while listening to a metaphoric sales pitch that reminds us just how prevalent capitalism is in modern society. This is artistic commentary done right. 
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Ryo Miyauchi: That greased-hair sleaze-ball look of AM fit so well on Alex Turner and co., though “Four out of Five” reminds it was only that: a look. Turner picks a rather obtuse one to reside in with this classic organ-pop. But at least it inspires him to loosens up a little than before, putting on that affect in his voice, like he wants to actually share how his new facial hair makes him look like a fool.
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Ian Mathers: We can see what you’re going for, sir, but we’re sad to report you just don’t have the range.
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Eleanor Graham: If I may quote a meme posted on the self-described “indie” group chat for gig-goers at my future university: “It’s easy to spot the Bowie influence on this new Arctic Monkeys album, because just like David himself, the songs on this record are fucking dead.”
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Vikram Joseph: In which the Arctic Monkeys reach for (being the first Beatles tribute act to play on) the moon, but land somewhere between the Addams Family theme tune and a creepy music-box playing “Lovecats.” Throw in some sub-Win Butler social commentary on advertising and consumer culture, and the overall effect is a genuinely bizarre lump of nauseating lounge psychedelia. Given that it’s also two minutes longer than it has any right to be, it’s a bonkers choice for a lead single — almost admirable, if it weren’t so irredeemably bad.
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Alfred Soto: Although I’m still sorting through my responses to an album that not only essays Something Different (at least from the arrangements) but comes from a band that inspires eye rolls from colleagues, “Four out of Five” was an instant earworm, thanks to the band’s usual and hence comforting harmonies and a chorus that Alex Turner doesn’t gulp or gargle. There can never be enough songs about penthouse taquerias in gentrified hotels. 
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