Less of a jam jam than “Bam Bam” but something we still enjoy enjoy…

[Video][Website]
[6.57]

Vikram Joseph: There might not be a lot to “Insecure” (its exploration of insecurity certainly doesn’t withstand much scrutiny), but as window dressing goes, this sort of gently simmering Latin pop is fairly appealing. Amara La Negra strays alarmingly close to pastiche at times, but, conversely, the verdant spray of flamenco guitar towards the end is probably the best thing about this.
[5]

Jonathan Bogart: If this was sung in Portuguese, it would be kizomba; if it was in French, it would be zouk. But English with a sprinkling of Spanish makes it just R&B with an odd shuffle in the rhythm and some “Latin” guitar.
[7]

Anjy Ou: The instruments bounce off the walls of the production, so it sounds more like Amara La Negra is singing to a room stripped bare of the trappings of a relationship, as opposed to one occupied by her lover. She explains her dilemma simply, with pop culture metaphors easy to grasp, as if speaking too plainly would hurt too much. (“Hold your cell phone tighter than me” is a sucker punch.) What drags the song down is its lacklustre chorus — it feels more like the performance of hurt than the experience of it.
[6]

Dorian Sinclair: Without delving too far into my own sordid romantic history, “At night when you’re falling asleep/Hold your cellphone tighter than me” is a very real couplet, one that captures a moment in a relationship that I’m not sure I’ve seen previously expressed so vividly and succinctly. Part of what makes it land so well, though, is the overall wistfulness that suffuses the production, from the distant fuzz at the beginning to the picked guitar at the close. Most of all, though, it’s present in Amara’s vocal, which provides the quiet resignation needed to really drive the song home.
[8]

Stephen Eisermann: A tad underproduced and slightly generic, but Amara really shines here. Her voice fills all the holes left behind by the lack of production, and her natural phrasing works flawlessly as she transitions between English and the Spanish words littered throughout. “Insecure” shows that her voice can pierce anything, and that’s quite a gift to have.
[6]

Iain Mew: There’s enough going on in the wordplay and language-switching that the first impression is of how smooth and controlled and playful she is. That lets the sadness really seep in and take hold over time too.
[7]

Alfred Soto: “Hold your cellphone tighter than me” is an insight for our times, and Amara ravishes it with a measured, throaty attention. Catty and coy, exposed yet defiant, she’s a pleasure to listen to.
[7]

Electropop outfit (not pictured) continue to fall in our good graces…

[Video][Website]
[6.33]

Will Adams: Kate Boy’s latest singles — “True Colours”; “Dopamin”; this — have inverted what we’ve come to expect from them. What was once electropop that shivered with potential energy and packed its sonic field with giant drums and octave-leaping arpeggios now sounds as if it’s been hollowed out, creating cavernous spaces for Kate Akhurst’s voice to reverberate. What remains is what they manage so well: confidence that is equal parts quiet and mysterious. Sonically, “Giants” may not seem to measure up, but the negative space created in this sonic shift is filled with that same potential.
[8]

Alfred Soto: The twitchy beat is the kind that renders most questions moot, like, “What is she singing about?”
[7]

Alex Clifton: The beat keeps pulling the rug out from under your feet — it stabilizes after a while, but I felt sea-sick for the first two minutes. I don’t mind feeling off-kilter, but this was a bit much for me.
[4]

Vikram Joseph: The glitchy intro promises much more than this delivers; this is frustratingly mundane Scandi pop, like Fever Ray with all of the edges sanded down, or Robyn on heavy-duty mood stabilisers. This sort of thing gives alt-pop a bad name, and in these turbulent times we really can’t be having that.
[4]

Katherine St Asaph: Five years ago, an alt-pop act emulating AlunaGeorge and Fever Ray would have been exhausting. In 2018, when the average alt-pop act has moved onto emulating the music from the speaker-rigged fake boulders, in a Sandals resort, that sounds fresh again. Some less-obvious influences, too — is that Peter Gabriel I kind of hear?
[7]

Ian Mathers: If you put “Giants” on an endless loop, I’d be hard pressed at any given time to tell where exactly we were in the song. Right now, without looking, I’m not sure I could tell you what its running time is. Sometimes, that is exactly what you need.
[8]

Indie pop singer and production duo (not pictured) respectively makes her Jukebox debut and returns with significantly less creepy lyrical content!!

[Video][Website]
[6.00]

Will Adams: Things to be grateful for today: CamelPhat putting out a song that isn’t horrifying to listen to; Au/Ra retaining lead billing, which these days sadly feels like a rare win; this remix, which adds some needed cachet to the genre of grooving, deep trance along the lines of Yotto or Cubicolor, even if it’s a slightly less memorable example.
[6]

Thomas Inskeep: This is a solid example of what, in the ’90s, we called “big room” music: something meant to reverberate in a packed club and turn it up to 10. And yet there’s no drop! CamelPhat’s remix shoves Au/Ra onto the dancefloor and makes it work. A little trancey, a little housey.
[6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: While Au/Ra provides the core of this — a vaguely drawn but evocatively sung horror story where the object of fear is the singer’s own anxiety — it’s the remix that elevates “Panic Room,” using skittering hi-hats and synth arpeggios to rescue the song from its sub-Halsey original track. It was too maudlin there (and in the obligatory guitar-and-strings acoustic version), but here, Au/Ra’s vocal performance gains a much needed urgency which provides enough adrenaline to forget a lyric that traffics heavily in cliche.
[7]

Stephen Eisermann: One of the few house tracks I’ve heard where the production works with the lyrics, rather than drowns them out. The noisy production fits with the anxiety ridden theme and by the end you simultaneously want to jump, dance harder, take deep breaths, and openly sob because it is all just too much.
[7]

Ramzi Awn: The production doesn’t do Au/Ra any favors on “Panic Room.” The tune hits its stride in the second verse, but unfortunately, it’s too little too late.  
[4]

Iain Mew: CamelPhat’s remix has an effective energy, but it’s more pulse-racing excitement than pulse-racing terror, which sits a little oddly with Au/Ra’s existing song. The two feelings mix easily enough, but end up somewhere celebratory enough to lose the potential for the horror to be much more than schlock subordinate to movement.
[6]

Will Rivitz: “Panic Room” seems a misnomer for this CamelPhat remix. A “panic room” implies a sudden shift in mental state, a flip into hysteria and terror; this track, breezy, weightless, and serene in its normalcy, would cause absolutely no change in whatever environment into which it might be introduced. It’s the ideal music to be piped into Zara or H&M, which constitute “panic rooms” only inasmuch as I tend to have a minor panic attack every time I see my receipt after checkout, but that’s my own damn fault, not the music’s. 
[6]

Why restrict yourself to one reggaeton star when you could be having two?

[Video][Website]
[5.17]

Anjy Ou: It’s strange how casual this song sounds when the lyrics are almost desperate. Turizo’s deep voice adds to the song’s sultry vibe, and Ozuna is almost impossibly smooth here. It’s rainy season where I am currently, so I’m not feeling particularly summery, but his song gets a comfortable, leisurely whine out of my underused hip joints. I can just about pretend I’m three hours and two drinks into a rooftop party under an easygoing sun, instead of dodging mini-rainstorms anytime I set foot outside.
[6]

Alfred Soto: The complementary heat generated between Turizo and Ozuna puts this over, as I found out at a Brickell bar in June; the dance floor was hot.
[5]

Jonathan Bogart: The colonization of Latin pop by reggaeton is almost complete. Fifteen years ago the generically handsome Manuel Turizo would have attempted a beefcake pop/rock career in the vein of Juanes or Luis Fonsi; now he affects a gruffness and rhythmic swagger that the silky-voiced Ozuna doesn’t need. But the ukelele-led rhythm (and the manic pixie dreamvideo) says everything about the social categories this song really means to slide into.
[7]

Ryo Miyauchi: Whereas his peers might bolster their ego to prove his worth, Ozuna’s wholesomeness continues to set him apart. His boyish croon adds a touch of innocence to his confessions, softening his feelings so his persistence won’t read too obsessive.
[5]

Katherine St Asaph: It’s a particular kind of frustration when multiple artists on a track are all trying quite hard and doing well more than par, yet the result still sounds generic.
[4]

Iain Mew: The best bits are when they add a bit of speed and attitude. The rest loses appeal not so much from the all-encompassing sweetness as from the fact that they sound like they’re leaving space for a Justin Bieber spot.
[4]

Hey, how you doing, sorry you can’t get through. Please don’t leave a voicemail; it’s 2018.

[Video][Website]
[3.83]

Katherine St Asaph: Tropical house: the unhappiest sound of them all.
[3]

Alfred Soto: Assignment: take early ABBA single, attach it to trop house beat, summon guest stars, sing vaguely Latin melody. 
[3]

Will Adams: Oh good, I was wondering what would happen if “Answerphone” had 40 per cent of the energy and an even more perfunctory rap verse.
[4]

Will Rivitz: In my experience, the absolute lowest scores on this website tend to be reserved for the offensively, thrillingly bad. I understand this tradition — on any value scale, the extremes should be reserved for things that inspire extreme emotion — but it tends to let songs like “Ring Ring” off easy. Its steel drum hook is flat, its repetition drab, and Mabel’s yawning delivery fits its instrumental perfectly. Rich the Kid (obligatory) provides a verse most charitably describable as “superfluous.”
[2]

Jonathan Bradley: I quite like when pop songs integrate tech into their narratives, since tech tends to be integrated into our lives, but these references to Uber and subterfuge revealed via Instagram form a tale so thin that the lyric could have come via Mabel scrolling through her apps on the way to the studio. At least Rich The Kid consults his emoji catalogue for inspiration: “If she bad, I’mma text the purple pickle” is inventive in a kind of numbskull way. 
[4]

Iain Mew: It’s good that someone’s smartly picking up on the kind of vivid, emotional dance-pop that Clean Bandit have started leading the way on — it’s not surprising to see that they have a producer in common in Mark Ralph. With Clean Bandit’s exceptional record on guest vocalists it’s difficult to imagine them making a mistake as big as going for Rich the Kid, though.
[7]

This is something we’ve had scheduled for a few weeks, though recent news has fixed it even more sharply in our minds…

[Video][Website]
[6.33]

Lauren Gilbert: Art is made by human beings. That’s what I keep coming back to, attempting to write a review of this track after Demi’s reported overdose. Art is made by human beings, and even though the haze of post-Disney channel pop and PR people and record execs, music is made by people.  And this is honest, in a way I hadn’t really expected — in a way I dismissed when it came out. It felt canned, sort of; I believed it more like “Tell Me You Love Me”‘s drama-in-song than a honest attempt to reach out and say “look, I fucked up.” There is (a lot) feeling behind this; even the clunkiest lines — “I wanna be a role model/but I’m only human” — reflect something real. But reality is messy, and sometimes the “best” art is not the most poignant art, or the “best” art only exists in the context of its release. And I wonder as I write this — would I give this song a [7] if Demi hadn’t overdosed? I don’t particularly like this as a track, even as I respect its candor. I feel it is important and valuable for those struggling with addiction to hear songs reflecting their experiences. There need to be more songs like this one (though preferably without the added relevance of an overdose); we need a music industry that is more honest, one that lets stars-that-aren’t-Lovato talk about mental health issues and sobriety and all of the hard stuff you can’t fully encapsulate in a three minute track.  And I both simultaneously believe Demi did something important — something, I suspect, people who have struggled with addiction saw the value in before I did — and that the track itself is kind of eh. As pieces of pop music go, this is far inferior to “Daddy Issues.” “Sober” isn’t that kind of song; it’s a marker of a moment in the life of a young woman. In some alternate timeline, “Sober” eould have been a press release or a topic discussed in a profile by Vanity Fair. She did a truly brave thing in showing the entire world that she might have scars and setbacks and still be struggling. I respect her for that, and I’ll be at her next concert tour (if she has one). I’ll cry when it’s played. But I won’t be crying because I love the song (generally, “could have been a press release” is not a compliment). I’ll cry for Demi and for all the people I know like her. And, really, for myself; for all the mistakes I’ve made and will make again, the times I’ve both disappointed my parents and myself, because I too am sorry.
[5]

Alex Clifton: “Sober” was already a difficult listen from Demi; it’s a very personal song, the kind someone writes when they’re unable to do anything other than rip out their heart wholesale. And then last week happened. Suddenly this song is even harder to listen to because I know it’s part of a far more active struggle. It’s tough to see pop stars, especially those placed so high, go through their own trials, but I’ve always appreciated how Demi has been open about her addiction and mental health struggles. She is a beautiful, imperfect human, and that’s one of the reasons why I like her. Do I think that this is the best song Demi’s released in her career? No,  but that’s because I’m not partial to ballads and I’ve always preferred  her pop music in general. But I’m proud that she wrote this and  released it; it’s a step towards healing, and I hope she heals soon.
[6]

Ramzi Awn: Seldom has there been a song so difficult to write about as “Sober.” For many reasons. Because it is so painful, and you have to actually listen to it to write about it. Because it is relatable, and you may not want to hear what it has to say. Because it was a cry for help, and Demi Lovato soon found herself in a hospital room after its release. But most of all, it is difficult to write about because it is so beautiful. Lovato has been apologizing for some time now. With the release of her album “Tell Me You Love Me,” she showed the world how to put a spin on shame, honesty and hurt. “Sober” is a devastating follow-up. In contrast to “Daddy Issues,” a song in which she celebrates the pain of the past, it does not celebrate. It admits the truth, and it isn’t perfect. But it’s unforgettable.   
[10]

Jonathan Bradley: Even when pop works to be unguarded, when its performers clothe themselves in candor, the form creates the expectation of mediation. Pop is performance, a series of artistic choices, and its truth is conditional, even when it is real. Hearing “Sober” after news of Lovato’s hospitalization following an apparent overdose is unsettling because it unmakes that inherent mediative accord; it makes voyeuristic the act of listening in on this woman’s frailty and guilt, as if we — or someone, somewhere along the way — were overstepping the bounds of decency by pressing play on a commercially released single promoted and disseminated by a multinational corporation. The frisson makes the song more gripping, but I’m not sure it actually makes it better. Lovato has scorched her art with the conflagration of personal crises at other troubled points in her life; it has made for some of the best music of her career. That I prefer “Skyscraper” to “Sober” doesn’t suggest that her misery then was more meaningful, just that the song she had at the time was more powerful.
[6]

Will Adams: Like “Everytime” and “Praying” before it, “Sober” is a difficult listen mostly because of the insurmountable obstacles pop stars face with the obligation to cope with trauma publicly but also in a way that produces a palatable pop song. And the bottom line is the same: what’s underneath the sentiment is a thousand times more raw than what a staid piano ballad offers. And perhaps that’s for the best.
[5]

Katherine St Asaph: Imagine Demi’s vocals over the first 30 seconds, rather than over the “Praying” model of piano ballad as a shorthand for pathos.
[3]

Alfred Soto: Events have transpired to give this apologia additional poignance, but even if the public had learned nothing about Demi Lovato’s ordeals, “Sober” comes from the Kesha and Christina Aguilera wing of confessional pop balladry: better sung, with Lovato’s unassailable presence. 
[6]

Danilo Bortoli: Sometimes context is everything. I don’t know how to tackle or read “Sober.” Since last week, suddenly, I don’t even know how to approach it. I also have no idea if it is opportunistic or dishonest (even hypocritical maybe) to listen to it differently now that everything has taken place so quickly and, also, because the signs now feel like they have always been present. What is clear is that “Sober” possesses a rare power, conjuring empathy which makes her saying “I’m lonely” more unbearable to hear. Maybe, again, listening without context would be better for anyone, but God knows that when Lovato admits her relapse, we admit our mea culpa. Society as a whole is obsessed with the broken and dead girl. If such a point matters, at least something tells me this is her “Family Portrait.” For better or for worse. 
[8]

Stephen Eisermann: I’m so sorry, Demi. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but it sounds like it hurts. It sounds like you don’t know what’s happening and you don’t know how to take control, but please don’t apologize. Hearing you apologize breaks my heart because I know you don’t control this and that, if you had the option, you’d choose to beat this. Above all else though, Demi, I’m sorry that you felt like you had to release this. This song sounds less like something you wanted heard and more like something you thought that your fans, friends, and family were owed. It couldn’t have been easy, as your vocal tics indicate, and hearing your voice crack and give out during certain parts is especially difficult to listen to. Get better, Demi, you’ve got a world supporting you.
[8]

Sorry Twice… we usually love you but not today!

[Video][Website]
[4.17]

Iain Mew: It’s weird hearing a Twice track where the biggest hook is an instrumental one, even ahead of the “la la la” version of it they lead off with. The vocals are remarkably low impact throughout, but the verses are saved from being a total non-event by the cracked mirror reflection of the hook in the digital scree behind them, a very Twice touch of the unexpected.
[6]

Ryo Miyauchi: While their signature style can be traced in the fat synth-bass as well as the moments given to Momo, this is mostly a record separate from the rest of Twice’s universe. Once the season is over, we can shelve this away for good. But in the time being, it’s a cute little slice of novelty that imagines the group as an act that favors more conservative EDM-pop than their usual choice of hyperactive, kitchen-sink dance tracks.
[5]

Thomas Inskeep: Oh, no: it’s K-trop house. And it’s not good. At all. It’s cutesy-poop.
[1]

Alfred Soto: The trop house tropes turn inject more sentimentality than I can tolerate, and the track isn’t fast enough to compensate.
[4]

Katherine St Asaph: Answers the question “what if Calvin Harris did a children’s TV theme in 2011?”
[3]

Juana Giaimo: This is a fun track, especially because it is very dynamic: it features a house-like beat, a rapped bridge, cheerleader chants, and also a false trumpet, which is the catchiest element of the chorus. However, all of it lacks a bit of intensity — it is too neat, as if it was the music of an touristic trip advertisement.
[6]

No, too vague!

[Video][Website]
[2.86]

Alfred Soto: I suppose Meredith Brooks’ “Bitch” needed twenty years to seep into another generation’s gimmicky songwriting.
[4]

Katherine St Asaph: There’s a distinctive strain in pop, from “Criminal” to Born to Die, of women confessing their messes — a strain that always teeters on the edge of exploitative. But this is also a little unnecessarily gendered; “I’m a Mess” resembles nothing more than the very dudely “Stressed Out.” Well, that and “Bitch” minus the glee, plus “New Rules” minus the part with the rules. It’s about as good as that sounds.
[4]

Will Adams: I’d figured Rexha a smarter songwriter than needing nostalgia swipes to sell a chorus. And despite her professions of advocacy about mental health, it’s a bit eyebrow-raising when said advocacy involves an asylum chic video. But mainly, “I’m a Mess” falters compared to the overlooked “I’m Gonna Show You Crazy,” which was more nuanced and sympathetic to its protagonist.
[4]

Alex Clifton: Here’s a list of things I was reminded of while watching the lyric video for this song: “Bitch,” obviously; Ed Sheeran singing about his own “mess”; “I’m a mess, but the mess that you wanted”; a Yellowcard song with the line “everything’s gonna be alright” that’s not sung entirely the same way, but I still had to pause to figure out where I’d heard that line from; the lyric video for Troye Sivan’s “Bloom,” which also has one of those horrendous shiny lanky doll-people; and “Love Myself” and “Solo,” two better songs about self-love. Yeah, Bebe, this is a mess.
[3]

Ramzi Awn: It’s hard to tell whether it’s the vocal performance or the vocal production that sounds wrong on “I’m a Mess,” but either way, the mundane lyrics shine through. Every day, more and more songs find a way to celebrate the pain of desperate love, but this isn’t one of them. The only painful thing here is the music. 
[0]

Hazel Southwell: Especially with the revelation that Bebe Rexha is the worst, her annoying voice is even more annoying. If this song was delivered with the steely, wounded aggression another singer could put into it, rather than the breathy baby-voice of Rexha it would actually be a more-than-decent pop song but it takes a maturity and self-awareness she’s totally unwilling to show anywhere. 
[4]

Stephen Eisermann: It’s so weird, but if I pinch my nose and sing I sound just like Bebe. Does that make me a mess, too?
[1]

Not so magical…

[Video][Website]
[4.83]

Juana Giaimo: Many people were disappointed by Childish Gambino’s follow-up songs to “This Is America”. However, listening to “Because the Internet”, you can find this juxtaposition of aggressive rap and pop melodies. Love and politics are both present in the album and, therefore, “Summertime Magic” shouldn’t be surprising. I’m glad he left behind the psychedelic falsetto and approached singing with the intensity of pop. “You are my only one/just dancing, having fun” could be a Carly Rae Jepsen line — the kind of lyrics that are straightforward and passionate. When the beat appears in the first chorus, the whole song changes: the tension diminishes and it all flows more relaxed — as when you suddenly realize that the other person is having fun with you too and that there is no need to worry. 
[8]

Tim de Reuse: The twanging synths and lanky rhythm of the instrumental communicate a sense of endless summer orders of magnitude more efficiently than do Glover’s aimless vocals. There’s a certain brashness in rhyming “only one,” “having fun,” and “shining sun” in a song that’s not aiming for surf-rock parody, which one could interpret as a kind of sincerity, but the rest of the song is far too self-seriously pristine to stoop to anything so endearingly goofy; no, I think it’s just some damn awful writing.
[4]

Thomas Inskeep: Well, he’s not getting to #1 with this limp wanna-be-Drake track, that’s for sure.
[3]

Will Adams: Given how “This Is America” positioned itself as satire, I wonder if this is also parody, between the plodding steel drums, moon/June/spoon rhymes and hokey rain stick sounds. The synth play in the last thirty seconds is a welcome change that offers a different spin on what “summer” sounds like — too bad it takes until then to really enjoy it.
[5]

Alfred Soto: I’m a sucker for bleeping backing tracks like this, and I can hear the intellectual challenge of a performer as, uh, present as Childish Gambino seeking anonymity, but “Summertime Magic” isn’t quite magical and very far from summer: an experiment in affectless cool.
[4]

Stephen Eisermann: Childish Gambino is a master of style. His music is almost always atmospheric, working to evoke a particular feeling or memory from the listener; but while it always makes the music interesting, at some point it becomes style over substance. Here, the production and repetitive chorus take me back to late nights at the club in Rosarito beach, but the music that plays in my memory fits better than this song – a song that feels like little more than well-made interlude. 
[5]

Because that pussy is currently underemployed in the gig economy?

[Video][Website]
[5.90]

Nortey Dowuona: Through sharp, clanging sirens, slipping synth bass and a continuous chant of “work this pussy,” Teyana strides through, unbothered. Mykki Blanco shouts encouragement from the DJ booth.
[7]

Adaora Ede: Yeah, we got spammed with “The Weekend” every 30 seconds by urban radio last summer but where are the black female powerhouses that aren’t Beyonce or Rihanna because frankly Beyonce’s in a league of her own and Rihanna’s a pop musician but that’s a discussion for a whole ‘nother 150 words? No fear, Teyana Taylor is here! Taylor’s career has gone the route of the long-forgotten forum of traditional Black RnB artists: sexy urban pop made for a Jeremih feature to “oh look, I listened to ‘Losing You’ religiously in 2013 too!” phase , and now she’s a gay icon (?). “WTP”‘s instrumentation probably has the aim of much of Azealia Banks’ 1991 era work: danceable house meant to be swayed and sashayed to. Teyana’s vocals are divaesque but are wasted on ONE sung verse and what else but a “Paris is Burning clip” — how revolutionary. Teyana Taylor is all image, and not much musicality, and it works for her; she strains her voice powerfully in this subtle ode to her sexuality — but she’s put herself into an uninspired box that she will find hard to leave.
[4]

Micha Cavaseno: The less said about the calamity that is GOOD Music’s handling of K.T.S.E. the better in some respects. Musically on the other hand, it is either a wildly uneven album made by an artist who’s been constantly shepherded from distracted super-producer to distracted super-producer who can’t really help cultivate her identity for a full project, or an album where any potential highlights have been marred by Kanye-type fuckery regarding sequencing. “WTP” is easily somehow the most fully realized song, a vogue-ready throwback R&B/House track that both echoes Kanye’s half-discarded interest in house and of course, the other exhaustible Gemini wonder of the rap world, Azealia Banks. In spite of that, she still remains an incredibly minimal part of her own song, and this (along with K.T.S.E. in general) does little to finally unveil who Teyana Taylor is to a music world that’s never gotten a straight answer about that.
[4]

Alfred Soto: A throwback to early nineties big city house, and not without its charms (Teyana even sounds like Ru Paul), but it’s as if it’s trying to remain as anonymous as possible. 
[5]

Thomas Inskeep: Featuring contributions from Mykki Blanco and a sample of Octavia St. Laurent from Paris Is Burning — not to mention a title like “WTP,” which stands for “Work This Pussy” — not only is this wildly unexpected to come from Kanye’s Project Wyoming, it’s also absolutely destined to be used in some form on the next season of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Not to mention to potentially become a vogue classic of 2018. Some will suggest there’s not enough there here; I’ll respond that that’s not the fucking point. This is a song for the runway, darlings. Period. And in that regard, it works expertly. 
[8]

Katherine St Asaph: A sleek bit of ballroom house that tells me precisely zero about who Teyana Taylor is, let alone convince me she’s a “motherfucking international sensation.” Her voice is unexpected, husky and bothered — and the exact opposite of insouciant, which is what this needs.
[6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: As a homage to some of the most vital movements in New York LGBTQ culture? Excellent. As an exercise in carving out an identity for a relatively anonymous singer? Perfectly Struck. As a song? kind of annoying, tbh.
[6]

Will Adams: Knowing what we now know about K.T.S.E. — that it was yet another in a series of albums that confuse “sloppy” and “literally unfinished” for “raw” and “unfiltered” — “WTP” is even more of a letdown. It could have been the unexpected house stormer to close out an otherwise sturdy soul record. Instead we get a 2:47 snippet held together by staples in which the “work this! pussy” hook drops in and out jarringly, glorious piano stabs appear in the last eight seconds, and Taylor — who I believe has lots to say — is saddled with the mess.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: The hard-house 90s sound of “WTP” is a delight — all stabs and crashes and hits. It’s a little bit exhausting, but it’s short enough not to outstay its welcome, but even its short run time feels padded. It almost feels like a parody of what a female artist pandering to what I suspect is a largely gay fanbase would come out with. On the other hand, I am a largely gay fanbase, so:
[6]

Jonathan Bradley: Crashes into life as a sparse and filthy Bounce & B extravaganza, Taylor’s voice lazing over old-school cuts and stutters, before turning into a classic Chicago house banger when the beat really kicks in. Which is also good. 
[8]