In which we remember the times…

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[4.57]

Thomas Inskeep: Well, that’s certainly a way to make me sit up and take notice, interpolating not one but two Michael Jackson songs, both “You Rock My World” and “Remember the Time,” in a single 2:59 record. On top of that, what ABWDH does with “Remember” is a vocal interpolation-cum-interpretation of one of of MJ’s classic vocal vamps! His voice is kinda thin and reedy, so anything he can do to detract from that is wise. The track itself is on the minimalist side. But what Hoodie does with those MJ tracks keeps pulling me back.
[6]

Edward Okulicz: Takes an indelible MJ classic and an also-ran that I’d bet most radio listeners couldn’t recall the melody of and does a pretty great job at making something new out of them. The bleeps in the verses have a sad quality to them, and the Mustard-esque bass gives it a nice low end to bop to. So it’s a jumble of sources and moods and I like all of them while not having a clue whether A Boogie really has the charisma to pull something this audacious enough, or if it’s such a bravado bit of thievery that he doesn’t need to.
[8]

Alfred Soto: “Hoodie low but I stay focused,” the new star avers over two Michael Jackson interpolations, including scat. I suppose we’ve entered the phase of Soundcloud rap in which an intimation of a trap beat and the gumption to imitate one’s forebears is enough to cohere into a single. 
[5]

Ryo Miyauchi: There’s subtraction, and then there’s simply being unfinished. The gritty reboot of a post-Mustard beat tries to inject some menace into A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie’s lifestyle as a wanted man, but it feels way too grey and vacant to express anything. The production’s rote momentum also does no favors to remedy the song’s lack of structure. I just want to drag the first verse to the top, add a kick drum to cue its start, or a dozen of other things to help this thing get off the ground.
[4]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Not sure how much A Boogie matters here; “Look Back At It” gets by on Jahaan Sweet’s fog-shrouded production and the “Remember the Time” interpolation. Even A Boogie seems to understand how much the tongue rolls and “da da da”‘s carry this given that their vibrant staccatos are a complete contrast to the listless performance he gives elsewhere.
[3]

Will Rivitz: This would have been a boring Mustard beat even when Mustard beats were interesting.
[4]

Katherine St Asaph: Makes one long for the relative gentlemanliness, vocal suaveness, and respect for Michael Jackson samples of Fucking Drake.
[2]

Yeah sure you are.

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[3.62]

Iris Xie: Deep down, I’m kind of an optimist. That’s why I pushed through a solid minute of ambivalent hope, waiting for something better… then I heard the goofy horns, and then I questioned why I even tried. This is blue eyed soul without much soul, set to EDM. Calvin Harris remains very skilled at using elements of soul and house music without doing much to give back to either medium. It’s also a shitty Instagram filter of a song, one that turns the world discolored and distorted. I’m just gonna go listen to Gorgon City’s “Go All Night” featuring Jennifer Hudson instead for a much better execution of this concept, with big vocals and a celebratory production to match, which also doesn’t use Ylvis’s scatting, blubbery fox to make a fucking bridge. Argh.
[1]

Thomas Inskeep: Oh yay, it’s RNBM doing his “I’m a gospel singer” bit (spoiler alert: YOU’RE NOT, you’re a big white British guy) while Harris attempts to build an “uplifting,” “inspiring” club track around him, and I spend the 3:48 trying to choke back vomit.
[1]

Alfred Soto: The organ peels and house piano aren’t disqualifying, not when they do their best to offset the gospel bigness. Calvin Harris is trying after a decade of Eurodisco folderol, despite a constitutional incapacity for picking collaborators.
[4]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Rag’n’Bone Man explained that “Giant” is about the eventual role reversal between child and parent — how there comes a time when one will take care of the ones who raised them. The first verse begins with him creating an image of a divorced parent and the antidepressants they’re taking as a result. “I would be nothing without you holding me up” he explains immediately after, following it up with the new truth that is “Now I’m strong enough for both of us.” There’s a mutual learning and growth that occurs now, but the “standing on the shoulders of giants” metaphor has an implicit chronological component that doesn’t suit the sentiment here, especially since Rag’n’Bone Man calls himself the giant. At the very least, this turn of phrase shouldn’t be coupled with a line as corny as “We’ll be breaking boulders beneath our feet.” The horn-filled instrumental breaks are as ill-conceived as the lyrics.
[2]

Juana Giaimo: Rag’n’Bone Man said that he wrote this song four years ago but never found the right production until Calvin Harris appeared. However, it is in the beginning, when you still can’t hear the typical DJ tricks, that I can hear the deep feelings of fear, loneliness and willingness to fight. Then the keyboards and steady beat and the jazzy drop appears and, although the song still feels powerful, that unsteadiness and tension of the beginning is lost. 
[6]

Will Adams: I enjoy how present the horns are. Harris spreads them across the stereo field and keeps the backing nimble, allowing their textures to really cut through. It’s too bad you have to trudge through Rag’n’Bone Man bellowing platitudes to get to it.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: Every time I feel myself succumbing to Calvin Harris’s gaudy but effective populism, he does something gross like put Rag’n’Bone Man and his Serious Tasteful Man Singing over it and ruins the effect. This backing track should have enclosed a jaunty trifle, instead it’s got a song that puffs its chest out, or arches its back and sticks its tail up to look bigger than it is. I like my good bad taste to be bereft of bad good taste.
[3]

Scott Mildenhall: Classically Calvin Harris, with the bonus feature of Comedy Brass Noises and Soul Organ Soupçons. When your every other single is a reprise of your greatest hits, the ever mutating construction of a monument to your achievements, such a statement of self-actualisation is fitting, as well as inclusive. The man never ceases to find ways to repaint the wheel, and for this rootle through Rag’n’Bone Man’s bins, long may his reign continue.
[7]

We care that she doesn’t care.

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[7.30]

Crystal Leww: The comparisons to Yaeji are going to come for both good and bad reasons for Park Hye Jin, so let’s break it down: musically, the sparse house production and mixture of English and Korean singing and rapping really works — similar to Yaeji. Aesthetically, Yaeji put everything together into the most assured live show I saw in 2018, and it’s clear that her vision for her music is the picture perfect, movie version ideal of what nightlife in New York City is supposed to look and feel like. I’m hoping that Park Hye Jin is able to string it all together in the same way because this really pops off in a different way — a dreamy, eyes half closed sway but feet still moving for the 6am come down. The rave is rising through windows at the rave, but this makes it feel boundless. 
[7]

Pedro João Santos: A stunning primer for Hye Jin’s EP, one that’s cerebral yet light, placing deadpan vocals against unrelenting beats and flourishing harmonies. It’s transparent and oxygenated to taste.
[8]

Iris Xie: There is a feeling of a slow, wakening emergence with the intro of this song. The pulsing beats, the chimes and twinkles, and Park Hye Jin talking about how she doesn’t care, and continually restates it even underneath the pressure of a murmuring and judging crowd. The song builds on that environment, and it ends up being a mesmerizing and motivational cadence: “In my life I can hope for anything/I believe in myself, I believe in myself.” In contrast with other future-aesthetic productions that use aggressive and obnoxious synth arrangements to demonstrate a take-charge attitude (similar to Kylie Minogue’s “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head”), Park Hye Jin chooses a restrained elegance to convey her firm, quiet defiance. Specifically, when the cymbals and pulses come in louder and swirl around her chants, the interplay between her voice and the instruments creates a steady, hypnotic repetition that pulls you into her atmosphere. Additionally, the sparse instrumentation allows her vocals to breathe and echo, and it flows coolly like water over the production, creating an energy of quiet defiance. Even as the instruments fill in to become more bold, the ease is never diverted from its course. There’s no need to question if the future is coming — you’re enjoying it already, without concerns, because it’s a future of your own making. “I don’t care, it’s my life.”
[8]

Thomas Inskeep: Hot-shit Korean deep house, with lots of tricky little touches and a protracted, long intro. Jin is one to watch, for certain.
[8]

Ryo Miyauchi: Park’s voice is sort of snappy, a bite more reinforced through the song’s crisp four-on-the-floor kicks, but it also deflates with doubt. The faint synths pace back and forth, as if caught trying to work through some heavy thoughts. “I Don’t Care” overall hangs on to confidence as a way of self-defense but not without revealing some of the insecurity underneath it, and its mood lies lies in a grey area that sounds more true to how one might feel trying to embrace the song’s titular phrase.
[6]

Tim de Reuse: It’s awfully sparse, which irked me on first listen, but I can’t say that it feels unfinished. It’s sparse as a deliberate, stylistic choice: an exercise in fine-tuned production over a scant handful of elements that it really wants you to feel. And, yeah, I feel it, for the most part; I love the obnoxiously wide stereo effect on the hats, the relative dryness of the vocals, and how shy that twinkly descending synth line stays even when it’s thoroughly in the background. When all the elements are in lock-step underneath Park Hye Jin’s infectiously straightforward delivery, you can see exactly what she was going for, and you can see that she more or less nailed it, even though I might have preferred a shorter runtime overall.
[7]

Alfred Soto: House can accommodate singers with personality burst to overflowing. It also accommodates singers who sound like every other person who experiences loneliness, fear, lust. “I Don’t Care” on first listen has the stolidness of carved wood. Then Park Hye Jin murmurs suggestive lyrics; the result is sultry and intoxicating. Give it time in the living room, though.
[7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Deep house like this is always impossible to deny, even if every single element is well-trod and overly familiar. Still, Park Hye Jin’s able to make “I Don’t Care” alluring because of its conceit. The intro finds her repeatedly stating that she’s going to do what she wants, and she delivers such lines in manners both irritated (as if provoked by someone else) and calm. Throughout the track, the repeated recitation of these and other phrases (“I believe in myself, I believe in myself…”) acts as a reminder that the dancefloor is a welcome host to all suffering, insecurity, and desire. As the warmth of the synth pads blanket the thudding kick drums, Park takes on a more firm tone, ensuring that every syllable is clearly heard. In her deliberate vocalizing is a familiar sound: that of the Asian woman who’s tired of being perpetually undervalued, of never being taken seriously.
[6]

Ramzi Awn: The synth pad on “I Don’t Care” has a way of elevating your body chemistry, and Park Hye Jin’s voice is soft and hard at the same time. The sound is so subtle, it’s more a vision than a song. Ambient, deep house and organic-market pop all at once.   
[9]

Will Rivitz: The obvious comparison point to Park Hye Jin’s rising star, on the surface, is that of New York’s Yaeji, in that both are female Korean DJs and vocalists tenaciously making waves in a deep house world that, by and large, is markedly neither female nor Korean. In this case, however, the thinly-veiled bigotry that leads to boxing musicians in more by race and gender than by sound happens to broken-clock its way into a twice-a-day accurate observation. “I Don’t Care,” like Kathy Lee’s best work, is a lushly lo-fi four-on-the-floor banger, moody synth work tied to this physical plane by biting drums and vocals. The rasp and crunch of Park’s kicks and hi-hats breathes life into otherwise flat chords, ensuring that the song’s proper place remains the dancefloor.
[7]

Not — and I cannot emphasize enough how I will never tire of this joke — an Icona Pop cover…

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[5.62]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Ever since “As I Am,” I was convinced of Kehlani’s talent for making great R&B music. Her secret? Knowing how to make every word out of her mouth, whether elated or desperate or jaded or pissed, sound frank and personal. Even at her most stately, Kehlani’s less an untouchable superstar than a familiar friend. “Nights Like This” is no different, with each line sounding like a spewing of pent-up thoughts that land on a final, exasperated realization: “You gon’ get my hopes high, girl.” The production is too familiar to be exciting, but Kehlani makes it sound like a candid heart-to-heart. The question on everyone’s mind: so why’s Ty here?
[6]

Camille Nibungco: Beyond her incredible vocals, Kehlani has a gift for delivering weakness, vulnerability, and self-awareness within the swagger and seduction of contemporary R&B. “Nights Like This” is a continuation of this on-brand sound and vision, but could have done without Ty’s feature.
[7]

Alex Clifton: Some days it feels foreign to have more queer-friendly songs playing on the radio, but in a good way; it’s nice that Kehlani is singing about a failed relationship with a woman without batting an eyelid. It’s too bad the song itself is boring. Ty Dolla $ign makes for a welcome addition during the last chorus and his voice blends well with Kehlani’s, but it says a lot that I was way more invested in the narrative of the music video than the actual song.
[4]

Julian Axelrod: Kehlani’s been gone just long enough for her influence to seep into the water. So when I say this sounds like seven other songs, it’s really a testament to her skills. Of course, her pointed use of pronouns adds pathos in the corners most singers leave unattended. That puts my beloved Ty Dolla $ign in a tough spot: He’s never unwelcome, but here he’s definitely unnecessary. Consider him proof that no one does Kehlani like Kehlani.
[7]

Thomas Inskeep: I know that people rep hard for Kehlani, but I’ve never quite understood why. Everything I’ve heard of hers is more average than anything. And the tenor of her voice, slightly piercing, is mighty nails/chalkboard to my ears; “Nights Like This” is no exception.
[4]

Alfred Soto: The lyrics and melodies are rote, but once again Kehlani approaches the problem with the sense of a real person: like Vanessa Williams, Rosanne Cash, or Janet, she sings like a normal person enduring recognizable emotions. “Nights Like This” works at this level, and it’s enough.
[6]

Ian Mathers: The oscillation between the itemized list of reasons why going back is a (proven! known!) bad idea and “if I call, would you pick it up?” is evergreen, and Kehlani gives a rich, regretful spin on it. Ty Dolla $ign adds roughly nothing, but doesn’t really detract from proceedings either.
[7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Both of them can do so much better than this, and it shows — especially in the final moments of “Nights Like This,” where both Kehlani and Ty show off their supreme talents for luxurious drama. But instead the song is mostly a loss, two artists straining against a limited frame.
[4]

SECONDS SINCE OUR LAST MENTIONING DRAKE: 0

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[5.43]

Alfred Soto: “Bad Bunny going Drake” was an inevitability that nevertheless should not have happened.
[4]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: A more succinct “Te Boté (Remix),” which is good for anyone who doesn’t have seven minutes to spare. You can hear the petulance resound in Bad Bunny’s wails, and the defeated insecurity is ever-present in the reverbed keys and slow shuffle of the reggaeton beat. A “Dreams and Nightmares“-like tonal shift finds Bad Bunny changing into an expectant party mode to forget his relationship troubles, and the changing utility of the plinking music box signals it well. The sequence may be unconvincing, but the hollowness that persists through this jubilant section has a welcome poignance.
[5]

Thomas Inskeep: You know what I don’t listen to Bad Bunny for, generally? Ballads. (“Amorfoda” excepted.) Guess what this is. And it’s a whiny-sounding ballad, at that.
[3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Languid and beautiful for the exact amount of time (2:15) it takes me to get bored with that, at which point an air raid siren goes off and Bad Bunny shifts into gear, dancing around a kalimba-driven trap beat with aplomb. It’s the rare slow burn that doesn’t make me want to just skip to the fireworks.
[7]

Crystal Leww: Ah yes — the dichotomy of Bad Bunny, the sensitive boy and the turn up brat. 
[7]

Ryo Miyauchi: Though Bad Bunny dresses “Solo de Mi” up in his own style as much as he can, it still feels like a break-up song inspired by Drake. The slowed-down dembow beat and a faint pad of pianos set up a “dancing on my own” effect — self-indulgence from heartbreak. Bad Bunny’s rap, meanwhile, grows vengeful as the verse progresses, with his melody and vocal cracks softening his pointed anger and making it sound like a sad-boy confessional. The track then breaks out of its emo shell and switches into a turn-up portion like his own “Sicko Mode,” removing all reason to believe this is any different from the break-up songs by the other self-obsessed playboys.
[6]

Ramzi Awn: You can hear the pain in Bad Bunny’s voice, and it’s no question he hit on something in “Solo de Mi,” the long, drawn-out notes emphasizing his sadness in their downward turn. You can also hear why he has collaborated with Drake: the clear penchant for melody and the shuffling beat make for a sensible addition to 2019. Had he taken it to the next level, “Solo do Mi” would sound less like a B-side from Take Care, and more like the future.    
[6]

A perhaps-surprising entry in our 2019 top scorers: this Icelandic rap track. Note: Does not involve TashBed.

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[7.12]

Scott Mildenhall: Transcribed lyrics are lacking for “Næsta”, but there’s no need for diligently copying the eths and thorns of the ones overlain on the video into Google Translate because the TV show it came from has been given English subtitles. That show is Iceland’s hugely popular satirical New Year TV special, Áramótaskaup, for which this song recently formed the finale. It’s a densely political but ever self-aware reflexive roast, performed by an ensemble led by the (mostly ceremonial) president’s rapper nephew: at once celebratory, knowing and banging. In 2002, 95.5% of Iceland’s population watched Áramótaskaup, and on this showing, fair enough.
[8]

Iain Mew: Getting a fragmented, competitive live travelogue (Did you mean: Travelodge). Sitting on board a colourful electronic vehicle. There’s no time to explore. The surroundings are cool but there’s no time to explore. Always a pivot to the next stop. “Now on your left, a chilled sung section.” “We’re approaching a fantastic example of Europop rapping of the classic school.” Everything sounds familiar but nothing sounds familiar. There’s no time to think. Always a pivot to the next stop. “Alright, do any of you like Big Bang?” “Hang on, I think I’m getting some interference in my headphones…”
[7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: JóiPé, Króli, and SZK are all mediocre rappers who haven’t released anything of note, but their best songs are all pop-rap (though the dated RnBass tracks are horrific). It’s not surprising then that they whipped up a decent track in “Næsta,” one of the most unabashedly pop songs in any of their catalogues. GDRN makes MOR R&B, but her verse here makes the instrumentation feel super slick, and her silky vocals are sorely missed the moment they disappear. But she — like everyone else — wouldn’t be able to hold interest for all four and a half of these minutes. “Næsta” succeeds, though, because its singers and rappers’ flaws are less perceptible because of their limited presence. More importantly, the song trusts in its infectious chorus. The final one has a punchier synth bass, sounding like a small but earned celebration.
[6]

Ryo Miyauchi: The rappers answer to the sunny and sticky beat, a four-on-the-floor creation that reminds me of an MP3 during the bloghaus era. The slightly retro sheen gets scrubbed away toward the end with a buzzsaw bass line and a warped vocal solo that sends “Næsta” back to the current timeline. That rougher section deserves a house-pop single to itself.
[6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The beat is the kind of coolly generic dance music that makes me expect a paint-by-numbers effort– some slick vocals or a hit of rap. Instead, this Icelandic track gets weird. There are movements here– sung vocals to raps to more, shoutier raps all fitting together with the charm and confusion of watching someone else’s friendly in-jokes.
[7]

Iris Xie: I just want to grab a friend and make a lipsync video to this, it is so ridiculous. I might come off as Dr. Frankenstein here, but this sounds like a 2019 update of BIGBANG and 2NE1’s Lollipop, boosted with the vocal phrasings from a Naruto theme song (Sambomaster – “Seishun Kyousoukyoku”) and the speedy, alternating raps from one of the funnest SHINee songs (“Love Still Goes On“). The DNA of all of these songs share a devotion to the ludicrous, carefree side of pop music, where the only thing that matters is how purely and completely you can express your excitement and earnestness. Like, what is going on from 2:20 to 3:00? That vocalist is just riding on a steady marching beat melody with variations, before it just launches into a full force autotuned adlib before going back into the hook. The hell was that?! 
[8]

Thomas Inskeep: Four voices rapping and singing, easygoing electropop beats, plenty of space for the track to breathe, and an elastic, bouncing bridge: combine it all and you get a pretty damned good pop record from Iceland.
[7]

Edward Okulicz: I love the entirety of this song, but I’m not sure if I like each part of it on merit, or if I’m just transfixed by the verse that sounds, I swear to god, like the guy from the (Norwegian, not Icelandic) Grandiosa Lørdagspizza commercial doing the verses to the Bloodhound Gang’s “Mope.” But really, you’ve got four artists who do their own thing and a track that mutates to match and keep the interest throughout. I can’t ask for too much more from a breezy Europop-rap hit. Well, there’s more if you dive into the lyrics, but I didn’t need to.
[8]

Doesn’t go down easy…

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[4.25]Hannah Jocelyn: FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Celebrating the 13th anniversary of Three Days Grace’s One-X, the band presents a 2019 remix of “Never Too Late” by Greg Kurstin, reworked with unused verses from the band’s earlier single “I Hate Everything About You.” With gems like “Some people are a lot like clouds you know/’cause life’s so much brighter when they go” and the not-at-all-confusing “I can’t save you from yourself/when all you give a shit about is everybody else” fans will discover everything they loved about Three Days Grace, but updated for a new era. TDG is set to go on tour this summer with Breathe Carolina (performing “Blackout” 8 times) and Cobra Starship (exclusively performing “Good Girls Go Bad” 7 times, with “You Make Me Feel…” in the middle, “It’s Not Unusual” style.) They will all be opening for PVRIS, who one writer for the Singles Jukebox proclaims “makes the prospect of a pop Bring Me The Horizon mostly redundant.”
[6]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Bring Me The Horizon’s shift towards straight-ahead pop rock isn’t terribly surprising given the terminal state of 2000s-style metalcore and the pop sensibility they showcased on “The Sadness Will Never End,” “Fuck,” and the entirety of their last two albums. The whiny tone and aggressively clichéd lyrics allow this to feel like emo-adjacent pop punk for The Chainsmokers generation (that pre-chorus instinctively has me singing “Closer” before Oli’s vocals come in) but the song spends too much time stewing in its emotions without letting it be the in-your-face melodrama that it needs to be. Music like this has to sell its angst in the most visceral of manners. If it doesn’t, it just sounds embarrassingly tepid and awkwardly juvenile.
[3]

Will Adams: That the hilarious opening line about clouds gets repeated twice more — at the start of the second verse and as the last words of the song — takes this from embarrassing to fascinating. Still, there’s a lot of mileage to be found in emo that has a bright pop-rock sheen, hooks galore and a vocalist who’s up to the challenge. Put another way, songs like this are much easier to enjoy when they’re not by The Chainsmokers.
[7]

Thomas Inskeep: Aren’t BMTH supposed to be making aggressive, angsty emo? Because “Medicine” sounds like a barely-angrier Maroon 5 or something, with its wimpy a) synth drums b) vocals c) production d) all of the fucking above. This is Kidz Bop emo, and BMTH should be ashamed.
[2]

Katherine St Asaph: I have listened to too many Digital Daggers songs to dislike this, although it’d be better by them. Or (RIP) Cherri Bomb, or Pvris (or, RIP, Paramore when they still sounded like that), or hell, even Halsey or P!nk.
[6]

Ian Mathers: From that dumbass opening line about clouds, this isn’t deep enough to be worth the time it takes to parse it out, but the general impression is of one of those series of accusations that rings just false/self-serving enough to wonder what the other side of the story is like. Also it would have taken anyone involved about two seconds of reflection to realize that “can’t see the thunder for the storm” should be “hear” instead, c’mon.
[1]

Iris Xie: This is one of those songs that gives me a lot of pain as a pop music reviewer, if only because it is so middle of the road and inoffensive. The hook is too easy and comfortable to remember to the point of being both listenable and forgettable, and I don’t particularly enjoy it, but I can admit it’s “good”… because it’s not bad? Pretty mediocre, actually. Also, the arrangement is so reliable to the point where I am dulled through familiarity, with the instruments being turned on and off at the right time and contrasting with the emotionality of the voice. The best place for me to listen to this is while I’m shopping for clothes, and then my ear catches on a few words and I listen more closely, and I go, “mm, ew.”
[5]

Tim de Reuse: I’m a fan of the ultra-sleek trappings, to an extent; it’s a lot, but it’s got the production punch to match its ambition (unlike, say, Imagine Dragons, who often aim for this kind of primary-colored exuberance and nearly always end up with something sickly and malformed). What this instrumental needed, then, was something memorable and catchy and clever to yell along to — what it ended up with on that front is nasally and predictable.
[4]

Special prize goes to the first person to read all these blurbs in under 24 seconds…

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[6.44]

Katherine St Asaph: I know it’s a song and not an actual ultimatum in literal reality, but repeating “you’ve got 24 seconds” throughout a 3:21 track is just silly.
[3]

Ashley John: “Shot Clock” is the newest Ella Mai single taking up prime time spots in my hip hop radio station’s evening commute mixtape, and I’ve had enough. I skip to the other stations and come back after what feels like five full minutes later and “Shot Clock” is still! on! Maybe it’s my fried brain at the end of the workday or just my natural impatience, but what should be a tasteful slow burn feels instead like an overstayed welcome. 
[4]

Thomas Inskeep: I kinda love how glacial “Shot Clock” is, not to mention how smart the “shot clock” reference is; this ’90s baby does her take on ’90s R&B proud.
[7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Deliriously fun in Mai’s sheer control over the track — she’s in Harden-esque form, putting in a commanding performance full of the kind of high-efficiency gimmicks that I’m a sucker for. She sings! She raps! She out-Drakes Drake, managing to resurface the only useful part of “Legend” into an exultant hook. And most of all, everything here feels distinctively in her style, up to and including the weirdo spoken word outro.
[8]

Julian Axelrod: The “Legend” interpolation helps situate Ella Mai in a more contemporary context, but that song works because it knows how and when to build. “Shot Clock” is so spare that it boxes her in. Ella’s voice is incredible, which we already knew. Now she just needs a producer who know how to showcase it.
[5]

Alfred Soto: So dense is “Shot Clock” that it could have ejected the Drake sample. So present is Ella Mai that she could have sung a poignant Drake cover. Then I got it: she’s reading Drake types their rights. Twenty-four seconds to take care of their shit. Her clear, rich range suggests she’s got better places to be.
[8]

Stephen Eisermann: As if the slinky melody wasn’t evocative enough, Ella Mai sings with the passion of a woman growing impatient and really sells the story in the song. Some of the word choices are a bit clunky, but Ella Mai has exceptional phrasing and sells even the bumpiest lyrics. The song could use an additional verse or a bridge, though, as the abrupt spoken word ending is extremely jarring. 
[6]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: If You’re Reading This… marked a point in Drake’s discography that proved he was, in fact, capable of rapping competently. Whether he was clearly biting other rappers’ flows or hiring ghostwriters is beside the point: an era-defining artist had, in one fell swoop, retroactively made all his previous rapping sound like complete trash to fans who weren’t already privy to it. The commercial mixtape would lead the way for a more confident-sounding Drake, one whose culture vulture-isms and manipulative crooning could thrive in a new musical landscape filled with swaths of artists who were already biting his style. As such, the brilliance of “Shot Clock” comes in how the “Legend” interpolation is a direct and knowing glare toward the cocksure, disingenuous men who need to be knocked down several pegs. Mustard includes a sound bite featuring a typical non-excuse: “Shh, I know, I know, and I’m really trying but–“. Ella Mai rebuts with an ultimatum that she knows is far too gracious, but will help bring about the obvious end in sight. She’ll give 24 seconds, but at this point …It’s Too Late.
[7]

Iris Xie: This song is a warning to endlessly well-meaning and patient lovers: it is not a virtue to exist in purgatory for those who don’t deserve you. You too can set the timer. The first time Ella Mai sings “shot clock,” she sighs, so it almost sounds like “shattered clock.” That deft styling reveals a searing, latent bitterness that exposes a weary soul that has been devoid of comfort in the status of her relationship. There is an absolutely sublime moment when her voice sparkles and dances lightly over the melody: “better know I won’t think twice (Yeah) / Better let go of your pride”. It is so lighthearted, a final exhale before launching next into her callouts. That rage! “Five years of dating, tired of being patient/ What the fuck you’re waiting for?” is so loud, so angry; a collapse of patient decorum. It’s also revealing of how those who are socialized as women, and identify as women, are expected to sacrifice their needs at the cost of the relationship, and follow the script of “be quiet, be loyal, be compliant.” So she swirls in her power, relentless and fearless, boxing in the warped, anonymous vocals that plead and make excuses “(Shhh, I know, I know and I’m really trying, but…)”, and casts away those simpering pleads. The rhythm is splendid and patient, and she leans back on it for support as she reclaims her agency away from toxic patriarchic norms of devotion; a reassuring wave of whirrs, snaps, and cooing vocals that asserts her in the right. While listening, I give thanks to her for vocalizing these truths, and lean back into my own bitterness. I make a quiet promise, to myself, to serve the shot clock the next time I find myself in this hell. No more of this bullshit.
[10]

Take a minute, girl, come sit down, and tell us what’s been happening…

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[6.22]

Alex Clifton: “Girl” is a pep talk that you give yourself in the mirror while your life breaks apart. It’s the feeling of having sobbed into a pillow for ten minutes and not really wanting to get up, but knowing you have to because you have things to do, and being annoyed with yourself for having emotions in the first place. It’s the quiet voice in the back of your mind that reminds you to treat yourself like a friend, console yourself with kindness instead of wearing down another anxious path. It’s the relief of drinking a cup of hot tea as you sit on the edge of your bed, trying to regain your breath while hoping no-one heard you cry. Morris makes no guarantees in the song other than “everything’s gonna be okay,” and that’s the only kind of promise I can hope for, to be honest. I don’t need any empty promises that will only fuel my anxiety and depression further. Instead, I want to know, right now, that one day I’ll be okay again.
[8]

Stephen Eisermann: Maren Morris never fails to deliver an impassioned vocal. “Girl,” her latest effort, is no different on that end, but is extremely different when compared to her other singles. The confidence of the girl from “Rich” and “My Church” has evaporated, and we aren’t left with a woman singing to remind herself of her worth. It’s certainly impressive, but the vague lyrics just don’t resonate enough to give the song the necessary power to overcome the platitudes, so what’s left is a well-sung song that aims for anthem and lands at corny.
[5]

Katherine St Asaph: A massive Shania Twain/Mutt Lange blimp of a song, except it’s too cumbersome to manage even an Up! exclamation point, let alone take flight.
[4]

Danilo Bortoli: In a piece for his (sadly) long-extinct Poptimist column, Tom Ewing pondered on the then recent wave of life-affirming, self-empowerment pop involved in songs such as Lady Gaga’s “Born this Way”, P!nk’s “Raise Your Glass” and Katy Perry’s “Firework” released in 2011. The trend was there to see: the difference between previous iterations of the life-affirming sound in pop and (for instance) Lady Gaga’s gay pandering is represented, obviously, by the internet, the place where the individual (social media) meets the universal (Jodi Dean’s notion of the “blogipelago“), culminating in those songs being plastered in what I call the postcard effect: by sending a message to everyone who wants to accept it, it reaches nobody specifically. Eight years in, that diagnosis is still standard and rings true: in an interview about “Girl,” Morris admitted early drafts of the song started out as a private conversation between friends and then moved on to becoming “like a tough-love call to action in a sisterly way, to myself.” Yet calls to action move necessarily outward. Inner voices become anthems as universal as they can be. And anthems are effective, you see. The problem with Morris’s “Girl” is one of scale: the only way to confer meaning to all the vague signifiers is by the means of catharsis, the emotional outpouring she can’t simply generate. Which is to say, “Girl” works fine as a message from Morris to herself, but cannot get through past her experiences and into the listener’s perspective.
[4]

Thomas Inskeep: The guitar riff that opens and underpins “Girl” is so distinctive, you’re not gonna mistake this song for anything else on country radio. Yeah, it’s co-written and co-produced by pop maestro Greg Kurstin, yet between its tempo — very slow, though this isn’t a ballad — and the lyrics and vocal from Morris, no one’s gonna mistake this for anything but country. There’s definitely an element of “I can make this and it’s country no matter what you’ve got to say about it” here, and there’s also a strong empowerment message here, actually from a woman as opposed to, say, the well-meaning Keith Urban — which feels directed in part at country radio programmers, which I’m more than good with. And they can’t ignore this, the lead single from a sophomore album destined to be as big as Morris’s debut.
[8]

Crystal Leww: Anyone who thinks that country music hasn’t had its share of feminism throughout the years just doesn’t know country music, but commercial country music over the last decade has shifted hard to the Florida Georgia Lines of the world. I find capital F Feminism to be exhausting from any genre, but Morris has more than earned her right to put out one of these. Hero was an incredible debut where Morris was allowed to be powerful and bitchy, messy and sad, complex and complicated. “Girl” was co-written with Greg Kurstin and Sarah Aarons, who are known for their pop songwriting and have the subtlety of a bear riding a bicycle. But it kinda slaps — reminds me of a country pop version of “Independent Women.” Fitting that this evokes Beyoncé — that bridge is basically “Halo” after all. 
[8]

Tim de Reuse: The real star of the show is the unyielding three-note melody in the guitar, and the unresolving chord progression that traces out circles underneath it. It’s the perfect platform for an “it’ll be all right” tune: no grand gestures, no bombastic climax, no particular pattern of tension and release — a reassuring sense of forward momentum and a spirited but tender performance from Morris. If anything, I wish she’d scaled back a bit on the vocal flourish and let the track sprawl out more organically.
[7]

Alfred Soto: Greg Kurstin has helped a lot of records I love, but his Flinstones Vitamins approach to pop sound hews too closely to the industry idea of how developing artists should “evolve.” The success of “The Middle” mean that Maren Morris had to go big. The cymbal and drum at 0:25 signal the bigness to come. Not a powerful singer, Morris and Kurstin rely on multi-tracked vocals to sustain the nyah-nyah sarcasm. What does “Girl” cohere into? A rather solemn approximation of what she did more effortlessly on “Rich.” 
[6]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Living life can sometimes be the most unbearable of tasks. Every now and then, there are moments where you look back on how you’ve managed to survive day after day after day, and — if you stumble upon the most fortunate of moods — things seem like they’ll be all right. When I listen to “Girl,” the simple guitar melody is akin to readings on EKG machines. The high note that appears every two measures recalls the monitor’s incessant beeping: a constant, mocking reminder that you’re actually alive. Maren Morris’s lyrics are Instagram caption-levels of inspiring, and they only exacerbate any dissonance one feels upon hearing its forced uplift. And yet, it’s these gentle messages of self-worth and resilience that can mean a world of difference in the most unexpected moments. As “Girl” progresses, the guitar line gets buried underneath a robust arrangement of instruments, its heart beat melody suddenly sounding like it’s part of living, breathing flesh. It ripples into a spritz of delay-pedal flurries in the outro: a loving affirmation that you’re actually in bloom.
[6]

Drill goes to London…

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[6.83]

Micha Cavaseno: While his 2017 duet mixtape with fellow member of Tottenham’s #OFB crew RV Drillers & Trappers first sought to put Headie One in the upper tier of the UK drill movement, it was his respective 2018 mixtapes The One and The One Two that ultimately catapulted him far past even the pre-established names of the field and above a greater majority of UK rap during one of the genre’s most prosperous years. Singles such as “Golden Boot,” “Know Better,” and “Tracksuit Love” were monstrous hits that crossed beyond drill, beyond road rap, beyond the ever increasingly segregated and frighteningly policed (both in a figurative inter-genre way and a literal government ordinance way) urban music scene to turn Headie into a man who might be one of the best rappers in the world today and feels hotly poised to be the crossover rap star that the likes of Sway, Giggs, Fekky and others have never managed to become. “18HUNNA,” featuring the ever trend-conscious Dave, is subtly drill-influenced but leaves behind the skeletal hi-hats and bell-like bass glides for g-funk synth whines and a much more standard trappy approach. Dave is certainly apt and nimble, shining with witty bars and dazzling technique. Yet it’s clearly the hypnotic, endlessly unwinding flows of Headie, casually offering groggy wordplays in his dry snake-charmer magic, that should remain the name on everyone’s lips in the future. 
[9]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: A song like “18HUNNA” is so hypnotic that it’s easy to overlook how everyone is working at the top of their game. Headie One is the true star, his flows masterful and understated, simultaneously allowing his technical ability and storytelling to shine without drawing attention away from 169’s lush production. Dave’s verse is more flashy, so the beat subtly becomes more active in order to accommodate. In their smooth talks of drugs and money, the two effortlessly complete the noir-like atmosphere that the piano keys and synth pads conjure up. “18HUNNA” is the first top-10 rap hit of the year that absolutely deserves the achievement.
[7]

Nicholas Donohoue: A good road to travel in rap is that of blending real vile, gross, immature subjects with great lyrical twists and delivery to make one’s self sound both ascended and grounded. Headie One makes an aside about flushing drugs down the toilet and dodging taxi fare sound like he is discussing a gallery work. A bit of art house in the hood can work some magic.
[7]

Josh Love: To me, an idiot, UK drill doesn’t sound a whole lot different than grime — maybe a bit more dead-eyed determined and less dynamic. Here, Headie One doesn’t exactly exude a surfeit of charisma or even menace, but his measured flow is hypnotic enough to achieve earworm status anyway, even if I have basically no idea what in the hell he’s on about (“still waking up to nudes in country”???).
[6]

Ashley John: “18HUNNA” rattles along well enough, Headie One handling a slick drill beat with the care it needs in order to bend but not break. Then Dave comes in and jolts the track with effortless energy, making the Headie One’s flow sound lethargic upon return, and the song just never recovers. 
[4]

Thomas Inskeep: Headie One has a seductive, almost velvet flow here — I love the way he says the word “comfy” — and producer 169 has given him a sinister-sounding track on which to flip rhymes. Dave drops in to say hello, but this is Headie One’s show through and through. This drill track reminds me of early ’90s L.A. gangsta rap, in the best of ways. 169:Headie::Dre:Snoop? Possibly.
[8]