The Singles Jukebox

Pop, to two decimal places.

Month: July 2019

  • Yuna & Little Simz – Pink Youth

    Another solid [6] from the Malaysian singer…


    [Video]
    [6.17]

    Kylo Nocom: I was so convinced in 2017 that 99.9% was the Platonic ideal of pop production. These days, I’ve drained myself of the energy to truly enjoy the sidechained electro-R&B Kaytranada and his peers have been shoveling out, but “Pink Youth” manages to touch the remaining bit of my heart that feels love for that initial wave of SoundCloud kids. Even though Yuna’s performance is a little too airy to make an impression, her more comfortable range allows for the delivery of certain lines (“they don’t know what it means to be a giiiiiiiiiiiirl“) to shine brightly. Simz shoves her way onto the beat just fine, but there’s a certain aggression to her flow that begs for something different than its disco-lite accompaniment. Luckily, the track moves forward, undisturbed from this distraction, and the sweet pleasantness continues as well, never straining too close to anything approaching intrusive.
    [7]

    Will Adams: The tasteful house reminds me of Rhye’s first album, and just like Woman it often teeters on the edge of becoming too pleasant and too inoffensive. Little Simz offers some necessary contrast, enough to knock me out of my trance and to make “Pink Youth” stick better than it should.
    [6]

    Alfred Soto: When Simz appears, something feels at stake: the finger snaps and electric rhythm strums support a pink youth awakening to its political responsibilities, which in this case is being “ready for love” — as political a statement as I’ve ever heard, especially in 2019.
    [6]

    Nortey Dowuona: Washed-out synth chords circle the pumping bass as glittering guitar is strung around the sliding drums. Yuna glows among the drums as Sims smoothly wades through, picks up the curve, and hands it off into the air, carried away by Yuna.
    [8]

    Iris Xie: “Pink Youth” has a lackadaisical attitude toward its construction and can’t decide whether it wants to be grooving or snoozing. Yuna gives a lovely and smooth vocal performance as usual, but she is swallowed up by the horns, beats, and percussion in the track, which overtake her in energy levels but without enough release to allow the track to soar. With Little Simz coming in with her characteristically dense flow, I can see why they became collaborators on this song, because this song is not a far stretch from the mood and intent of “Selfish.” This results in a song that is meant to be chill, soothing, and empowering, like a Steven Universe track, but ends up being soporific due to an overwhelming mass of sound that makes my head feel stuffed with cotton candy afterward. I also can’t shake the feeling that they both sound like older adults to the “Pink Youth” they are addressing in this song, because the song sounds weighed down by a bunch of ideas of what is supposed to be a “cool R&B track.” While I understand that songs like this are probably needed more now than ever as we continue hurtling toward an uncertain future, when I listen to a chill track, I don’t want to compete with its rhythms for breathing room — I just want to space out from it all, just like how I did as a kid.
    [5]

    Joshua Minsoo Kim: Glossy, serviceable production that benefits from the difference in tone and timbre and urgency between the two leads. Nothing more, nothing less.
    [5]

  • Heize ft. Giriboy – We Don’t Talk Together

    Not talking has come a long way since Charlie Puth


    [Video]
    [6.38]

    Ryo Miyauchi: A K-pop cynic might say once you heard a Heize song, you’ve heard them all. She has been sharply consistent in production style, vocal approach and theme, and “We Don’t Talk Together” follows that trend. BTS’s Suga hands her another gliding house-pop shaded in blues, more or less like Groovyroom’s contribution from 2017. You bet she operates more with resigned sighs than power vocals to sing about her heartbreak. Familiar as it seems, it’s just the right way to express in song the ambiguity of a relationship post-breakup. The production of “We Don’t Talk Together” is magnetic but standoffish, and Heize’s reluctance to approach it wholeheartedly gives off a slight riskiness in trying to fix what’s already far from saving.
    [7]

    Nortey Dowuona: Warm, funky pop for Heize to place her delicate vocals inside. Giriboy throws in a fine, unspectacular verse, and Suga leaves us with a gentle acoustic piano rendition.
    [7]

    Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Suga’s production sounds like if you explained late-’90s crossover rap&B to someone who’s never heard it before, and Heize and Giriboy provide a solid approximation of an Ashanti/Ja duet. The ersatz vibe of “We Don’t Talk Together” works in its favor, though– the track is like a well-made recreation of some processed snack from your childhood, creating new sensations from half-memories.
    [7]

    Katherine St Asaph: Aspires only to an Ariana Grande deep cut — which is not such a bad aspiration, actually.
    [6]

    Kayla Beardslee: The verses show promise with their smooth throwback R&B sound (a la the excellent “New Love” by Victoria Monét), but the chorus is too limp and unremarkable to pack the punch the song needs. 
    [5]

    Alfred Soto: The dullness of Giriboy’s part underscores the truth behind the title, making Heize twice as sympathetic.
    [6]

    Joshua Minsoo Kim: Giriboy’s one of the more versatile producers in Korea right now, crafting songs for both K-pop groups and non-idols alike. As a rapper, he’s less exciting, and often just blends in with whatever song he’s on. That’s what he did on a recent posse cut, and it’s what he does here. Luckily, Heize’s songs are laid-back enough to make it feel appropriate. She’s pensive and distraught, he feigns a franticness–neither will talk about their feelings with each other, and this already-dead relationship will soon come to completion. A song for the summer, but one for those days where you spend entire afternoons lying on your couch.
    [5]

    Iris Xie: One of my favorite aspects about this type of breezy K-pop is how it captures the freshness of even the confusing and haphazard moments in one’s life, so the silly, dumb misunderstandings sound charming amid the potential despair. “We Don’t Talk Together” expresses this attitude through how the synths sound like fizzy bubbles, where the snaps and snares sound like crinkly pieces of tinfoil sprinkled over cooing backing vocals. Their blankness, almost-adolescent cluelessness, and scared demeanors are made palpable through this backdrop of earnest sweetness, propelled forward by a stalwart beat. Heize’s singing is both flexible and deft, swiveling over hooks ranging from tightly coiled verses to much longer sighs, all of which convey both a wistful melancholy and youthful confusion over whether she is even making the right decisions. She pleads inside her head, “Why don’t you, I can’t let you go / Why don’t you, but I can’t hold onto you either,” and you hope that one of them will just blurt out what’s on their mind first, nervousness be damned. Giriboy’s cadence is easygoing here, playing the role of a boy who is conflicted but playing at stoicism: “Pain can be healed, I’ll let it go.” They both could solve this problem and avoid all of this heartache if they could just talk, but they aren’t talking because they simply don’t know how. It’s just so charming, and I’m rooting for them both.
    [8]

  • Zack Fox & Kenny Beats – Jesus Is The One (I Got Depression)

    A former Vice comedian, i.e., nigh-guaranteed to make the Controversy Index…


    [Video]
    [4.00]

    Alex Clifton: Millennial dadaist humour regarding mental illness and the impending destruction of our future distilled into a two-minute song. I’m not entirely sure I like it, but it is certainly a Big Mood.
    [5]

    Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Every time I listen to “Jesus Is The One (I Got Depression),” I’m torn between thinking that it’s masterful satire about the intersection of race and mental illness, or that it’s just here for shits and gigs. On one hand, we get surprisingly blunt social commentary. Some early lines hint at ethnic/racial oppression (“Free Palestine,” “This is the trap game Abraham Lincoln”), but then Fox gets even blunter: “My show got canceled because white folks don’t trust me.” (Jokes are supposed to get less funny the more you hear them, but I will never not audibly cackle at “I wanna get a whip and crash it into white-owned businesses.”) However, there are too many references to Betty White’s premature death, dipping balls into Thousand Island dressing, and Dorito dust dick for me to take him seriously. Is he trying to raise awareness of depression in communities of color–where mental illness is more difficult to talk about–by making a joke out of it? Is he just trolling us? I may never decide, but one thing is for sure: this is endlessly more listenable than Julia Michaels and Selena Gomez. 
    [7]

    Hannah Jocelyn: The title is just a reworded Brockhampton lyric, but that’s the least of this thing’s problems. Making “Free Palestine” an ironic ad-lib — though Fox insists it’s sincere — helps no one on any side of anything. The last line’s generic gross-out humor deflates any genuine jokes. This whole song is made for the Chapo Trap House subreddit to recite the lyrics line by line. Looking forward to more of these dumb collaborations between Twitter pundits and producers until Lauren Duca and Pi’erre Bourne release “Your Neck Will Be Broken (Watch Your Back) ft. Pod Save America” a year late.
    [2]

    Thomas Inskeep: So these assholes are needlessly mocking both mental illness and Christianity just for fun, and then adding in as much random vulgarity as possible? Yeah, fuck these idiots, and fuck this shit.
    [0]

    Joshua Minsoo Kim: It gets old quick, and the humor is only really funny in the context of it being a freestyle, but I think it’s important to consider how few songs approach mental health in a way that’s similar to how countless people do so on the internet. It explains why this is so popular, and that’s really the big takeaway.
    [5]

    Katie Gill: This is an objectively stupid meme song, but the line about Betty White made me laugh harder than anything else I’ve heard in the past few weeks so sure, it’s getting a [7].
    [7]

    Nortey Dowuona: I have no idea if Zack Fox is funny or not. All I know is that when he immediately stopped the pedestrian walkabout beat made for him by Kenny Beats, and started rambling about how this was the Abraham Lincoln 16 bars ago, I laughed. I guess that’s the point.
    [6]

    Katherine St Asaph: I’m revealing my age, which is roughly twice that of the target audience, but back in my day this would at least come with a Flash video on Albino Blacksheep.
    [3]

    Kylo Nocom: Never before has a song come pre-packaged with a “hoes mad” reaction GIF! This isn’t fun to listen to, let alone funny; it sounds exactly like what you’d expect a cash-in on Twitter comedian humor to be. It’s an Adult Swim rap potpourri of non sequiturs (“I put my dick in a bag of Doritos” is the only line the kids on Tik Tok care about from this song, bar maybe the chorus), “ironic” misogyny (for how much longer must we suffer men talking about how horny they are and pretend this is humor?), and general cornballery (the entire opening is just awkward). Zack Fox’s voice cracks make him sound like he’s just complaining on the mic, which suits the whole misanthropic irony vibe, but it’s not attractive in the slightest. I long for the day we send all these online funnymen to the moon, where they can all talk about how avant-garde Tim Heidecker and Eric Andre are or something.
    [2]

    Alfred Soto: Accept this song as a hip-hop “Valley Girl” — a parody of airheadedness recorded for and by airheads.
    [3]

  • Daya – Left Me Yet

    With that score, we might stick around, actually…


    [Video]
    [6.00]

    Will Adams: Daya’s recent turn to frowny-emoji dancepop has yielded some good results so far, but I prefer “Insomnia” to “Left Me Yet.” Swapping the former’s lush Euro-pop arrangement for something more skeletal is fine, but Daya’s plunge into self-abnegation here is so severe it’s uncomfortable to listen to. Relatable, sure — the nagging thoughts of “why do you even like me?” while lying next to someone on loop; the conjuring of countless examples of how I push people away without any concrete evidence to back it up — but worrisome for how much the text might be obscured by the pumping tempo.
    [6]

    Ian Mathers: Self awareness is an important step, sure, but rather than just keep mistreating someone and relying on them continuing to be some kind of idealized saint and/or just waiting for them to get fed up, maybe, I don’t know… get some therapy? (Wait, I forgot, most of us can’t afford normal expenses, let alone that. Carry on, then.)
    [7]

    Alfred Soto: The galloping percussion needs a singer who can ride it better than Daya did; there’s a sense in which everyone involved held their breath. 
    [5]

    Katie Gill: Whenever we get a female singer who makes it big as the vocals off an EDM track (Daya, Anne-Marie, Foxes, arguably Halsey, etc.), I always hope that they’ll manage to push past being essentially a session vocalist to develop a musical identity of their own. Unfortunately, Daya’s musical identity seems to be “a slightly cheaper Dua Lipa.”
    [4]

    Iain Mew: Blissful thump a la “One Kiss” as the backdrop for the most emotionally painful lyric in a while is not an obvious combo. It lets Daya sing about intense swings without feeling like we’re taken along on them with her, though, which is probably for the best. This kind of self-negating logic trap of a thought process is almost unbearably sad as it is. 
    [7]

    Nortey Dowuona: The soft serve synths that immediately get pushed up and into the glass by the burning, bulging bass and thudding drums are trapping Daya inside, who is hoping to suffocate so she doesn’t have to… well, break up with that other guy from the Chainsmokers, I guess. (He hasn’t sung yet. )
    [6]

    Joshua Minsoo Kim: I want so much for this song to get off the ground and soar but Daya’s muted vocalizing keeps things firmly mellow. None of the lyrics feel sincere, and the propulsive beat feels wasted.
    [4]

    Kayla Beardslee: On paper, this song’s concept would make me skeptical. I’m not personally invested in Daya as an artist, and tracks with lyrics like “I’m surprised you haven’t left me yet” often turn out to be both viciously self-deprecating and musically uninteresting — but, among the sea of songs about romantic insecurities, “Left Me Yet” stands out simply because it’s a genuine pleasure to listen to. This is the slickest chorus I’ve ever heard from Daya, and the more I listen to it, the more I appreciate how smoothly its melody flows over the bouncy production. By the last chorus, her lightly filtered voice sounds almost trapped beneath the layers of synths, an appropriately claustrophobic feeling that pulls me into another listen instead of pushing me away.
    [7]

    Kylo Nocom: Daya’s initial dip into mature pop had a worrying tedium, but “Left Me Yet” takes after the Michaels/Tranter model towards more streamlined and ultimately stronger results. There’s a certain understanding here of the tension-release dynamics that can make warbled, hushed choruses sound uniquely salient, and the grippingly self-conscious songwriting that Michaels indulges in constantly throughout Nervous System seems to creep into Daya’s lyrics. Julia had the sense to not indulge in Express-store-music, but the emptiness of the production here gels well with the hopelessness that pervades the entirety of the track.
    [7]

    Iris Xie: All the elements of this type of good, sticky pop-house song: a rich, slightly unaffected vocal, soft but lilted synths that bounce like weighted bubbles against your eardrums, and small glittery ripples and waves that move in rhythm and bounce back along the beat.
    [7]

    Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: It’s slight — the bridge being a retread of the chorus is a tell that there wasn’t all that much thought put into the songwriting here — but oddly compelling. The house-leaning production and Daya’s still-anonymous vocal don’t quite sell the love and appreciation of the premise, but “Left Me Yet” still works surprisingly well as a throwaway dance track.
    [6]

  • The Highwomen – Redesigning Women

    And yet they couldn’t get Delta Burke to do a cameo in the video…


    [Video]
    [5.30]

    Joshua Lu: The Highwomen should, in theory, be a triumph for country music, at the very least because of the four amazing artists involved: Natalie Hemby (songwriter who’s penned works for artists like Miranda Lambert, Kacey Musgraves and… Nelly Furtado?), Amanda Shires (singer/songwriter/violinist with six solo albums to her name), Brandi Carlile (responsible for one of the best albums of 2018 and for several other excellent ones) and Maren Morris (renowned hitmaker who recently sent “Girl” to #1 on the country airplay charts). Why, then, does “Redesigning Women” fail to muster the magic any one of the artists could deliver on her own? Vocally, the four of them blend together into each far too much; only Brandi’s vocals ring distinctly, leaving the other three acting as part of her backdrop, including Maren, whose particularly potent pipes I shouldn’t struggle to pinpoint. Lyrically, it’s filled with signifiers for traditional vs. modern female roles, with requisite mentions of babies, the kitchen and hair dye, which make for evocative imagery but don’t make for any meaningful message other than… that women’s roles have evolved over time? It’s too comfortable just describing the current state of affairs instead of demanding something more, and I’m left wondering what a listener is supposed to take away when the last guitar chord fades away.
    [4]

    Michael Hong: The supergroup should involve a group of artists who know their strengths and weaknesses well enough that they’re able to cover each other’s weaknesses and emphasize their strengths in a way that wouldn’t be possible as solo artists. The Pistol Annies worked so well on Interstate Gospel, not only because of the trio’s harmonies, but also in the way that each artist brought something as a writer, like Monroe injecting some of her trademark dry humour into Lambert and Presley’s wickedly smart small-town life observations. It comes as a confusing surprise then that across The Highwomen, less than half of all tracks are writing collaborations between the women, with Natalie Hemby being the sole member credited with writing their first outing. While Hemby has established herself as a great songwriter in Nashville, her strength was in the charming intimacy of her hushed vocals and finger-plucked guitar, but her own writing was hindered by her reliance on traditionalism that occasionally veered into cheesy nostalgia. “Redesigning Women” lacks the personal charm of Hemby’s solo music and allows Hemby’s penchant for cheesy traditionalism to seep through on awkward lines like “running the world while we’re cleaning up the kitchen” and “changing our minds like we change our hair color.” Confusingly, the track pushes this narrative where women have control, so long as they continue to provide in the more “traditional” gender roles. It makes for the track appearing to be a female empowerment anthem on first glance, but ending up being more outdated and restrictive, akin to Maren Morris’s GIRL. Without the voices of Carlile, Morris, and Shires as writers, The Highwomen fall flat as a supergroup. While the four do sound pleasant across the track, pleasant just doesn’t feel like enough on a track titled “Redesigning Women,” which ultimately falls flat as another version of female empowerment written by the current Nashville songwriter du jour.
    [4]

    Alex Clifton: In general feminist Americana/folk/country plays well with me, but where “Redesigning Women” gets really good is when all four women sing the title line. I hear so many older country superstars in their harmonies — I could swear Dolly is in there singing along with them — and it’s a revelation. The lyrics are pretty good too, giving a light touch with lines like “breaking the jello mould” while still delivering a sincere message. The thing I have always liked about classic country is its strength, the confidence of the sliding guitars and banjos, how the singers sing out and loud, how even when there are quieter moments you still remain on solid ground. “Redesigning Women” does that while returning to an older sound that feels so rare these days, all the while making it fresh and glorious to hear.
    [8]

    Alfred Soto: Shtickier and less distinctive than expected, “Redesigning Women” hews to a pattern — a Jell-O mold? — that acknowledges no middle ground between saints and surgeons; someone else, after all, a man, makes a woman a saint. It survives because Brandi Carlile, Maren Morris and Amanda Shires harmonize with the ease of women who understand how doing a job well is too often not reward enough.
    [6]

    Jackie Powell: This song is an anthem and after my first listen, I didn’t think I’d ever come to that conclusion. Country music for me is polarizing. But, each member of this quartet is Grammy-nominated in their own right and is enduring massive individual success. So why now for The Highwomen? “Redesigning Women” and the entire project coming from these four is selfless in nature. On CBS Morning before their debut at the Newport Folk Festival, Carlile referred to it as “a movement” rather than “a band.” And the lyrical choices on this track are mostly consistent with that analysis. A goal is to inspire and that’s admirable. Although I’ll be frank, the first verse annoyed me; it reminded me of Girl Scout campfire songs. The chorus, however, is where The Highwomen shine. Each voice is heard, unlike the verses, and layered to provide a vocal texture that juxtaposes the nasal one you hear at the top of the song. I’m a sucker for alliteration and Hemby’s serves as the best phrases in the entire song. But I don’t love some of the female stereotypes referenced. Can we please move away from this idea that women almost always “need to look good,” “clean the kitchen” or feel pressured to “feed the baby”? The Highwomen redeem themselves on the bridge which offers a call and response to a question that all who identify as female can relate to. Womanhood isn’t black and white. There isn’t a formula and if there is, then maybe you are doing it all wrong. The Highwomen have a broader audience than they think. I hope they take advantage of it as they continue to tell the stories of those who have redesigned and redefined their own womanhood.
    [6]

    Hannah Jocelyn: The Highwomen have an interesting idea here — “Running the world while we’re cleaning up the kitchen” is clunky but appears to speculate that while gender roles are changing for women, men aren’t meeting that change halfway. So you have podcasts asking if Women Can Have It All, and entire empires built on the Plight of the Working Woman — in this song, the progress society has made (lol) indicates that “traditional women” take on all the responsibilities and nothing has gotten easier, let alone more equal. It’s a thought-provoking message, but the rest is delivered in a surprisingly corny fashion from four women that, as far as I know, have either evaded or embraced corniness. This project could be a midpoint between Case/Lang/Veirs and Bridgers/Baker/Dacus, but the monotonous verses only bring to mind “Children of The Future” in their presentation and messaging. Maybe it’s because up to this point, I’ve presented and lived in the world as a cis straight male (regardless of my actual orientation or gender identity). But no matter how I present myself, I know for a fact that all parties involved have done better, and this is deeply underwhelming.
    [4]

    Iris Xie: A title like “Redesigning Women” begs something a lot more radical, maybe even jumping on the whole cyberpunk/anthropocene/post-apocalyptic aesthetic. But no, we get a song that is emblematic of conservative, tired, “choice” feminism. Why is buying 11 pairs of shoes considered moving progress forward? Why is a song about the fatigue in women’s gender roles lacking so much anger? Why does this sonically sound like a swallowed deference? “Redesigning Women” upsets me, because it’s like the time when I was a kid and asked older women if they’ve ever heard what feminism and seeing them wrinkle their noses at it and be offended at my question, and when I asked DC immigration lobbyists if they’ve ever experienced sexism or discrimination in their work and they stared at me because they didn’t know how to answer the question. It made me feel so confused in those moments, and realizing how effective obfuscation is in separating and talking about the ways oppressive systems function, and how we ourselves can be extremely complicit in perpetuating them while also surviving them. “Redesigning Women” is meant as a touch-and-go balm as an acknowledgment of life’s hardships, but without providing any solutions other than “let’s make the best of it, you aren’t the only one suffering,” which is the only time that collectivism seems to raise its head in this individualist capitalist society, for the moment you start complaining, you aren’t doing your part in your Dream. Bioessentialism and gender roles aside, this is a song that puts forth several arguments that The Highwomen and any other women just living their lives is redefining the roles of women. The imagery in “Making bank, shaking hands, driving 80 / Tryna get home just to feed the baby” is wonderfully succinct, and pretty much wraps up why life underneath capitalism absolutely sucks, whether you are or are not able to access that life. The rest of the examples — such as “breaking every jello mold” and “When we love someone we take ’em to Heaven / And if the shoe fits, we’re gonna buy 11” — mix relatable, down-home metaphors with ones that wouldn’t be out of place when it comes to simple desires to be a little too much, to be a little more ostentatious and a little less modest and “for the family!”, where your every move as a woman is judged harshly. The bridge itself hearkens to a place of moral simplicity, with “How do we do it? How do we do it? / Making it up as we go along / How do we do it? How do we do it? / Half way right and half way wrong,” that seems so innocent and very “we can do it!” But in reality, who is the target audience for this? It’s for the women with families and jobs, and for those single femmes (like me!) who are conscientious of those future realities, who are all trying to keep these impossible lives and demands afloat in this disaster called late crisis capitalism. This is supposed to be soothing and reminds me that we’re “all in this together,” but it honestly kind of hurts to listen to this song.
    [5]

    Katherine St Asaph: Designing Women is a relic of the ’80s-’90s deadzone, and though it’s getting rebooted and reconstituted, and was just rerun on Hulu (if you even knew), it is no longer a cultural touchstone, let alone enough of one to effectively snowclone. Jell-O molds reside in questionable ’70s cookbooks and not modern kitchens, even in the South. Rosie the Riveter predates even the ’50s. Nothing about this, from fusty lyrics to fustier vocals to women-are-fickle-but-good-fickle feminism, suggests it was written in the 21st century, let alone by “Country’s Ballsiest New Supergroup.” Who is this for? The kids are listening to Kacey Musgraves and Lil Nas X. The grownups are listening to country artists — including some of the solo Highwomen, probably — whose songs sound like they’re inhabited by real people, not the speechwriters for corporate retreats. Industry folks are undoubtedly listening to this out of pent-up goodwill, which would be better directed toward commissioning repertoire that doesn’t sound like it’d be dated in 1989. Extra point because at least it’s responsible for the best thing Dierks Bentley has ever recorded.
    [2]

    Stephen Eisermann: The idiot members of the Deplorable Choir have been all over my Twitter feed this week, so much so that I almost doubted if I ever wanted to listen to women of country collaborate for a track. I’m so pissed this song didn’t show up immediately after I first saw that horrendous performance because this track, with its rich harmonies and empowering lyrics, elevates country music in a way that melts the iciness that has developed around my heart in recent years. These are the women that are leading and should continue to lead us into the future. 
    [8]

    Thomas Inskeep: Better in theory than in practice, mainly because the song’s lyrics are just the slightest bit kitschy. But goddamn if Brandi Carlile, Natalie Hemby, Maren Morris, and Amanda Shires don’t sound great together, and are given perfect country production by Dave Cobb. Even though I wish I liked “Redesigning Women” a little more, it still whets my appetite for their debut album, because I know there’s even better to come.
    [6]

  • Tones and I – Dance Monkey

    That funky monkey…


    [Video]
    [4.10]

    Alfred Soto: Oh boy, that vocal — dat’s so cute. 
    [3]

    Scott Mildenhall: Tones and I makes herself felt in a far less ham-fisted way than with “Johnny Run Away” here, which is to say she chucks her vowels about all over the place, with every inflection a grievance. If that’s what might turn people against “Dance Monkey,” it’s also its strength: non-lexical scorn coursing through. This is not a consonant song.
    [7]

    Tim de Reuse: With an instrumental that sounds like it was banged together in the course of 30 minutes, we’re left with a track that laser-focuses on every little nuance of the vocals, which veer wildly from sensible to incomprehensible from line to line — giving the dude from Black Midi a run for his money in the 2019 leaderboards for “wait, why are you singing like that?”
    [3]

    William John: Just when you thought busker-ska couldn’t get any more hideous, along comes this piece of nonsense, with a vocalist that sounds like a Saturday Night Live cast member impersonating Sia and a Saturday Night Live cast member impersonating someone from an Icelandic village in equal measure. It’s enough to make me yearn for the days where all we had to worry about in this realm was Tash Sultana.
    [1]

    Katherine St Asaph: This is a mediocre bit of quirk, but it did amuse me that you can hum “Monkey’s Delivery Service” over it, so it’s not a total bust.
    [4]

    Iris Xie: If anyone could bring back torch singer for dance floors as a genre for a popular audience, it should be this type of song. The slightly Minnie Mouse voice, combined with the jaunty piano synths and its almost off-kilter swing rhythm would be a great example for a very 2019 type of partner dance. Combined with the fingersnaps and an arresting intro, it’s pretty much made for an “Oh, I heard that song somewhere!” while you are at a restaurant or something.
    [7]

    Kylo Nocom: A looming electro-disco throb in the chorus almost sounds competent compared to the awful fake-soul mush surrounding it, but the awkward layered vocals of the conclusion brush away any hope that Tones and I actually realized what was working for her.
    [3]

    Nortey Dowuona: Tones is done being everyone’s monkey. [pauses, thinks about it. “Is she talking about herself or me?”]
    [8]

    Ian Mathers: God, I cannot WAIT for this particular kind of vocal timbre to be out of style again.
    [2]

    Kayla Beardslee: Wanted: a proper chorus, not an endless buildup with no proper payoff that sounds like it was left in as a placeholder and forgotten about. Not wanted: all these damn bananies and avocadies.
    [3]

  • Sam Smith – How Do You Sleep?

    Sam asks, Iris answers…


    [Video]
    [4.33]

    Iris Xie: Quite well, actually, after hearing this song. 
    [3]

    Wayne Weizhen Zhang: A friend recently sent me a powerpoint presentation handed down from another friend entitled “Your Fave is Problematic: Why I Forbid You From Stanning Sam Smith” (sam-smith-is-cursed.pptx), 10 slides which methodically detail why his music is boring and shallow, and his celebrity status is problematic. At the time we weren’t even talking about his music — the conversation was started by a meme — but I couldn’t help but argue back that “Latch,” “Omen,” and maybe even “Dancing with a Stranger” are classic bops which prove he has at least some artistic merit. When I saw the release of “How Do You Sleep?” I had hoped that it might be a tiebreaker proving me right, but Sam Smith seems determined to make me look a fool: this is listless, sleepy mid-tempo filler which puts the “dull” in “adultery.”
    [2]

    Nortey Dowuona: Sam Smith’s work has been easy to forget, especially since his music without producers like Disclosure, Calvin Harris and Naughty Boy has been mostly mediocre. But here, he does the James Blake/Hudson Mohawke move of adopting the now easily copied trap drum patter and buries it underneath a sea of grainy, barely noticeable synths and pulls out some of his best singing for a while. The song is pretty dull, still.
    [6]

    Joshua Lu: When Sam Smith dropped a video teaser for “How Do You Sleep?” a few weeks back, I was instantly on board. The prospect of Sam doing choreography was exciting for many reasons, chief among them the fact that a music video with dancing probably necessitated a song that could be danced over, which aside from his EDM collaborations would’ve been new for him. Imagine my reaction, then, when not only did the song turn out to still just be moderately paced, Sam and his languid vocals didn’t seem to be aware that he wasn’t on a ballad. The choreography in the video might’ve made up for my disappointment, had the part where Sam actually got up from his chair and danced not been laid over that bizarre goose honk in the chorus. 
    [5]

    Michael Hong: While the video for “How Do You Sleep?” feels like a response to everyone who criticized Sam Smith for not being queer enough, the track itself is far too carefully curated and too safe. Sam Smith may sound just as lovely as he does over those twinkling instrumentals as he does over a piano ballad, but here, he lacks any emotional depth. When he asks “how do you sleep when you lie to me?” he sounds bored rather than heartbroken. Throw in an unnecessary dance break after the first chorus and the entire thing just feels like it was created as a backdrop for the video. But hey, at least he’s moved away from the formulaic balladry. 
    [4]

    Oliver Maier: Smith’s redirect from blue-eyed soul to dance music has been a smart move on the whole, injecting some pep into his step and shaking off some (keyword: some) of the lugubriousness that plagued his previous efforts as much as it defined them. “How Do You Sleep?” is the strongest argument for this course-correct yet, even if it’s not quite the gem it could be. I like the twinkling synths in the intro so much that every staid production decision that follows — from that clap sound to the eyeroll-inducing vocal bending in the post-chorus — can’t help but disappoint in comparison. The opening line “I’m done hating myself for feeling” doesn’t exactly fill one with confidence either. Yet Smith salvages the track with a terrific hook and a strong vocal performance, marrying confident sensuality with desperation and lending a real sense of urgency to his anguish. Heartache is familiar territory for him lyrically, but Smith energises it here by displaying a willingness to do something about his crisis instead of resigning himself to moping.
    [7]

    Kayla Beardslee: Just like opening a bag of chips and finding it half-empty, “How Do You Sleep?” at first seemed colorful and promising but turned out frustratingly insubstantial. In theory, the stars should have aligned for this track to break Smith’s recent trend of releasing glum, predictable songs: as his first single since January, there was incentive for it to sound like a hit, and he had even worked with the Max Martin cohort, some of pop’s most reliable bop-makers. But in reality, even though it’s upbeat, there’s just nothing interesting to grab onto here. Smith is trying his hardest to emote, but over such a dull, basic instrumental, his efforts just sound out of place. The chorus melody is admittedly not terrible, especially the drop down on “All that fear and all that pressure,” but that moment of pleasantness is immediately ruined by the following line, “I’m hoping that my love will keep you up tonight.” I’m still having trouble believing that hook is real: it’s the kind of cliche you would hear a fake pop star sing in a made-for-TV movie. And after that line, somehow, the song immediately tops itself again with one of the most bland, toothless drops I’ve heard this entire year. This drop means nothing, musically or lyrically, in the context of the song — it’s just an awful drop for the sake of it being an awful drop, and, like “How Do You Sleep” in its entirety, sounds like nothing more than the product of indifference.
    [3]

    Alfred Soto: Not a John Lennon, alas, but the joke’s on me: expecting rancor and vengeance from Sam Smith is like expecting Billie Eilish to join the White Stripes. Until the inevitable chipmunk vocal manipulations, “How Do You Sleep?” is the usual thwacking electro melancholy.
    [5]

    Katherine St Asaph: Calvin Harris wrung unheard-of restraint out of Sam Smith’s voice in “Promises,” but whatever wizard miracle he pulled apparently doesn’t work twice. The verses to “How Do You Sleep” are sung so breathy and hollow, so clearly at 10% capacity, that I just wish he’d sing out. Then he inevitably does that, and it’s the same Auto-Tuned blare that people apparently love, but that to me has the unbearable volume, timbre and unchangingness of the smoke alarm going off. (How do you sleep through that, indeed.) “How Do You Sleep” then tries something else, a post-chorus of Bebe Rexha vocoder pirouettes, and I think: no, not that either. The instrumental is gorgeous, crystalline and wistful, and I have no idea what Sam Smith could do to best serve it, besides getting someone else to sing. Anyone heard from The Weeknd lately?
    [4]

  • Miranda Lambert – It All Comes Out in the Wash

    Laundry day at the Jukebox…


    [Video]
    [6.00]

    Thomas Inskeep: I wish it weren’t quite so filled with laundry puns, but I’m glad Lambert returned with something uptempo, which I hope country radio takes to heart and plays the hell out of. Jay Joyce is an interesting choice as a producer, too; this somehow sounds delightfully snarky, and I’m not sure how they accomplished that. And second-tier Lambert, which this is, is still better than most of the rest of mainstream country at the moment.
    [7]

    Edward Okulicz: Between this and “Baggage Claim,” which I feel is a bit underrated, it turns out I have a bit of a soft spot for Miranda Lambert wringing a metaphor dry. At her best she is unstoppable, when the song’s okay her performance is usually great enough to make her B-cuts highly listenable and this is another highly listenable track. Do I need more pretty good Miranda Lambert songs in my life when there’s already a bunch of 10s? Sure.
    [7]

    Josh Buck: Miranda Lambert is easily in my top five singer-songwriters of the generation, and anything she releases at this point is just gravy on top of the 21st century’s greatest country music run.  That said, this is some quality cross stitch-core lyricism on par with the first Kacey Musgraves record. In a just world, “put that sucker on spin” becomes the 2019 “YOLO” that we deserve. Come for the Pinterest fuel, stay for that sticky guitar groove. 
    [7]

    Katherine St Asaph: The lyric, as anyone who’s made an unforgivable mistake or 100 knows, is a lie; as a wiser Southern songwriter wrote, “Listerine covers your tracks — doesn’t do shit for the facts.” But it’s a lie delivered with gusto, in track and vocal — though Lambert can’t quite decide whether she wants to sing this forced-chirpy or with a Donita Sparks sneer.
    [5]

    Tobi Tella: Slight but fun, and unapologetically country. Miranda has the ability to write something more powerful, but damn if this isn’t a good time.
    [6]

    Nortey Dowuona: Miranda’s relaxed and calm, just gently cycling on the sliding guitar parts and firm, pulpy bass as the drums lay out the road in front of her.
    [8]

    Michael Hong: “It All Comes Out in the Wash” sees Miranda Lambert returning to that raucous stadium country for the first time post-divorce (excluding a couple romps with the Pistol Annies). While the results are fine and likable enough, her commitment to the track’s central metaphor goes a little overboard, making the whole thing feel a little bit contrived and exhausted, and certainly like something we’ve heard before.
    [5]

    Lauren Gilbert: A rural noun, simple adjective
    [2]

    Joshua Lu: Miranda Lambert provides rapid-fire maxims on life’s hardships, and the would-be cheesy comparison of rinsing regrets away like a stain off a T-shirt is made palatable with her earnest delivery. She knows how to push these metaphors right to the border between fulfilled and overwrought, like how the lyric “That’s why the good Lord made bleach” definitely toes that line but does well to not transgress it. It would all be agreeable if it weren’t wrapped up in a disposable Thomas Rhett instrumental.
    [6]

    Alfred Soto: The best working singer-songwriter remains some singer: she recites a litany of nouns as if it were a prayer learned in her girlhood. Jay Joyce gives the bass and guitars some heft. I’m not crazy about the litany containing the litany: good country people as incest-happy morons or something. But her delight in them suggests she doesn’t hold herself to a higher standard.
    [7]

  • Ellie Goulding & Juice WRLD – Hate Me

    It’s just a low score; no need to be so dramatic…


    [Video]
    [3.57]

    Nortey Dowuona: Ellie Goulding is feeling herself and making dull Apple commercial music. So is Juice WArLoeD. This is good for them. Better save that Apple money and get a nuke bunker while u still can.
    [4]

    Joshua Lu: If the somber vibe and whimpering lyricism of “Hate Me” aren’t enough to depress you (which, given their hackneyed nature, is probably the case), then consider about how quickly Ellie Goulding went from crafting promising electropop to run-of-the-mill trend-chasing pop-hip-hop abominations. And if that’s still not enough to bring your mood down, then check the song’s metrics and realize this is gearing up to be her biggest single from this year.
    [3]

    Elisabeth Sanders: Sounds like someone took a playground rhyme and set it to a SoundCloud track.
    [5]

    Alfred Soto: So much of pop has relied on “tell me lies” as wish, declaration, and pressure point, but Ellie Goulding and Juice WRLD’s performances suggest corpses awaiting a dressing. The generic production helps not an inch.
    [3]

    Michael Hong: “Hate Me” finds Ellie Goulding crossing from her earlier folk-tinged pop to the ever present hip-hop influenced pop, and while Goulding’s been known to chase trends, this feels like her first sell-out. While the darker synths could have been interesting, as they aren’t something she’s tested before, the chorus is too blank, repetitive, and uninspired for the entire thing to really go anywhere with it.
    [3]

    Katherine St Asaph: Nothing that reminds me this much of Death Team can be good.
    [4]

    Will Adams: You ever re-listen to Lights lately and mourn what could have been?
    [3]

  • Bonus Tracks for Week Ending July 27, 2019

    Did you read the entire Charli XCX / Christine and the Queens entry and think, “Man, I need to read more Jukebox”? Friend, we are here for you.