This, though, we think should be a hit now.

[Video][Website]
[8.00]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: i feel personally attacked by this relatable content
[8]

Julian Axelrod: Caroline Polachek has spent most of her career trying to hide Caroline Polachek. She’s operated within bands, under monikers, and behind other artists, parceling out pieces of her genius but never showing her full hand. “So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings” is Caroline’s coming out and coronation, a reintroduction to her astonishing range of talents for anyone who forgot. It’s also a full-bodied bop, sleek and lithe without sparing an ounce of impact. The gleaming 80s prom synths and cave sprite backing vocals promise a pop fantasia, but her bleakly hilarious cries for connection feel like a sendup of diva desperation. The most thrilling moment might be the bridge, when her wordless wail is vocodered into oblivion. Ironically, Polachek obfuscates her voice to create her most singular expression to date. And when she’s done, all you can do is gasp.
[9]

Hazel Southwell: Wow Frou Frou are back right in time to soundtrack my mid-thirties breakdown as well as the mid-twenties one! Except this also has a nice bit of chugging Fleetwood-Mac-by-way-of-HAIM guitar so it’s tickling all kinds of aesthetic pressure points. It gained a whole two points from me for the embarrassing sax solo in the breakdown, that’s a real stomach-curling squirm of a crush right there.
[7]

Oliver Maier: “So Hot” doesn’t push into exciting new frontiers like “Door” and “Ocean of Tears” did. Indeed, the “The Middle”-esque vocoding on the hook and relatively conventional arrangement suggest a mainstream sensibility that isn’t so much absent from Pang‘s other singles as it is wrestled into Polachek’s own pop framework. Here she’s mostly content to play ball, and the result is a straightforwardly great song, still with enough eccentric turns of phrase (“X-rated dreaming”!), sticky melodies and frenzied vocal solos to stay a step ahead of the competition. I could see the abundant quirkiness being grating to those less convinced by the elegant architecture of C-Po’s songcraft, but I’m helplessly charmed by both.
[8]

Alfred Soto: Fans of Haim’s precisely deployed synth chug will warm to Caroline Polachek’s latest single: 2013 as 1987. She’s gotten more assured since the Chairlift days: check out the vocal distorted unto death and into a solo.
[7]

Michael Hong: Caroline Polachek is trying to keep her composure. She’s out at the party, attempting to be cool, attempting to live her life. But at the same time, she’s quietly suffering, counting the days her partner’s been gone. “So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings” is as slick as the best of Chairlift, with lines worthy of its title, like “I cry on the dance floor, it’s so embarrassing,” delivered without an ounce of self-pity but with Polachek’s biting humour. Her attempts to appear collected fail from the outset, but her frustrations come to head on the chorus when she sings “get a little lonely babe” and the desperation and desire in her voice become palpable. Polachek’s composed vocals over the heavily processed ad-libs perfectly capture the mental anguish of a long-distance relationship, her outward poise giving way to the inward chaos.
[9]

Kayla Beardslee: I’ve been listening to “Door” a lot lately (a 10, by the way), and one of the many things that’s grabbed me about the song is how impressively detailed it is: I’m still discovering nuances in the production after a double-digit number of listens. “So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings” is a less complex experience than “Door” — a name-brand lollipop instead of a box of chocolate truffles — but it has the same attention to detail that makes playing it over and over and paying close attention so rewarding. The three claps in the verses, the “aah-aah”s panning right and left, the electric guitar strum (I think) at the end of the chorus, the gasps and “Woo!”s peppered throughout — god, inject this shit straight into my veins. And, of course, Polachek’s vocals are on point, even behind the tasteful vocoder; her voice climbing and falling on “it’s so emBArrassing” is an entire journey on its own. “So Hot” is sparkly synthpop designed to go down easy, but there’s substance in it too, for those who want to look for it. 
[9]

Isabel Cole: The lyrics unfortunately don’t live up to the OTT promise of the excellent title, squashing my hopes for something exuberantly agitated along the lines of an emotion I still only know how to describe as “blogging about One Direction in 2013” in favor of a fairly banal exploration of the angst inherent to long-distance love. I do like the burbling production, with its funny little stream of disembodied vowels winding through behind the verses.
[6]

Joshua Lu: An adroit tiptoe along the line between horny and tender, unconcerned with appearing too desperate or silly — or with enunciating properly.
[7]

Will Adams: There’s a certain melodrama that comes with relating embarrassment (“I could have just DIED!”), particularly with intense crush feelings for a former flame, that “So Hot” nails. It’s there in the gasp before the final chorus, the way Polachek’s distorted vocal wails as the backing vocals murmur “show me the banana” and the song’s title. While the previous Pang singles took time to wiggle their way into my head, “So Hot”‘s charms are immediate.
[8]

Kylo Nocom: The Aces via Forevher era Shura shouldn’t sound endearing, yet Polachek is a vocalist and songwriter entertaining enough to sell it completely. “X-rated dreaming” is a clunky phrase, but I’m obviously reaching, damn it: the song exists for the title and it’s a great one.
[9]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Caroline Polachek makes music that is almost too perfectly formed– rhythms that sound like perfect tessellations, dazzling vocal performances with leaps and runs that are almost inhuman, synths that sound wrought from glass. The only thing preventing it from being intolerable is the stuff she’s singing about, the fundamental vocabulary of longing that her work, whether solo or in Chairlift (RIP), speaks. “So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings” is just another manifestation of a running theme in her work, but it stands out for its directness and messiness– she’s not just crying in public but on the dancefloor, pining in ways that are almost outside of society. It doesn’t all work on the record (the bananas on the bridge are a little hokey) but it feels so deep it can’t be avoided.
[8]

Stephen Eisermann: A sexy little song that owes much of its sex appeal to Caroline’s voice, the harmonies, and my god that production. It’s crisp and clean, like the white dress shirt my fantasy man wears; the one I thought of as I closed my eyes and listened to this song. Lust in song form, this one.
[7]

Hannah Jocelyn: So good it’s hurting my feelings: I keep wanting to save my [10]s for songs that feel Big and Important, like “Slip Away” or “The Joke.” Maybe something that doesn’t have immediate political importance but stands on its own, like “Cellophane.” (Being co-written by a transgender woman when the Supreme Court is about to decide whether transgender people can be fired on the basis of their identity might qualify this song, but I don’t want to reduce Teddy Geiger to her gender.) From the opening line, which seems to swipe from Robin Williams’ character in mid-2000s Blue Sky Studios comedy Robots, it’s clear that this isn’t exactly a deep song. Instead, “So Hot” is perfectly goofy songwriting, down to a bridge where Polachek chants “show me the banana, na na na na na” while also performing a guitar solo with her voice. Even better, it’s a three and a half minute pop song, so it doesn’t have time to meander like “Door.” There isn’t anything personal or political about this, but that doesn’t even seem to cross Polachek and co’s mind. Losing oneself in a pop song is just about the most overused trope in all of music criticism, but there’s something to not being serious or even defiantly silly. It’s just fun for the sake of fun, which is hard to justify as a [10]. Except maybe that was the whole point of this poptimism thing. In that case…
[10]

Tuesday, we are fading…

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[6.17]

Iain Mew: I expected the title to be one of those ones that’s there to give an image of the music only. No though, there it is in words, representation of Kom_I’s giddy metaphysical powers. The musical tea room slides from molecular to interplanetary to try to keep up and makes for some incredible intense moments. Later she says goodbye to life until she comes back to Earth, the set up for another crashing moment of euphoria, and that they instead just end there is some power move.
[8]

Michael Hong: A continuation of the collaborative spirit of Elsewhere and further demonstration of Ryan Hemsworth’s ear for global pop. Together, the pairing evokes the warm intimacy of the titular room that twinkles in a comforting glow by layering Kom_I’s sweet, soothing vocals over one of Hemsworth’s most serene soundscapes.
[8]

Alfred Soto: What I imagine Vespertine-era Bjork sounding like had she shown interest in glistening, crackling pop.
[6]

Kylo Nocom: Ryan Hemsworth’s remixes have been rather hit and miss, so my expectations were low for his solo work. The opening minute shows that he understands how to work with Kom_I’s vocals in the same way that her own project demonstrated fantastically on Galapagos, leaving silences between her breathy repetitions for the sake of well-executed hypnotism. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know how to do anything with the tension, and promptly shits all over it with chipmunk squeals. The song’s lost in a purgatory between indie cred and festival readiness, coming nowhere near interesting enough to vouch for the former and too wimpy to adequately satisfy the latter’s criteria. If all else fails, he could always let Majestic Casual pick this up.
[4]

Ian Mathers: I can’t be the only one who’s slightly disappointed that the whole song isn’t just like the first 70 seconds, right? The rest of the track is fine, but that opening segment felt transcendent… and then the beat and chorus proper comes in and it feels like something is lost. Maybe I should just go listen to a Julianna Barwick album.
[6]

Vikram Joseph: I forced a bot to listen to over 1000 hours of nothing but Sigur Ros and PC Music and then asked it to write an album. This is the first song.
[5]

A plateau, but a pretty decent one at that…

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[6.71]

Kayla Beardslee: The TikTok meme is based around the first line, “You know I’m your type / Right?” and is kind of a lame excuse to flaunt random personality traits to no one in particular on the internet. Sharing short-form, unstructured thoughts to an unknown online audience: yeah, I’d never be caught dead doing that. This song is actually enjoyable on its own merits: fun, funky, and a showcase for Niki’s agile and compelling voice. “Indigo” follows the “Truth Hurts” mold of striving to be endlessly quotable, and it surprisingly succeeds at throwing out memorable lyrics more often than it fails. “If thrill was a sport / I’d be the poster child” is one of the clear standout lines. The only problem is that some of the words are borderline incomprehensible, especially in the chorus. What’s even more frustrating is that although I can understand the words if I concentrate really hard, it makes the lyrics and music feel at odds with each other, because everything else about “Indigo” encourages the listener to stop thinking and enjoy the undeniable groove.
[7]

Kylo Nocom: If you like songs that are straight out of the skweee era, are rather verbose for sex songs (kind of explained by the line on over-thinking, but come on, gumption), and inadvertently creates the desire to start crowdfunding, well…
[6]

Alfred Soto: I’ll award passing grades to any tune that praises “gumption.” Fortunately, the rest of “Indigo” shimmies in a confident, post-Aaliyah mode. 
[7]

Ian Mathers: I mean, most songs about getting ripped on drugs and fucking don’t manage to get away with both “superimposed” and “adagio” right in the chorus, and between the almost playful forthrightness here (if you’re going to say “you know I’m your type, right?” why not make it the opening line?) and the little vocal somersaults Niki manages in and around the chorus this winds being more of a bop than it might appear at first.
[7]

Will Rivitz: Cashmere Cat has been off on his Catsune Miku kick for a bit, so someone else has had to step in for the annual re-engineering of “Be My Baby.” Thankfully, “Indigo” has just enough grit in its bass squelch to stand on its own.
[7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Musically, it’s unassailable in the way that Korea’s attempts at contemporary R&B often are (think: Hyolyn’s “Dally” or SAAY’s “Overzone“). The chorus’s start-stop rhythm makes it hard to parse the lyrics though, with Niki rivaling Ariana Grande in terms of poor enunciation. In that moment, the words she sings feel detached from the music — more cerebral than corporeal. “Indigo” isn’t unsexy, but it never really fully teases you with its come-ons and the potential meaning of its titular color. Where’s the spunk? Where’s the gumption?
[6]

William John: A perky, unobjectionable RnBass track is lifted exponentially by Niki’s unexpected songwriting choices — of particular note are the way she flattens the song in the second verse for a bout of nonchalant shit-talk, and her use of words like “gumption,” “adagio” and “superimposed,” all of which might otherwise indicate overuse of the thesaurus, but here seem instinctive. An exciting new talent.
[7]

Gotta collect ’em all…

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[5.25]

Alfred Soto: This Fifth Harmony member aims for solo crossover with this gospel-tinged pop dance number. The correct lyrical signposts are in place. The bass burbles. It moves. It has no pulse.
[5]

Katherine St Asaph: Breathless, desiring (the temptation to not put “desire” in the lyrics must have been strong), yearning, pained and anonymous: the stuff of countless “Waiting For Tonight”s.
[7]

Kylo Nocom: “She ought to higher a better producer!” [boos and jeers] (I can stand the discount house beats, but don’t even bother justifying those damn gospel choir vocals. You can use better signifiers for soulfulness that don’t make you look massively lame!)
[3]

Kayla Beardslee: Ally Brooke has been putting out consistently enjoyable bops that have, to my surprise, even managed to be sonically cohesive. This is no small feat for the undeniable dark horse of Fifth Harmony, the last member to release her big debut single (“Lowkey,” back in January), and her quiet exceeding of expectations has made me root for her success. Brooke has a tendency to oversing, as far as I can tell, because of how powerful her voice is, but that habit actually suits her here: she emphasizes a mix of belting and breathiness that injects some extra meaning into what would otherwise be a basic dance song — this kind of vocal performance is what made “Lips Don’t Lie” so compelling to me as well. Although the lyrics are mostly standard, there are a couple interesting lines. The writers deserve props for skipping the obvious fire/desire rhymes and going instead to the far less cliche “choir,” and a few images in the verses are surprisingly poetic. Yes, “There’s an ocean of gratitude inside me/And the waves wash clean my soul” would be simplistic even in an intro creative writing class, but placed amid an otherwise slick and impersonal club banger, these prettier lines stand out in a good way.
[8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Sweet, sweet Jukebox reader, please do yourself a favor and just read these lyrics for yourself. I will do my best to describe how mind-bogglingly odd they are, but only the complete original text can do itself justice. “Higher” is something akin to Thomas Friedman writing a pop song: a garbled mess of metaphors which desperately tries to be poignant and meaningful, but makes absolutely no sense to the point of self-parody. On the first verse, Ally Brooke sings, “Oh, the wind has been singing me a symphony/The sweetest sound that I have ever heard/Feels amazing the way it’s been lifting me/I’m free up here, high as a bird.” Putting aside the idea that symphonies are usually played and not sung and the ambiguity of “it,” what you’re left with is the bizarre imagery of the wind singing her a symphony that is the sweetest thing that she’s ever heard, and something lifting her up high and making her feel as free as a bird. Huh. The pre-chorus and chorus only provoke more confusion: “A moment, no, you don’t need to cry for me/I can’t wait to get where I’m going/You know that I’d love to stay/But I’m already on my way/Cause my love’s taking me, higher, higher higher/Look up you’ll see me, higher, higher, higher/I can hear the choir.” Why is there talk of crying? Is it because of what happened during “a moment”? Or did the crying already happen? If she’d love to stay, why is she leaving? Is the wind, the symphony sung by the wind, or her love taking her higher? (Is her love the wind?) Is this all metaphorical, or is she really insisting you can look up and see her like a parade float? Where is she going anyways? There’s talk of a choir? (Is the wind the choir too?) Verse two only necessitates more questions: “There’s a notion of gratitude inside of me/And the waves wash clean my soul.” Did no one spend the time to reword “a notion of gratitude inside of me”? Her soul is dirty now? Most importantly, suddenly, there are waves now? Are they waves of love? Waves of the wind? Waves of the wind’s symphony, the sweetest sound she has ever heard? Waves of the choir (also potentially from the wind)? Waves of the notions of gratitude inside of her? And now I have to stop here, because my blood pressure is spiking.
[2]

Ian Mathers: It’s not super surprising to find out this was written by Emeli Sandé (who I, at least, still mostly know for “Heaven”); the most interesting part are the weird little lyrical references that make it sound like Brooke is either feeling intimations of her imminent death or is about to be ritually sacrificed… and in either case, is downright happy about it. Given much of the rest of the song risks the generic, her oddly bubbly approach to not being here combined with the way Matoma centers the backing track around that insistent, rubbery bass line actually make this stand out.
[6]

Will Adams: It’s got all the bland house trappings I’d expect from someone who’s currently competing on Dancing With the Stars and will probably perform this at the finale. That said, there are worse things to model a song off of than a dance remix of Bananarama from 2005.
[5]

Joshua Lu: I’ve always had a soft spot for Ally Brooke, whose solo prospects after Fifth Harmony dissolved have never been considered great. Her songs never try to be anything original, even starting from how “Low Key” was an abject “Havana” clone, yet her particular kind of basicness, attempting to be nothing more than a catchy pop song, still feels vital to the industry’s lifeblood. “Higher” could very well be a post-Thank You Meghan Trainor song, and I know I won’t remember anything about it in a month. But it has an irresistible groove and Ally’s voice knows exactly when to belt and when to simmer down, rendering its ephemerality powerless against my moderate enjoyment of it for now.
[6]

We think a good score at the Jukebox counts as a superpower!

[Video]
[6.29]

Kayla Beardslee: Damn, this slaps. It’s campy, especially with the video (or is it? I think this year’s Met Gala taught us that no one really knows what camp is), but Lambert suits that vibe well. The guitars are a great production choice, as they add the grit needed to back up the vocals — especially that moment in the prechorus when Lambert practically shouts out “I’mma ride and take the money” — and that intensity is skillfully contrasted by the restrained chorus.
[8]

Katie Gill: I suppose if anyone’s gonna toss their hat into the 2010s trend of “we’ve decided to recognize that 1970s music was actually really great!,” the current Queen frontman is a solid choice for that. “Superpower” is a fun song! It’s not really memorable, not really catchy, and can’t decide whether it wants to be a George Michael ripoff, a straightforward genre homage, or a Scissor Sisters ripoff, but I enjoyed all of the 3:13 seconds I listened to this, and really, that’s all I can ask of a song.
[6]

Ian Mathers: The George Michael-homaging “freedom” middle eight, the pre-chorus belting, the actual chorus’s breathy funk, the fact that the song is practically all chorus and pre-chorus give or take a “I know I’m not the only one who thinks this shit ain’t okay”… it just all works for me. Is he doing a whole album like this? If not, could he next time?
[8]

Kylo Nocom: Never mind, I completely get queer aesthetic now.
[7]

Will Adams: Less of a statement than a 3.5-minute preamble to what might be a statement.
[4]

Joshua Lu: Adam Lambert’s music has always been synonymous with bold power pop, but “Superpower” also has a huge helping of funk that suits him well. Gritty, threatening, and uplifting, the song is a relentless display of panache from a singer with more than enough to go around.
[7]

Alfred Soto: It’s not that Adam Lambert, who’s been rehearsing to be an arena god since before Robert Plant figured out performing with an unbuttoned shirt got him attention, is unconvincing. It’s not like we aren’t in desperate need for another “Body Language.” But as we’ve known since 2009, this well-meaning dude has too many received ideas about arena godhood, including song selection.
[4]

Our writers have more to share with you!

• In the most recent edition of her newsletter, Sabina Tang discussed archetypes, haircuts, and Utada Hikaru’s Laughter in the Dark concert film.
• For his blog, Humanizing the Vacuum, Alfred Soto commemorated the 25th anniversary of the release of R.E.M.’s Monster, “one of their records most informed by historicity.”
• Hannah Jocelyn is crowdsourcing the list of What Your Favorite Album of the Decade Says About You (see the 2018 and 2017 editions). Go forth and say something about you saying something about an album saying something about you!
• For Living Lutheran, Josh Langhoff interviewed Peter Mayer, singer-songwriter (and longtime guitarist for Jimmy Buffett), about his new album, Passages.
• Thomas Inskeep posted notes on 1984 Detroit radio and Janet Jackson (in addition to what he wrote for our recent tribute) on his blog, Oh Manchester, So Much to Answer For.
• Finally, Joshua Minsoo Kim reviewed Derin Derin, the new album by Instanbul-based psychedelic/folk/electronic group Baba Zula, for Bandcamp Daily.

We asked Sam for a quote on this great score, but apparently “the stars don’t even matter”…

[Video]
[7.33]

Alfred Soto: With synths burbling like the jets in a sauna, those purveyors of post-eighties hologram soul pop collaborate with the Australian post-hunk on a billowing midtempo thing reliant on solid harmonies. Pleasant.
[6]

Katherine St Asaph: I wouldn’t necessarily pair KING with Sam Sparro, but the former subsume the latter into their sound and not vice versa, and remind the world that they still outclass by orders of magnitude the approximately 10 million quiet storm dilettantes recording today.
[9]

Kylo Nocom: This is what I’ve been trying to hear in Dev Hynes for forever, with the atmosphere of summer waterparks and 90s “worldly” educational aesthetics. “Grand utopia” is correct, and it looks a lot like Waterworld.
[9]

Jessica Doyle: A little too hazy for me to grasp well, though I’m always here for KING, and I’d happily take a two-hour mix as a defense against insomnia.
[6]

Ian Mathers: Just what you’d hope for from KING, and as long as Sparro is here, well, his voice blends nicely too.
[7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Other than its criminal underuse of KING as glorified backup singers, this is exactly the kind of single that works anywhere and everywhere. It’s chill enough to be wallpaper but distinct enough to catch the ear, distinctly retro enough to stand out but modern enough that the flourishes don’t feel like crutches.
[7]

A creepy little, sneaky little…

[Video][Website]
[6.00]

Tobi Tella: Aims for haunting, lands at monotonous. By the four-minute mark I was wondering if it had anything else to do or say — it doesn’t.
[3]

Katherine St Asaph: Commit to audio the lyric “I’m full of feeling” and you better goddamn deliver. Fortunately, “Eye in the Wall” does: noirish, erotic, almost unbearably tense drama and danger, heady enough to lose oneself in yet immediate enough to feel like it targets individual nerves; drawn out to a luxuriating eight-plus minutes and yet too short. I hear Róisín Murphy (a lot of her, particularly in the extended instrumental), Patrick Kelleher (ambition and mood), Susanne Sundfør (if she recorded things like this still), Carla dal Forno (the bass, especially), Annie Williams (if you can track down “Beau,” do), Jun Miyake (the Pina soundtrack in particular, which makes sense, since “Eye in the Wall” was conceived as choreography), yet also a singular, hypervivid musical vision, the point (was it earlier, and I just didn’t notice, or bounced off?) where Mike Hadreas truly earned the stage name.
[10]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: I like how quietly jarring the song is, its hushed vocals and vacillating synths and jittery rhythms forming a rather cohesive whole. It’s not compelling enough to be this long, though.
[4]

Michael Hong: Perfume Genius’ “Slip Away” was a densely packed monster of a track: right after a muttered “let all them voices slip away”, the instrumental forcefully upends everything. Layered drums! Tightly wound guitars! Thundering synths! “Slip Away” comes crashing down with such force, as if tumbling down a mountain, constantly gaining momentum. “Eye in the Wall” is in some ways completely opposite, but at the same time, no way less grand. Rather than in rapid shifts, the track slowly evolves, dropping new electronic flourishes and continuously morphing drum rhythms. Perfume Genius’ position here is also different, acting as a keen observer instead of the protagonist of the track, focusing the instruments around him, his voice taking a backseat to the surroundings, often only a droning chant. The track takes its time, and it’s not until after the first minute that the drums finally arrive, setting a rhythmic through-line that feels just as meditative as Perfume Genius’ hushed vocals. The rhythm of the drums conjures the stage for the mass of twisted bodies that arrive on the dance floor, proceeding to get increasingly frantic as every minute passes. Every word might be hushed, but the command to “give it up” is entirely clear, the only option being to dive into the mass and surrender to the pulsating rhythm. But Mike Hadreas, never content with stasis, edges towards greater anxiety, and around the six-minute mark, the rhythm of the drums is replaced with an agitated rattle that’s steadied only by an occasional guitar flourish. The track contorts itself from the dance floor to a state of euphoria under strobe lights that evaporates not unlike the feeling of leaving the club. “Eye in the Wall” is a sprawling epic that beautifully captures the slow burn of the dance floor, all the while toppling any expectations you’ve set for what a Perfume Genius track can be.
[9]

Alfred Soto: By escaping his ever-loving self with the help of loops and backward instruments, the artist known as Perfume Genius shows an unexpected flexibility. Now he has to figure out what to say.
[4]

Kylo Nocom: “Eye in the Wall” reduces Mike Hadreas into a specter, sensitively muttering sexual commands like an oppressive line dance routine. His strong suit is confessional songwriting, no matter how sparse or grand his arrangements are, so for him to be a minimally used instrument among many loses a lot of what makes Perfume Genius matter. He takes an approach much like that of The King of Limbs, filling in the gaps he leaves behind with percussion and electronic loops. A YouTube comment says that this explores “the inherent homoeroticism of exotic rhythms,” but “inherent” it is not and “exotic” indicates that this person is white. The queerness of dance music specifically originates from the history of the nightclub as a safe space, as a place that is communal and liberating; Hadreas’s experimentation here seems to be a conscious exploration of this idea within the context of whatever “queer aesthetic” is, and he puts in a wonderful amount of effort towards making every minute kinetic and fascinating. But there is a disconnect between artistic stylings of queerness and my own experiences that leaves me cold. When the song enters into its second half, I am not transfixed but simply pleased. I am entertained by the myriad of ways queerness can be expressed, yet while listening to this I also remember that the connections for most of them are lost on me entirely.
[6]

Don’t let the walls cave in on you…

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[5.90]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Is there a way for this to auto-play in the background anytime someone thinks about contacting their ex?
[8]

Will Adams: As someone who spent most of the first half of this decade lamenting how so many EDM songs built up with an uptempo 4/4 beat only to drop into an energy-sapping half-time hook, this is thrilling. The “Where’s Your Head At” bassline and warbling guitars create the type of nervous dancepop I crave, something like Tomcraft’s “Loneliness” with stakes raised by Clairo’s weary lyric.
[8]

Scott Mildenhall: “Where’s Your Head At” with a more sensitive angst — which is sadly not to say “M.E.”. The clash of styles sets up tension and release without complication, but it’s that calculation that means it falls short of the Jaxx approach of being only gnomic, banging, comical and banging.
[6]

Kylo Nocom: The novelty of juxtaposing campfire singer-songwriter pop with brash electro-fuzz is the song’s one trick, and it’s a trick Mura Masa tries to flesh out with guitar sampling and percussion reminiscent of the more ethereal tracks off George Clanton’s most recent record. Clairo’s performance is quaint, sometimes sounding at odds with the tweeness of the verses, but the hook is where the song finally works. It’s not a temper tantrum, it’s the nauseous resignation after it all finally gets so hopeless.
[6]

Joshua Lu: The transition from acoustic ballad to rock-infused banger is convincingly smooth, but this particular bait-and-switch was much more compelling in the hands of Kero Kero Bonito, who weren’t afraid of a dig into cacophony, and who knew to include an actual bridge. 
[5]

Ian Mathers: I feel like the intro finally sold me on the low-key charms of Clairo in a way her own songs haven’t, but the chorus feels awkwardly accelerated into. It also sounds weirdly like a remix of Basement Jaxx’s “Good Luck” for a second there? Further listens make it less jarring but it still feels like a bit a of a lost opportunity.
[5]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: The chorus is odd: it finds a midpoint between scuzzy electropop and the ruminative tone of Clairo’s typical fare. It neither builds upon the verses’ mood nor feels as cathartic as it should. It’s nice to see both artists branching out, but this feels less fully formed than either of their best songs.
[4]

Michael Hong: That same softness and yearning from Clairo’s Immunity is found across the verses and in the build-up to the chorus, which attempts to cross grungy sludge and futuristic production, but falls slightly short. If you’re going for a hook that’s just the same phrase repeated several times, do something more interesting than distorting it with autotune and dropping it on sludgy bass. The chorus is salvaged only by hints of Clairo popping out from underneath the autotune, giving it much-needed variety.
[6]

Vikram Joseph: The pastoral acoustics and gently endearing clatter of the verses, coupled with a wistful, middle-distance vocal from Clairo, are reminiscent of The Notwist and genuinely quite lovely, as is the fractured outro. I can fully appreciate the instinct to build layers of noise and intensity in between, but the transition into the chorus is painfully jarring and refuses to get any less so on subsequent listens — the low-end synths are far too brash, and the 4/4 club beat feels wildly out of place. It feels like the original and the remix have been spliced into one song — I just want to go back in time, sit down with Mura Masa and rewrite it, because this could have been excellent.
[6]

Hannah Jocelyn: The title is me @ Clairo discourse. Also me @ anticipating a somewhat underwhelming drop. 
[5]

Don’t listen to a word we say (HEY!) Most writers didn’t score the same (HEY!)

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[5.71]

Alfred Soto: I’m back in the early 2010s, holding on to a palm tree as the gale force winds of this harmony-stacked arena rock roar. 
[4]

Julian Axelrod: Of Monsters and Men’s folk-stomp shoutalongs were my guilty pleasure back in high school, when I still said things like  “guilty pleasure” and “Of Monsters and Men” with a straight face. But no amount of nostalgia could prepare me for how hard this rips. The innate sense of dynamics that made songs like “King and Lionheart” sound a million miles tall is intact, but outfitted with skin-searing guitars and drum fills that could crush boulders. I’m usually not a fan of the “folk vocals + heavy guitars = rock” formula, but every element is so well-integrated that it feels like a major upgrade instead of a lateral move. This song makes me wanna drive off a cliff and buy alcohol for minors, but don’t hold that against it.
[8]

Hannah Jocelyn: My Head Is an Animal is destined to be a nostalgic favorite of early-2010s indie folk fans the way modern music critics frequently scramble to canonize bands they loved growing up. Of Monsters and Men haven’t substantially changed their sound, but they’ve fortunately kept the darker parts intact – “Little Talks” has that horn line, but beneath the hooks are brief detours into ominous feedback and the lyrics about losing a loved one. “Alligator” isn’t as thoughtful; the song opens with “I see color raining down” and no one cares to specify further. But Rich Costey’s muscular polish benefits the band, ensuring that this doesn’t sound like a 2011 reject. It’s not as interesting as the things their former contemporaries are doing years later (Exhibit A: “Only Love” singer Ben Howard now regularly puts out eight minute psychedelic excursions), but there is comfort in hearing Of Monsters and Men age gracefully.
[7]

Will Adams: Of Monsters and Men always felt more distinct than the hey!-stomp folk bands they were (not unfairly) lumped in with like Lumineers, Mumford & Sons, Phillip Phillips, etc. Which makes it all the more commendable that they’ve largely left that sound behind in this new era. While the rest of Fever Dream aims for slick pop, “Alligator” is their punchiest offering yet. Nanna Hilmarsdottir’s vocal performance is stronger than ever, matching the scuzzy rock arrangement to create a song that retains the band’s best qualities while being fresh.
[7]

Ian Mathers: I am aware that experience isn’t universal and so, say, a fever dream could mean something different to different people. But if you’re going to base the lyrics of your single around the idea, repeated frequently, that “I’m fever dreaming,” it feels like a real missed opportunity to accompany that line with pretty standard radio rock sturm und drang instead of anything that even faintly resembles how I suspect most people would describe a fever dream.
[3]

Michael Hong: “Alligator” is still distinctly Of Monsters and Men, only a slight turn away from their folksier elements, but keeping their same anthemic spirit. The pounding drums and electric guitar are lively and energetic, but the chorus fails to match that energy, being an empty call to arms that blends together with the verses. Although “Alligator” builds up gradually, without a solid chorus or bridge it feels rushed and causes the outro to suffer, sounding completely abrupt.
[5]

Joshua Lu: The galumphing sound of “Alligator” brings to mind other alternative artists from the Nordic countries — Aurora, Susanne Sundfør — but this kind of sound feels affected for the typically folksy band. Still, affected grittiness is still much more interesting than anything Of Monsters and Men have churned out since “Little Talks.”
[6]