Which way?

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[5.00]

Kylo Nocom: Sorry, this is 50% “I Want It That Way” being bad and 50% Uzi being worse to listen to as he inches closer to hell.
[1]

Oliver Maier: It’s entirely to Uzi’s credit that he refuses to use the Backstreet Boys as a crutch on “That Way”. A less capable, less confident artist would sit back and let the undeniable hook of the source material do all the heavy lifting, maybe sneak a Nick Carter punchline in there somewhere and call it a day. Uzi, who does not live in the past (mostly), drags the sample through a wormhole instead and wrings his own chorus out of it. “That Way” ping-pongs through my brain at least once a day and I have to go and put it on every time. I’m not going to be the guy arguing that his lyrics are poetry, but the desperate way that Uzi bleats out the silliest, most unwieldy phrases — the best here being “Lil Uzi, he is so far from the timid” — is delightful to me. Whatever way “that way” is supposed to be is no more apparent here than in the original song, but I can’t say I care. I’m here for the ride.
[10]

Tobi Tella: Is he mumbling, using some filler lyrics, and making another song about basically nothing? Yes. Was I placated and along for the ride as soon as the Backstreet Boys interpolation came in? Yes. I’m starting to be convinced that I’m not gonna dislike an Uzi song, no matter the objective quality; he’s just too damn fun.
[7]

Alfred Soto: Uzi sounds fine; it’s stretching the Backstreet Boys melody as indifferently as if it were a stick of Orbit that gets oooooooollllld faaast.
[3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Uzi is at the stage of his fame where I like the idea of Uzi and the trappings around him significantly more than Uzi himself. The Backstreet Boys sample is the only really compelling thing here — Uzi sounds great harmonizing along, just like he did with Oh Wonder. But his verses feel increasingly tired, full of boring provocation and self-cosplay. It’s not unenjoyable, but it’s a far cry from where his potential lies.
[5]

Ryo Miyauchi: That melody, taken of course by the Backstreet Boys but also as bright as any swag rapper’s circa 2010-2012, and Uzi’s eagerness to just indulge in its sweetness mask a lot of the messiness on paper. And not to mention how graphic he gets: I doubt I’ll hear anyone deliver the words “deep throat” as catchily as Uzi does here.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: So the thing is, “I Want It That Way” is good, but it’s not so good that you can half-ass and slur all over the payoff without building up to it. It’s not so good that you can sub out the Backstreet Boys’ super-earnest delivery for a sneer. It’s not so good that you can lean on an interpolation of just those two notes without writing anything else around it. And “Larger Than Life” is the indispensible Millennium BSB single anyway.
[4]

Jay Kay from Jamiroquai reportedly “busy”…

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[5.67]

Andy Hutchins: People who have writing credits on “The Blinding”: Jay Electronica, Jay-Z, PartyNextDoor, Travis Scott, Swizz Beatz, Hit-Boy, AraabMuzik. Of those, the last three have production credits. Really unsure why a meeting of the minds such as this — or the greater one responsible for A Written Testimony — produced a song most notable for a steam hiss and a 50-year-old rapper sounding much younger and more urgent than his 43-year-old contemporary! But Jay Elec’s pose throughout his debut album is nigh repose: He treads a lot of the same ground he always did, and raps as the same infinitely self-assured kufi-wearer he’s always been, only so much time has passed since he first commanded the stage that he now sounds like a throwback to his own talk of the Anunnaki, and stuff like “Don’t he know I stay up for Fallon late nights?” sounds like a pathetic excuse even when it’s followed breaths later by honesty about his fears of failing to meet his own hype. It’s Jay Electronica; he is what he was and will be. More interesting is his elder’s electric performance, the lion in winter wanting to show he can still hunt, but doing so via cameos that make him affirmatively a supporting actor. I suppose no amount of talent in the group can prevent the group project from sounding rushed when it was, even if the rush came at the end of 13 years, but the inertness of beats like “The Blinding” is most of what makes what could have been an unforgettable classic a fine album, but one that will still be forgotten.
[5]

Leonel Manzanares de la Rosa: There’s always been this aura of mystery, of “hermit saint coming down from the clouds” in Jay Elec’s persona. We always thought that, once his long-awaited full length comes out, the Earth would shatter. We weren’t right, but in the face of impending doom, his prophecy comes out just as holy, although it does lose a lot of power by hiding behind Jay-Z, the High Priest of Black Neoliberalism.  
[7]

Alfred Soto: Jay Electronica’s raps aren’t up to his beats, but with near-peak Jay-Z and hanging-in-there Travis Scott offering crucial support “The Blinding” realizes its ambitions. As for that beat, the hydraulic press hiss complements the unexpected clarity of a performer who can remark, “When I look inside the mirror/all I see are flaws.”
[7]

Edward Okulicz: If this came out in 2006, it would probably have sounded incredibly arresting and fresh. In 2020, it feels like overly buzzy, clumpy, cluttered beats have been done. Worse, they’re getting in the way of some sharp Jay-Z bars. If you can tune the buzz out, which is easier on parts of the verses, and focus on the interjayplay, this is short, sharp and bracing. But there’s too much going on that it occasionally hurts to hear.
[6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: One of the more cluttered sub-three-minute tracks I’ve heard in a while — by the time you get Jay Electronica’s riveting second verse, you’ve already received Swizz Beats doing his schtick, Travis Scott crooning, and a half-baked set of traded bars between the two Jays lined up around the word “sir.” It’s a Jay Electronica song that’s great when it’s a Jay Electronica song, but it’s just tiring the rest of the time.
[5]

Jackie Powell: “The Blinding” is a song of multiple chapters. The introduction, the exchanges between Electronica and Hova, Travis Scott’s hook, the 25-second outro which includes an expansion on a piano rhythm that enters the track earlier, but is underneath it all at around a minute and thirty in. I’ll break it down chapter by chapter. Chapter 1: The abrasive and unsettling inception. The complexity of the production, especially in the boisterous and unimpressive kickoff (sorry Fantano), is the result of too many cooks in the kitchen. I usually drool for any bassline or bass loop, but these sounds overwhelm rather than excite. Chapter 2: Jay Electronica and Jay-Z have a chemistry that is pure and undeniable. It’s powerful in verse one (overshadowed by the bass) but then in verse two, there’s a softness and a vulnerability. But in both verses, they enunciate. What a novel concept? There’s nostalgia in the clarity of the flow. Chapter 3: Travis Scott’s hook doesn’t add anything that I don’t receive in the verses. It feels overproduced and uninspired. The extra echo tacked on to Scott’s final word. “Sun” sounds like “Suuuuuuhhhhnnnnn.” Lastly, Chapter 4: the New Orleanian piano finally takes center stage for ten seconds to conclude. It’s gorgeous but underdeveloped and I would have rather had it as a lede, even if it’s a worthy kicker. The issue I have with “The Blinding”, though, is how its brilliance is overshadowed by how perplexing its moments of mediocrity are. The writing is substantive, a bit religious (by the way, this loses a point because of an anti-Semitic reference made on another cut on the album) and introspective. Jay Electronica’s inner critic speaks to him at the end of the second verse. But then a smooth hi-hat introduced at 1:39 can’t shine. It doesn’t have enough time to do so. Is the title ironic, maybe? Are these super producers, Swizz and Hit-Boy, a bit blind to the concept that less is more? Yep.
[5]

Oliver Maier: Totally aimless, simultaneously overworked and underthought. Blown-out noise rap beats are no longer provocative enough to be inherently exciting, and the two Jays seem to be constantly building up to a point that never arrives. As a B-plot, Travis Scott provides what might be his feeblest feature to date, which is a real achievement.
[3]

Ryo Miyauchi: The first verse almost hands you that Watch the Throne sequel some die-hards on KanyeToThe still clamor for, except Jay Elec stands as Hov’s better foil. The beat is crunchy boom-bap in the style of that faux-brostep breakdown of “Paris” courtesy of the same architect, and the two Jays trade bars about third-eye conspiracies while Travis Scott sings a heavily Auto-Tuned hymn. They somehow run out of steam come the second, though, with Hov peacing out early, but not before dropping a Kate Bush pun.
[5]

Jonathan Bradley: Next August will see the ten-year anniversary of Watch the Throne, and Jay-Z’s presence on Jay Electronica’s eternally deferred debut draws a thread connecting these two albums: one an imperial show of force that now marks a time and a relationship lost to history, the other a coronation that happened because it had to, even though it seemed like its moment had itself been lost to history. On “The Blinding,” Jay and Jay lack the easy interplay built by friendship and interpersonal warmth that Kanye and Jay displayed on Throne, but their connection is real, productive, and mutually beneficial. Hov exhibits the good side of his aging self’s predilection for meticulous and fussy couplets, using the epistrophe of “I named my son Sir, so you gotta call my son sir/He already knighted” to call back to his one-time imaginings of fatherhood on Throne‘s “New Day.” Couplets like “The gift that keeps giving like babushka/Kush crushed up in the studio; rolling Kate Bush up” are a reminder of how wide-ranging and inventive he can be. But wide-ranging and inventive are qualities Jay Electronica has long been able to claim for himself; Hov’s role here — which, in a show of humility, is uncredited! — is to bestow his decades-long pedigree and affirm that Electronica still has the lyrical heft to warrant his presence. And the headline attraction does hold his own. Jay Electronica’s style combines dense traditionalist lyricism with earthy New Orleans imagery and — most resonantly — murmurs of political conspiracy and invocations of Abrahamic and Afrocentric syncretism. The last of these qualities gives his work an air of mysticism that intimates intellect and is somewhat bullshit, but is effective in suggesting that his words might obscure psychedelic depths. So, yes, Jay Electronica is a “stowed-away captive a long way home from Zion,” “the return of the lost-and-found tribe of Shabazz,” “the return of the Mahdi,” but his best lyric winks at his circuitous path to the present day: “Extra, extra!; it’s Mr. Headlines/Who signed every contract and missed the deadlines.” Incorrigible.
[8]

Well, since you asked…

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[5.33]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: This kind of song — a big stately ballad about gender roles and race relations and broken dreams — is maybe the hardest kind to do. On one end you have glib, underwritten bromides about togetherness and whiggish progress that handwave the struggle away. On the other you have musical units of trauma fetishism, meaningfully meaningless PSA-bait. It’s a tough line to tow — even the best pop artists continue to fail at it. Yet Mickey Guyton does exactly what she needs to do here. The production is restrained but not empty, her vocals save their fire for the most pointed moments, and the lyrics are specific without being ridiculous. “What Are You Gonna Tell Her” is a best case scenario for this kind of ballad, a triumph that works based on its attention to detail.
[8]

Alfred Soto: Well-said, restrained even, yet these virtues don’t cohere into surprise. 
[3]

Ryo Miyauchi: Without some of its early inclusions of the personal — the lyric about her skin, and especially the sharply specific one about “her” older brother — “What Are You Gonna Tell Her” could’ve been another well-intentioned yet flawed call to arms in country that ends up being too one-size-fits-all. It gives each series of questions an extra sting, with more consequence if they’re left unanswered. Also clever is how Mickey Guyton finishes the song musically unresolved, the last chord leaving an unsettled air almost like a mic drop.
[5]

Katie Gill: This is a very lovely song that is absolutely NOT going to get any airplay. Guyton pours her all into it, powerhouse vocals accompanied by a beautiful sparse piano and minimal strings. The idea of the song is strong and beautiful, a punch to the gut that’s ruined a bit by the reality, which seems to take a kitchen-sink approach to all the problems that can happen to our protagonist (what can go wrong? EVERYTHING). Still, the sentiment is lovely, Guyton’s voice delicately walks the line between sincere and overwrought, and I can’t get over what a smart idea that minimalist accompaniment is.
[5]

Ian Mathers: The didactic point is well taken but, to be blunt, the fact that I don’t have an answer is part of why my wife and I also don’t have any kids. My friends and relatives who do have kids might not have a snappy answer for her, but it’s not exactly the kind of issue they haven’t considered, and I’m not sure what turning the screws on them accomplishes.
[4]

Edward Okulicz: This is meticulous and beautiful. You need a really empathetic voice to sell a song like it, and Guyton has one (you can imagine this in the hands of, say, Alessia Cara, but don’t). I can’t think of too many songs about daughters, or having them, outside country. But on the one hand, it scratches my feelings of righteousness because I agree with every word, while making me feel numb because it’s not me that needs to hear it. So I’ll just appreciate the care that went into making it.
[7]

Paging Jason Orange: our highest 1D-related score ever…

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[6.86]

Alfred Soto: Wit frightens him. Eroticism is beyond him. Yet the One Milquetoaster’s too long second solo album is the best thing anyone in 1D’s been involved with since the breakup, in part because Niall Horan hasn’t cleaved himself from 1D’s writer-producers. The mild electro skank of “Heartbreak Weather” complements the sub-mental lyrics and Horan’s granola yell. 
[7]

Kat Stevens: It seems clear that Niall is gunning for Will Young’s old position as the polo-necked Mum-friendly regular on the Radio 2 playlist. Unfortunately here, his affable (and catchy!) melody simply lacks that knife-in-the-gut twist that’s embedded throughout Will’s best material. It’s going to take more than a pastel-coloured Mr Benn job-of-the-week video to guarantee that Zoe Ball breakfast slot. “Heartbreak Weather” is about the sun coming out after the storm, but Niall breezes through it with the easy countenance of someone who’s never been hailed on while queuing to get into Tesco Express, two metres apart from the person in front, never to touch anyone again. 
[6]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: The track’s production is a pristine, 80’s romantic-comedy dream, and could have been an apposite backdrop to the cheesy lyrical conceit. The problem, though, is Niall Horan’s delivery: jejune and lacklustre, barely unconvincing in portraying the shift from “heartbreak weather” to whatever greener pastures he’s finally found. Imagine a Carly Rae Jepsen song that’s had a lobotomy. 
[5]

Oliver Maier: I assumed last time was a fluke and that I’d never like another of Niall “J’adore la mer” Horan’s singles so much but “Heartbreak Weather” goes down real smooth. It’s a big stompy electropop track! Remember those? Swap out the vocals and this is basically a below-average Emotion cut, which as a general standard makes it: still pretty good!
[7]

Edward Okulicz: Don’t know how it works, but this incredibly wide-eyed, daft song approaches something like profundity coming out of Niall Horan’s Vanilla Coke of a mouth. I’m almost sold that “heartbreak weather” is a clever and meaningful phrase, because I’m definitely sold that “Heartbreak Weather” is a very dumb but meaningful song.
[8]

Michael Hong: “Heartbreak Weather” isn’t quite as goofy as its announcements would suggest (nor as silly as lead single “Nice to Meet Ya”), but instead, a lushly romantic piece, a set of memories building up to a relationship. Horan’s fragmented recollections attempt to touch on pieces of specificity (“dancin’ to Bruno”) but fail, fail in the way that only love can make you fail, by blurring every smile, every moment, every feeling into one. His realization is that lift that love makes you feel, the way everything seems to shine a little bit brighter and stormy weather no longer seems like a such a bad thing.
[8]

Scott Mildenhall: While Harry Styles doggedly pursues some classic rock ideal, at least one of his bandmates seems content with the version they already had. Horan was wise to keep working with the same people as during One Direction’s later period; “Heartbreak Weather” runs on the mileage that was still in that kind of material. Carried further by the strength of its original idiom and singalong secondary hook, this is the sound of someone who isn’t beholden to a desperation to prove himself.
[7]

• Joshua Minsoo Kim released a new issue of Tone Glow, his newsletter about experimental music, featuring an interview with composer Annea Lockwood.
• After Kenny Rogers’ passing last week, Alfred Soto wrote two obituaries: one for City Pages and one for his own blog, Humanizing the Vacuum.
• Thomas Inskeep examined Kenny Rogers’ peak crossover years, the 1980s, for Rock & Roll Globe.

Sadly we don’t stretch to [33.10]…

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[5.67]

Alfred Soto: Celebrating Kool-Aid smiles and purple corduroys with matching ribbons, telling cops to fuck off while reminding listeners to say “I love you” to parents, Princess Nokia scratches a nostalgic itch and proffers self-help. At less than two minutes “Green Eggs & Ham” is too slight to annoy, too brief to ponder.
[6]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: “Love my inner child/Kool-Aid smile,” Princess Nokia raps, the smile on their face practically visible. “Green Eggs and Ham” constructs an entire childhood world in its less than two-minute runtime, but that line tells you everything you need to know about childhood mischief and wonder. Similar to how “Sunday Candy” was an anthem for Chance the Rapper’s grandma and the warmth of her love, this track is an ode to the feeling of parental love and childhood security and imagination. I hear “I look like my mama in the 1980s,” “public school and two Thanksgivings,” and “you and me, socks on feet,” and I’m transported to the first house I ever lived in, sitting in a room smelling like linen as my mom and I fold laundry together, watching Harry Potter weekends or The Parent Trap on ABC Family. (Matilda definitely also came on a couple times.) So much of childhood is spent trying to be an adult, and so much of adulthood is spent trying to be taken seriously — it’s in this context that “Green Eggs and Ham” isn’t just fun, it’s a revelation. 
[8]

Oliver Maier: All of the people to bite in 2020 and you go with Chance the Rapper.
[3]

Kylo Nocom: I guess the issue with this and all sorts of up-and-comers who abide by the Chance the Rapper philosophy of (irk!) wholesome or warm PBS Kids rap is that they never have the charm that makes stuff as otherwise messy as Coloring Book work. Nokia’s forced-smile bars expose the regression of a rapper who showed much more potential on earlier projects.
[4]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The alt-rap “Blueberry Faygo” — a beat so groovy that the rapper riding it doesn’t have to do all that much. Nokia’s clearly a better rapper than Lil Mosey, but that almost distracts from the appeal of 1-900’s beat — the two are not quite in sync, and Nokia’s stylistic trick of repeating words from line to line isn’t quite as clever as they think it is. But “Green Eggs & Ham” is still eminently charming, the kind of retro rap exercise that you could loop endlessly without it really getting old.
[7]

Alex Clifton: I’ve hated Dr Seuss since childhood (rhyming books made my skin crawl, go figure) so I’m not entirely sold on the concept of this song. At a taut two minutes, Princess Nokia’s trying to pack a fair amount in here, with recollections of a rough childhood set against a breezy beat, but I’m still mystified as to why Seuss has been brought into it. There’s something to be said about the juxtaposition of kid-friendly rhymes with darker material, an indication that even after going through the worst stuff you’ll be fine, but the song is frankly too short for me to have a good grasp of what Princess Nokia wants to convey, even if it does sound nice. However, the video does have a ton of Matilda references, which was my favourite book as a kid, so I’m giving this an extra point.
[6]

Och vad är fel med det?

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[4.88]

Olivia Rafferty: Inoffensive Scandi-pop that conjures images of sad white man in leather jacket.
[3]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Even before translating the lyrics from Swedish, I could already tell this was going to be some soft-boy, sappy crap about crying and loving someone else. Sometimes corniness transcends language. 
[3]

Scott Mildenhall: Quite rightly, Sweden decided against Felix Sandman’s literalist “Boys With Emotions” for The Eurovision That Wasn’t, but it must surely have struck some chord in a nation where “Svag” has been the most popular song of the year. Unlike Sandman though, Leksell shows more than tells. This is less proclamation than concession of vulnerability, and therein lies half of the appeal: he actually sounds soft. It’s not a Statement, and soars above all Capaldian bellows; a reminder that things can be restrained, emotional, tuneful and lively all at the same time.
[7]

Will Adams: A man whose received masculinity tells him it’s wrong to show emotion (“That’s how I was raised / just be a man and take it”) grapples with being struck with love. It’s… almost moving? The Sheeran-core arrangement is fine but never goes anywhere; by chorus three we’re still sat with the same pleasant strums, light percussion and reverb aplenty.
[5]

Kylo Nocom: Has the nostalgia cycle reached the pop intimacy of Ghost Stories, x, and other Starbucks favorites circa 2014 yet? Viktor Leksell, despite never reaching the same highs in “Svag,” clearly knows well enough how “Magic” and “Tenerife Sea” were once enchanting.
[6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Maybe the low quality of European acoustic-pop imports to the US over the last decade has worn me down. “Svag” is less good than actively non-bad, its weak-in-the-knees lyrics and inoffensive production charming in the blandest way. But its blandness is its strength — I can’t help but bop along, and I can’t think of the last time I felt that way about a song that sounded like this.
[5]

Ryo Miyauchi: Justin Bieber’s sonar R&B is a foundation here, but Leksell translates Bieber’s recent marital bliss more through adult-contemporary earnestness. For such a closed-in song, he reaches for very sweeping generalizations and grandiose metaphors, but the lyrical overwhelmedness does convey just how awe-struck he is at the sight of The One.
[5]

Tobi Tella: Likable, dreamy guitar-pop with few other attributes. The lyrics gesture to a shift in the song at the chorus, but I’m not sure it actually registers sonically.
[5]

Does this count as a Pharrell intro…?

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[5.17]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: With smokey words and sepia tones, Lianne La Havas paints a devastatingly beautiful vignette: on a rainy but tranquil morning, you wake up in the warm embrace of someone who loves you, and suddenly, you realize that you don’t love them back. 
[7]

Alfred Soto: As much as I’ve taken mild enjoyment from Lianne La Havas in the past, this attempt to wring bittersweetness from genre requirements this constricted reminds me of Alicia Keys. This we can’t have.
[4]

Oliver Maier: La Havas and co. thread the production of a lofi hip-hop beat (to study and relax to) into a live band performance. It’s an interesting experiment but the two different approaches to momentum — one based around quick stops and starts, the other around gradual expansions and contractions — feel mismatched, and throw “Bittersweet” off-balance. La Havas might have elevated it with her performance, but the ostentatious chorus vocal is an unwelcome detour from the smoky, patient verses. Subtlety already sounds gorgeous on her, why bring out the big guns when they’re not necessary?
[5]

Ryo Miyauchi: Lianne La Havas introduces just enough tension in the picture-perfect neo soul to elevate the Isaac Hayes-inspired prettiness beyond mere wallpaper decorations. She adds pressure in the wrong spots, leaving the actual relationship drama in the verses underutilized, but there’s still a passive-aggressiveness present to hint at a little crack behind the scenes.
[6]

Leah Isobel: The piano hits maintain a certain delicacy even as they’re doubled on top of every other instrument in the song, like raindrops hitting the ground with the force of a bowling ball. These soft-heavy shadings are where La Havas does her best vocal work; her vibrato and her fondness for a blue note makes her belts sound like they’re taking all the force from her body, while the warmth in her tone makes her softer phrasings feel reassuring, even at her most heartbroken. Yes, “Bittersweet” is texturally gorgeous, and it does exactly what its title promises to do — maybe to a fault. It’s perfectly composed and just a little airless, a baptism in a snow globe.
[6]

Kylo Nocom: It’s really hard to judge more critically when approaching polite music. There’s hardly anything to attack here: sure, it’s boring, but it’s pretty! R&B is hard to truly fuck up, and Lianne La Havas gives the chorus enough lift to feel like this song isn’t simply going by the motions, but God am I begging for something that’ll actively offend me once it ends.
[3]

Take care out there!

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[6.88]

Alfred Soto: “Caution”? Ha! The Killers don’t know the meaning of the word. Still chasing slightly nutsy love triangles into total eclipses of the heart, Brandon Flowers remains unrepentant, a fool addicted to synth pomp like Donald Trump is to Big Macs. He still can’t sing and he’s singing worse, but when he wraps his so-white larynx around a pinched guitar solo I still hear the frustrated dreams of a fellow who wishes God had made him queerer than he is. 
[7]

Scott Mildenhall: It’s a surprise that Brandon Flowers has any caution left to throw, after seventeen years of these dustland fairytales, but the thought of a day by which he can no longer tap into those reserves is one that in itself could be the subject of a song in which it is something he strains every sinew to avoid — happily, it seems unlikely to come. “Caution,” with its broad-but-specific geography, narrative and production, finds the perfect match in its vocalist’s vast quaver. Somehow, it never stops being compelling.
[7]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: This sounds indistinguishable from the rest of the Killers’ pretentious, aspiring-to-be-epic discography, but hearing “If I don’t get out, out of this town/I might just be the one who finally burns it down” in the context of self-quarantining in my childhood home brought such a smile to my face that I might like this more than I should. 
[6]

Kylo Nocom: The dick-swinging dance-rock Brandon Flowers of 2017 is resting now; judging by the collaborations on the new record, an NPR Tiny Desk Concert has taken his place. It smells strongly of “The Boys of Summer,” but it doesn’t smell bad.
[7]

Will Adams: With a similar harmonic progression and quick tempo, “Caution” bounds with the same hopeful energy as “Human.” But instead of the starry-eyed wonderments of the latter, this is more assured. The chorus bursts like a sunbeam, with Brandon Flowers stretching to the top of his already shaky range. Somehow, he still sounds certain of what he’s saying.
[7]

Edward Okulicz: This sounds great if you listen to any particular 15 seconds of it, but makes absolutely no sense taken as a whole. Part of it’s Brandon Flowers’ role as native English speakers’ foremost practitioner of Nonsense English as a second language, part of it’s how the first 40 seconds sounds like U2 doing “Bright Eyes,” and the rest of it is the empty lunges towards the anthemic. USDA certified what?
[5]

Ian Mathers: If I say there’s always been a whiff of bullshit about the Killers (yes, even the deservedly deathless “Mr. Brightside”), I want you to understand that I mean it as a compliment. Whether it’s Flowers reaching for Springsteen and not quite grasping it on “if I don’t get out, out of this town / I might just be the one who finally burns it down”; or the acknowledged mix of UK and US so pronounced it sometimes confuses people; or little Sumner-esque lyrical infelicities like never actually finishing the idiom in the chorus here; or “are we human or are we dancer?”; or (my favourite, from what I think might actually be their best song) “you can dip your feet every one in a little while,” these are virtues, not vices, almost purely because the Killers sell every single one of them, and you can tell they believe in it. And what is more American than selling something faintly ersatz, something not-quite-as-promised, with enough heart and conviction that it becomes realer than the real thing?
[8]

Alex Clifton: “Caution” radiates the kind of freedom and ease I have always wanted to associate with America, rather than what it actually is. I think The Killers are actually the best expression of the American Ideal we’ll ever have, something bombastic and liberating yet able to unify a hundred thousand people for three minutes. They’re full of Vegas glitz and individualistic swagger, the promise of the West, but with a hidden tender heart they’re not afraid to let out of its cage show. It’s too bad America can’t really ever be like that. However, for a few moments, I can forget and give into the song, which means I’m sold. Anyway, listen to this if you want four minutes to escape the humdrum of quarantine: in the Killers’ universe, you’re warm and safe with a beer and some good friends, and none of the evils of the world can hurt you.
[8]

Sauti Sol do not appreciate your stories…

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[7.43]

Olivia Rafferty: Pop-culture morsels criticising the Instagram influencer can often be trite and a little bit redundant, flexing a perspective that we’ve already been on board with since the dawn of Snapchat filters. But Sauti Sol take the trope and give it a delightful wryness, with the help of a guitar motif that wriggles constantly throughout the song. “Shaking what your doctor gave ya” is a brilliant lyric, delivered with enough smile in the mouth that you could almost forget it’s a song about someone trying to sell you hair vitamins from a Parisian balcony.
[7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: An anachronistic piece through and through — its references to plastic surgery and Instagram are the only indications of modernity, but the sweetness of the rest hearkens back to a more compassionate era of songs where a male singer shames the choices of a women he once had a connection with. It’s a noxious message, but the love in the vocals almost, but doesn’t quite outweigh it. “Suzanna” still charms, though — it’s mostly in the warmth of the guitars and genial chug of the beat, in the harmonies but not the lyrics.
[6]

Nortey Dowuona: A slinking guitar one slips in the door, with a boisterous synth cloud and padding drums, with a sloppy bass and another swinging guitar flying through the window and all scrambling up and assembling behind Bien, Savara and Chimano, singing to Suzanna, who smiles tightly and teleports back to Sankofa Books and Cafe.
[7]

Kylo Nocom: Sauti Sol’s making-of video is absolutely worth watching just to see the absolute joy they have creating this song. The efforts of their labor are clear: this is a capital-P Pop statement, with well-deserved international ambitions as they prepare for their major label debut. I haven’t heard a track as refined as “Suzanna” all year, nothing with as lovely minutiae as their ad-libs, their sensuous guitar work, or their almost-communal chorus harmonies. Yet the lyrics deserve some scrutiny for what feels like misogynistic back-handed compliments and outright disses that would be inexcusable elsewhere. These concerns are somewhat assuaged by a cute response parody that flips around the dynamic of the song, but I’m left uncomfortable with how much I can’t stay away from the original’s gorgeous arrangements.
[8]

Alfred Soto: The melody’s country lilt should prove, if any proof were needed, of the cross-pollination between country music and the music of several African nations. Possibly I overrate “Suzanna” because I need some buoyancy.
[8]

Scott Mildenhall: There’s an obvious case to be made for this being massively sexist — every nation and every era gets its “Where Do You Go To (My Lovely)?” But whereas Peter Sarstedt was playing with an unfortunate tall-poppy syndrome/superiority complex hybrid, Sauti Sol sound lovelorn. Their mocking isn’t quite toothless, but is concertedly undermined by the more pertinent desperation. They’re willing to put themselves on the back foot, and the result is winning.
[8]

Edward Okulicz: My first instinct was that the references to Instagram, silicon and “worst behaviour” were lightly condemning of an ex’s new best life, but that isn’t right — it’s a song about post-break-up denial and hopelessly, helplessly putting a smile on a situation, and you can hear it in every beat and every lick. The girl is gone, the narrator doesn’t realise she’s unfollowed him on Instagram, and the song is great fun.
[8]