• Michael Hong wrote about the best Cantopop of December 2020-May 2021 for his newsletter Mando Gap.
• Nortey Dowuona reviewed Vince Staples’ Summertime ’06.
• Jeffrey Brister wrote about the anti-MLM community and the unchanging nature of internet drama for BNet.

HARD. ROCK. Hallelujah?

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[7.22]

Harlan Talib Ockey: Fuck. I love Eurovision now.
[8]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: Armed with a guitar tone somewhere between John Frusciante and Alex Kapranos, and a vocal flow cribbed from the latter, Måneskin brought basement venue rock to the stage in Rotterdam on Saturday. It’s easy to imagine a room full of 20 year olds in various states of inebriation shaking the building’s foundations as they jump along to the chorus. The song is a perpetual hype machine, with fuzzy bass kicking in after the second chorus to keep your heart pumping while the guitarist recovers. And yes, there is some artifice inherent in the styling of the band, some clinging to a long-gone, perhaps non-existent, authenticity from the shouted speech: “Rock and Roll Never Dies!” I say there has been no death, no need to grieve, but an adaptation. Rock music has moved on from the sound valorized here. But Måneskin demonstrates that there is still an audience for that sound, and that that audience will certainly vote for Eurovision. And though they were only my third favorites in my first ever Eurovision watch (I love you, Daði and Kateryna) their win is well-deserved.
[8]

Scott Mildenhall: What might seem novel at Eurovision can be hackneyed outside it. Watching back, it’s easy to see what others might see in this — charisma and interplay so natural that it belies choreography — but little is that striking about the song. It makes absolute sense that Måneskin were catapulted to fame via X Factor (albeit a relatively cred-minded iteration), because “Zitti e Buoni” is trad to the point of naff — the first verse translated is almost parodically tepid. Later ones redeem that, making a more impressive fist of the Ed Sheeran Flow than its namesake ever has, but for all its engaging frenzy, it feels flatter on record. Agreeably swaggering yes, but banging techno-folk this is not.
[6]

Samson Savill de Jong: Eurovision’s deserved winner once you accept that Iceland were probably too kooky and Ukraine were too offbeat to win the heart of most of Europe. The competition gets a lot of stick for being a string of novelty acts trying to out-garish each other, stick which is not entirely undeserved, but it seems to me novelty rarely carries the day at the very top. Indeed, Måneskin may have conceded to walking around in/not in suitable glam costumes, but that was about the size of it, and the song itself is just some solid pop rock. “Zitti e Buoni” is fun, something to bop along to and sing aloud at the anthemic bit put there so people could sing it aloud. It’s not pushing the boundaries of rock (it was written for Eurovision after all) but it does the genre tropes very, very well.
[7]

Alfred Soto: Threatening to turn into “Life in the Fast Lane,” this Eurovision champ rummages through unexpected influences. It stops, a pleasant thirdhand pleasure.
[6]

Thomas Inskeep: I’m more than a bit surprised to be so into a Eurovision winner, but when the prize goes to an Italian glam rock band by way of The Pretty Reckless (who’ve clearly heard a Darkness record or two, too), what can you do but succumb to its greasy charms?
[8]

Katherine St Asaph: I missed Eurovision this year for the first time ever (not counting 2020 for obvious reasons). I’ve since heard dozens of lurid Patrick Verona-esque stories about what this band got up to on stage. I assume that, as with every Eurovision single, they’re what elevates this beyond what it is, to Abraham Van Helsing from Greta Van Fleet.
[6]

Katie Gill: So at this point, can we officially say that the Eurovision voting public has better taste than the juries? I mean, after the jury vote, the two frontrunners were Switzerland basically doing the same song that won last time but French, and France doing what they do best: being aggressively French. But then here come the public, pushing this fun piece of rock and roll right to the top. And SURE most of the votes are probably because everybody’s horny on main for the lead singer, but this is a good song! That rapid-fire second verse is amazing, that chorus is intense, that final chorus absolutely kicks ASS, and the song is delightfully modern, setting it apart from the charming yet still intensely dated other rock and roll entry. Besides, I enjoy it when Eurovision is chaotic and I cannot wait to watch a few countries try to copy this song in 2022.
[8]

Edward Okulicz: It is still not relevant that Finland was sillier and more fun, because Italy’s Eurovision winner had plenty of other things going for it. For starters, this had easily the best bassline in the competition. It also mixed credible-seeming glam-rock riffs, a credible-looking band presentation and plenty of pure pop smarts to make people dance in their seats. Eurovision’s a place for big, dumb choruses, for tightly-planned movement, for getting passionate about your favourite song like a sporting team, and getting into the spirit of music with the people you’re watching with. “Zitti e Buoni” may not have won precisely because it had something for absolutely demographic and every reason you might vote for a song, but the televoting results putting this over “proper” “good” entries like Switzerland’s suggest it can’t have hurt. Not my favourite, but a satisfying winner for all those reasons anyway. 
[8]

Chance missed by not subtitling it “(Moonlight)”…

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[7.70]

Samson Savill de Jong: This song proves how much difference it makes when the person writing it is speaking from real experience. Interpolating Iann Dior’s utterly odious “Holding On”, Lil Nas X makes a sweet and deeply affecting song. There’s a lot of people making sad boy music with these kinds of sounds at the moment, but a lot of them leave out details or insights that allow us to actually understand what they’re feeling, instead just telling you that they’re depressed and expect that to be enough. Nas X knows better. This song exposes his soul, in a way not even “Montero” did, and crucially he does it by telling us about his fears, his feelings, the things that he went through that made him feel like this. There is plenty that will be relatable to people in here, but crucially that’s because we’re relating to him, rather than an abstract concept, and so even if we haven’t been through his specifics, we still understand how he felt. I’d have loved a second verse, and Nas X isn’t exactly revolutionising lyric writing here, but this is a popular sound that has mostly been filled with preening arseholes who have nothing to say but expect your sympathy, and we’ve suddenly got an emotionally raw song that really connects, and the comparison makes it stand out even more.
[8]

John Pinto: MONTERO‘s third single flips an Iann Dior track that landed here with a resounding thud. So why are the results so much sweeter this time around? For one thing, Lil Nas X smartly keeps the things that work (Omer Fedi’s sparkling guitar work, a transposed hook) while jettisoning the things that don’t (everything else). It’s also pretty genius to turn a little boy’s nice guy routine into a meditation on internalized homophobia and racism, a sly illustration of trying to hide one’s sexuality by fitting in with a dominant hyper-macho society.
[8]

Katherine St Asaph: A perfect rejoinder to people who say lyrics don’t matter. Take away the vocals, and this is an over-short Post Malone song with light orchestral flourishes. The candor and poignancy are all in Lil Nas X’s words and perseverance. This is also exactly how the writing credits work out; imagine if producers Take a Daytrip gave the track to Travis Scott or Big Sean instead. The docked points are for them.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: Boiled down to its components, it’s not the most complex or accomplished track, but thinking about how much this must mean to the kids who need to hear their stories told in the past tense, suggesting an actual future, renders almost any criticism moot. But here’s some anyway: it takes some serious skill to take your old, but only partially-buried sadness, and bring it out with such a breezy, singalong melody. This song is a gift.
[8]

Will Adams: As hard as it is to keep up with someone who operates at a hundred memes per hour, “Sun Goes Down” is a lovely moment of reflection for Lil Nas X. With a few years, he could polish his message of self-acceptance to be even more powerful, but fuck it: someone out there needs to hear this now.
[7]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: I won’t bore you with all of the boring personal details of why I love and relate to all of the lyrics except to say: the first CD album that I ever owned, and one of the most seminal works in my life to this date, was Nicki Minaj’s Pink Friday. Lil Nas X, good on you for letting the whole world know how much of a Barb you are, and for also letting us into the intimately painful and deeply beautiful parts of your personal life. Your fandom (and standom) is proud. 
[9]

Alfred Soto: The autobiographical material doesn’t transform Lil Nas’ approach or sharpness, but facts are facts: this is one catchy son of a bitch, catchier than “Old Town Road” and “MONTERO.” The mention of thick lips and color are grace notes, not the point, which will surprise this excellent attention-getter.
[7]

Thomas Inskeep: God bless the truly genre-less Lil Nas X, who’s decided to go all-in on being the biggest gay pop star in the world. His “Montero” follow-up, which to me sounds for all the world like a letter to his queer, Black, teenaged self, is basically an “it gets better” song that actually speaks to his own, and thousands if not millions of teens’ around the world, experiences. Musically it’s a bit anemic, as he sings over some semi-acoustic pop-rock, but because of what he’s saying and who he’s, basically, being, I’ll cut him slack. The world needs LNX, and he seems to get it, and that matters so, so much.
[6]

Ian Mathers: It sometimes gets overshadowed that, even with all of the many other aspects of being an artist, star, personality (etc etc) that Lil Nas X is very, very good at, he simply wouldn’t be in a position to use those skills if he didn’t also keep putting out very, very good songs (and, mea maxima culpa, I dismissed “Panini” wayyy too quickly at the time). “Sun Goes Down” isn’t going to get the controversy of “Montero (Call Me By Your Name)” and so maybe it’ll get a little less attention, but it’s at least as good, and for anyone waiting for Lil Nas X to do a proper sad banger: your ride’s here.
[9]

Nortey Dowuona: I’m beginning to see it. See why old Nas wound up where he is now. Making great records is a difficult thing and one that requires a great deal of time, and little Nas is under a time crunch. The now looming shadow of “MONTERO” is growing bigger every day it doesn’t sit on number 1, and the pressure is on little Nas to win over the world or be forgotten and written off as a fluke and a flash in the pan. But big Nas had the luck of being a “serious” artist, and that can give you time. Pop stars, especially now, don’t have that luck. You’re either dropping monthly or you will be forgotten. That’s why “Sun Goes Down” gives me a little hope. Because it’s very much a serious song. For one, it has a well-produced video in which Nas goes from being a hidden wallflower to the toast of the prom, his hair radiant. It has a swirling, guitar-led beat with chopper drums and loping bass. It even touches on his life as a stan. But Nas does exactly what a serious song like this needs: carry it in his warm, tender tenor, making it buoyant with the sincerity and courage it needs. It’s not meant to be a chart-topper, it’s meant to be a fantastic song. This weekend, I listened to the Q-Tip remix of “The World Is Yours”. It was thoughtful, confident and slick with its wordplay. And it felt strange to look at 21-year-old Big Nas, a baby face with a wisdom beyond his years and the world at his feet. And as I watched “Sun Goes Down”, I saw the same confidence, the same slick word play, the same thoughtfulness and that same wisdom. I’m hopeful that this Lil Nas will fulfill the promise that Big Nas eventually failed and betrayed. Even if he comes only a little closer, that’ll be good enough. “I know, that you want to cry, but there’s much more to life, than dying over your past mistakes and people who threw dirt on your name. The world is yours, my ninja.”
[10]

Yep, this is definitely a single by Migos.

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[6.00]

Samson Savill de Jong: It’s amazing given all the imitators they spawned, that a Migos song is still immediately identifiable as being by them. That’s both a blessing and a curse, as they might be a cut above their pretenders but they are essentially adding another one to the pile with “Straightenin.” It’s just another Migos song, more than fine if you’re a fan of theirs, but it’s not distinctive enough to have much impact beyond that.
[5]

Andy Hutchins: Typically hypnotic work from long-time collaborator DJ Durel, typically nonsense mantra hook, typically Neapolitan brag-rap in their signature flows: Yeah, this is good Migos, reasserting their place in the culture as a reliable source of jams. And good Migos goes down easy: Even though we’re almost a decade removed from “Bando” and the interim featured interludes with Calvin Harris and Katy Perry, their chemistry’s still that of a well-practiced relay rotation, with Quavo as ever the midpoint between Offset’s denser and more lyrical approach and Takeoff’s delivery-first presence. “We’ll run this shit back, I just seen Tenet” is genuinely funny and surely the best Tenet reference of the year, but Quavo also somehow brags about filming a movie with Robert De Niro and still loses to Offset’s “Qua keep a MAC in the back of the Tesla” for Funniest Bar About Quavo. I missed these dudes.
[7]

Ady Thapliyal: It’s concerning how fast trends are cresting and careers are ending in the overheated market of American hip-hop, where labels are focused on juicing artists for all they’re worth rather than laying a foundation for a stable career. Migos, whose mainstream breakthrough came only in 2016, already feel like a nostalgia act, an impression that is not helped at all by the back-to-basics sound of their comeback single, “Straightenin.” Sure, it’s a good track, but maybe not a good career move. 
[6]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: The third single from the third volume of Culture, it should come as no surprise the “Straightenin” sounds like a staler, lethargic cut from a once iconic group. The floor here is still high, but nobody needed to hear Quavo talking about “turning a pandemic into a bandemic” or Takeoff giving a “shoutout to the white boy.”
[4]

Thomas Inskeep: Even with six (!) credited producers, “Straightenin” sounds pretty much just like the bulk of the Migos’s catalog, which is to say: solid. They’re all good rappers, and the track bumps along amiably.
[7]

Andrew Karpan: Migos are architects of pure style, who illuminate neither the highs nor the lows of the rock-and-roll life but instead detail conversations on street corners like, I dunno, Studs Terkel? But the group’s relentless release schedule only testifies to how much language there is out there to chew up and digest, so much language there is always language to spare. It’s no coincidence that one of the most pleasurable lines on Cardi’s last hit record came from Offset himself. “Straightenin,” is nowhere near as fun to say but its creepy and durable, if not catchy; a locker room command that signifies nothing but its echo. If you don’t get shit straight, you won’t straighten it, right?
[6]

Alfred Soto: A victory lap with arms pumping in the air, “Straightenin” exudes enough confidence to forego the single quotation mark. The beat goes click, the rap stresses land on penultimate and final syllables as per rhythms whose secrets they haven’t shared — Migos sound like themselves. 
[7]

Mark Sinker: Lazy in feel? But that’s why we like ’em. Lazy in theme? But that’s the kind of thing they like, to stretch a title word out until it’s most of a song. Lazy in reference, so that even the clever bit is pretty lazy? I mean, Tenet is a timely namedrop, and it means going back in time, and look, Slim Shady and The Matrix are from a long way back in time. Haha. A lazy exercise in what they can get away with? I mean, I think they do get away with it — they do just enough to keep it all moving, to flick up the little ends of your slight slight smile, with nearly nothing. It’s a skill. It’s what they do. With near-minimum effort. You have to respect it.
[6]

The reward for having to collaborate with Katy Perry is to get reviewed by us, evidently.

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[6.38]

Ady Thapliyal: We probably should’ve seen Aitana’s pop-rock about-face coming. In 2018, Aitana, then just another contestant on the hit Spanish singing competition show Operación Triunfo, broke down in tears when forced to sing a pop-reggaeton style song she wasn’t comfortable with. “I never saw reggaeton in me,” she complained at the time, but the bitter ironies of fate made “Lo Malo,” the song she rejected, become an unexpected chart-topper and her breakout hit. Now that Aitana is a bona fide pop star, complete with painfully bad collaborations with Katy Perry and Zayn Malik, she has enough clout in the industry to go at it her own way. That’s how we arrive at “Cuando te Fuiste,” a serviceablely rocking Kelly Clarkson single that is less a song and more a declaration that Aitana is calling the shots these days. It’s a good Breakaway, but let’s hope Aitana has a My December coming up next.
[5]

Juana Giaimo: I don’t know who was in charge of mixing or producing the vocals, but I feel they totally ruined the song. I’m guessing there is some autotune overuse because Aitana and Natalia Lacunza sound flat and too thin for this powerful pop-punk song. Some more harmonization would have helped. It doesn’t help that the lyrics are no more than a stereotypical female empowerment breakup song (“When raining stops, a woman becomes strong, I won’t cry again”). If they have any personality (and at least Aitana showed some really nice vocals before), you don’t notice it here. 
[5]

Ian Mathers: This is a nice, zippy tune — I suspect it might get tagged pop punk now (unless we’ve moved on) and remember when it probably would have gotten power pop instead, but whatever descriptors we’re using you probably get the idea. It feels energetic and agile, exactly what you want for this kind of thing, and the two singers have good interplay. But… look, noticeable vocal processing is not intrinsically good or bad. And I would love to hear it applied to this kind of track in a way where it’s a virtue. But that processing, especially at the very start, just sounds kind of clunky and unnecessary next to the rest of the production — these voices could absolutely be a little more “off” and not only would it not hurt the track, most listeners would probably not even notice.
[7]

Dorian Sinclair: Some songs take multiple listens to really open up for me, letting me gradually get a handle on everything they have to offer. Others immediately hook behind my breastbone and yank me forward. “Cuando te Fuiste” is emphatically one of the latter. Four seconds in, as the guitar is joined by its double and almost immediately afterward by Aitana’s voice, I’m sold. It’s an arresting start, and what follows only adds to it. Aitana & Lacunza’s voices marry beautifully, and both know exactly when to step on the gas and when to pull back. Pair that with a fantastic drumline and some unexpectedly beautiful vocal harmonies in the bridge and final chorus, and you have something irresistible.
[9]

Jeffrey Brister: Just doesn’t have a lot of depth. Everything else is there –strong vocals, a bouncy and fizzy arrangement, and melody to spare — but it’s lacking teeth. A little too Hey Monday, not enough Paramore.
[7]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Bombastic, melodramatic Spanish teen-pop that jubilantly embodies the meaning of “garage band” as well as anybody since the band in Freaky Friday.
[6]

Edward Okulicz: I feel like a bit of a sourpuss not loving this, but it’s just that the opening riff promises “Kids in America”-level pop fun, and the actual reality of what emerges can’t live up to that. By which I mean that choppy 2005-era power pop with a hook that’s only slightly OK and singing that’s had a bit of character ironed out of it needs to be a bit more thrilling than this to work. Power pop needs a good rhythm, but when the drums are the best part of a power pop song, I notice what’s missing on top all the more.
[5]

Alfred Soto: “Cuando te Fuiste” works best when played before or after one of Olivia Rodrigo’s post-post-powerpunk tunes, and the rhythm changes do an even better job of delighting the ear (the drumming at 1:15 is purest Gina Schock too). It means little beyond itself but that’s the point.
[7]

How about a thousand words of Discourse (TM)?

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[7.69]

Katie Gill: Seeing that everybody’s been comparing her to Lorde since the days of “Driver’s License,” Olivia Rodrigo sighs, calls up her agent, and says “let’s release ‘Good 4 U’ next. That way, everybody can see that I can do the 2000s ‘first single after leaving your Disney Channel show’ vibe as well as Lorde.” This is such a tonal departure from her first two singles but as someone who still rocks the hell out of “Misery Business” era Paramore, I find myself enjoying this more than her first singles. Maybe it’s just because this is a sound that hasn’t been as widely covered recently (even Paramore doesn’t sound like “Misery Business” Paramore these days) but there’s something delightfully fresh about the song and delightfully juicy about Rodrigo’s anger.
[8]

Katherine St Asaph: The Olivia Rodrigo Discourse confuses me. I hear about the novelty of millennials pretending to be tweens and I’m like, did Carly Rae Jepsen never even happen (what the fuck is up with that)? I for one distinctly remember me and others listening to Kiss and Emotion and feeling like crushed-out, Lisa Frank-bedazzled 13-year-olds (and often acting accordingly). I hear Sour is the zoomer Jagged Little Pill, which just suggests that over 25 years later, people still don’t know what to make of Jagged Little Pill. I don’t hear Alanis anywhere on this, but it took me a while to figure out who I do hear: Fefe Dobson, specifically the rapidfire spite in the second verse of 2003’s “Bye Bye Boyfriend.” That’s kind of the thing, though; what confuses me most is the general consensus of “I wish I had stuff like this when I was a teenager,” because… we did have stuff like this as teenagers! You didn’t even need to be particularly feminist or alt; they played on TRL. (Did Michelle Branch’s “Are You Happy Now” not happen? Or even Taylor goddamn Swift?) And say what you will about their poppiness or authenticity — at least their version of rock doesn’t sound like they learned it from 2010s alt-rock radio.
[5]

Ian Mathers: Parts of this could have absolutely been a hit when I was a teenager; that’s not why I love it, but it is noticeable. It mostly makes me think of the elements (maybe some musical, but honestly mostly not) that mean it probably wouldn’t have been a hit then, largely because of how much more rigid and enforced genre boundaries were. To think I lived through a time when at least ostensibly if you liked “rock” you didn’t like “pop” and vice versa (of course 1. plenty, maybe most of us weren’t actually that dogmatic in practice, but the narrative meant something and effected people 2. 2021 looks the distinctions between those two genres and rolls its eyes derisively), to say nothing of other genres, and that didn’t seem absurd. All of this has probably been in place for a while, and doesn’t really have anything direct to do with the fiercely despairing joy coursing through “Good 4 U,” but it still feels worth celebrating.
[9]

Alfred Soto: She can shout over the guitars, a good thing. Rather than sulk she thinks herself out of the bad romance. She’s stronger when channeling Kesha’s self-mocking rage than Billie Eilish’s wheezing quasi-fragility. Who knows if she’ll be around a while. For now, “Good 4 U” suits mask-free post-vaccinated drives through an increasingly crowded city. 
[7]

Michael Hong: There’s a difference between “4 u” and “for you.” One is sardonic and scornful, a “thanks but no thanks when you finally bother to remember that I exist,” the other is realistic, hopeful that next time they’ll see the you that you want to be, the you that was good enough. “Good 4 U” tends to look outward first, collapsing second and as much as Olivia Rodrigo might try to redirect, it always seems to come back to her. Redirects to other artists, like the Billie Eilish vocal styling, that makes every line on the bridge round off into a sigh, directly on the cusp of vulnerability and insecurity. Then there’s the redirect to the “goddamn sociopath,” where Rodrigo, in the lead-up to the second chorus, sacrifices melody to fit the last word in, but it always comes back to Rodrigo and her own insecurities. There’s something truly earnest about that.
[7]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: For a star who rose to fame singing, “You didn’t mean what you wrote in that song about me,” comes a delightfully petty screed about an ex in which it is quite self-evident that she does, in fact, mean every word.
[8]

Dorian Sinclair: The star of the show in “Good 4 U” is, indisputably, the lead vocal line. The lyrics of the verses absolutely dismantle a shitty ex, and Rodrigo’s sneering, dismissive delivery is perfectly matched to the content. The second verse, where her sheer exhaustion with this dude loosens both the melody and rhythm more and more until that final shout of frustration, is pitch perfect. The production matches the tone well, with the fuzzy, scrappy guitar and those fabulous backing vox, which somehow manage to sigh sarcastically. The weak point — somewhat ironically, given where the praise for “Drivers License” centred — is the bridge, which spins its wheels for just a little too long, robbing the song of its momentum.
[7]

Al Varela: If “Drivers License” convinced me that Olivia Rodrigo was someone to look out for, “Good 4 U” convinced me that she is a star. We’re exactly at the point where this kind of pop-rock is nostalgic and in need of a comeback, and she delivers in spades. It takes the angrier emotions of her breakup and lashes them out against a great guitar groove and an unforgettable hook. It’s exactly the kind of teenage breakup song that will soundtrack so many people dealing with shitty exes and let out that catharsis. Sure it’s very high school, but sometimes we gotta allow ourselves to revert back to that time in our lives where every emotion felt like the end of the world. 
[9]

Thomas Inskeep: You’re just a sk8er boi, she said “see ya later boy.”
[6]

Andy Hutchins: “LIKE A DAMN SOCIOPATH!” is so good, so cathartic as vindication for the archetypally vindictive character Olivia Rodrigo is playing here — and that billions of human beings can identify with — that I’m not sure any other analysis of “Good 4 U” truly matters. That line can strikes anyone who hasn’t understood an ex in the ex post facto portion of a breakup, will sear for decades as delivered to close this song, and will be roared at the concerts Rodrigo will thrill at this summer. Heretical though it may be to say this, I think it probably eclipses any single line that Taylor Swift mustered on her teenager-era albums, though your mileage may vary on whether Dan Nigro as co-writer is more of an assist than the helping pen Liz Rose lent those early Swift works. But of course “Good 4 U” is the rare Rodrigo song that mostly is not stealing from Swift, instead splicing together about as much from a certain breakthrough by Hayley Williams and the brothers Farro as can be done without the miserable business of giving a writing credit. And while it sidesteps the slut-shaming that Williams eventually deemed too toxic to make “Misery Business” worth continuing to perform live, “Good 4 U” suffers a bit in comparison from turning some of its hurricane intensity inward: The portion of Rodrigo’s passive-aggressive lyrics that sound as though they could be delivered in parenthesis (“If you even cared to ask”) sound like setup for the final haymaker on repeat listens, and “Your apathy’s like a wound in salt” just doesn’t work. Hayley is fucking stoked to win her man: “I watched my wildest dreams come true/Not one of them IN-VOL-VIIIIING” soars to somewhere in low Earth orbit, guitar and drums duel, and then comes the final version of the chorus that gives each piece of the symphony its shine. Rodrigo doesn’t have the rocker’s pipes to match that sort of rousing celebration of self, though, and “Good 4 U” doesn’t really want to put the flames to her own feet for not moving on: It’s more fun to wallow, even if that allows little forward motion. It’s just that that traction has a price, artistically: “LIKE A DAMN SOCIOPATH!” is a hot line, and “Good 4 U” a hot song I have no problem forecasting as the front-runner for Song of the Summer, but it’s still a pretender to the throne it aspires to swipe.
[8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: It feels obvious to write about how good Rodrigo’s vocal performance here is; she hits every point within the post-breakup emotional matrix here and sells them ruthlessly. There’s something of Debbie Harry at Blondie’s most insouciant in the way she occupies the dual position of ironic commentator and full, un-ironic embodier of feeling, the ambiguity clear in the desperation of the sing-talk on the second verse. Unlike on “Drivers License,” where irony would diminish the melodrama, it here serves as another layer of acid — she knows that it’s not that deep, but she’s pissed off regardless. And yet when I think about “Good 4 U” I most of all think of Dan Nigro and Alexander 23’s production work as perfect set dressing. It’s the precision of the bass and the chrome of the guitars, sure, but it’s also a thousand other little details in the mix, in the slight percussive downwards synth line accentuating the second verse or the overdrive on Rodrigo’s vocals. It’s not quite pop punk in its stylings — it’s better, a perfect backdrop for Rodrigo’s performance.
[9]

Alex Clifton: https://youtu.be/7pGV2HnS0v8
[9]

Danilo Bortoli: Sour has inspired a ton of pieces on the generational gap between millennials and Gen Z. They all attest the obvious: the gap exists and, somehow, Olivia Rodrigo is the natural scapegoat to some sort of nostalgia for the 00s. These pieces display the hideous trend to arrogantly downplay a newer generation’s ethos, with two glorious exceptions being Lindsay Zoladz’s take about lower-case girls, and this particular TikTok (ha) tackling millennial anxiety. The answer may be not to put the focus on nostalgia itself, which, as we know, is 70% not exactly nostalgia, bust just thinking something was really cool back then. Yet, listening to her with the ears of an irritable and hopeless twenty-something is irresistible. That said, a lot of the Discourse™ on “Good 4 U” has been centered around how it sounds like Paramore, and even how it is a repacking of riot grrrl. Rodrigo here may sound like a Hollywood Records signee, but that is not the most important thing. It’s her defiance and range: “I guess that therapist I found for you, it really helped” cuts deep just as the bridge which, just like in Taylor’s songs, is essential for escalating the angst. The wall of sound reminds me, remotely, and this is a stretch, of Big Black. The wit, “Since U Been Gone.” The trick is that she knows this is all good, old pastiche. It works, well, mainly because people like me enjoy being nostalgic towards the start of a decade. Maybe that is just people collectively realizing the passage of time – in other words, that they have aged. That is why maybe I may need songs like this one. One more time, pop music is a source of escapism for the disillusioned. The thing is, maybe I’m the one who needs a therapist. God, what a twist.
[8]

Astonishingly, only the second Drake appearance we’ve covered all year…

[Video]
[6.71]

Nortey Dowuona: At a point, being on top means you have to fall. And at this moment, Lil Wayne is absolutely perfect on this JustBlazeTypeBeat, because he’s free of the pressure to be anything but a dazzling lyricist. He’s no longer a king, now he’s retired to obsolescence. Nicki is still trying to climb back to the peak — all her sons have not yet been able to fill the void, so she’s stuck behind Saweetie and Big Latto. Meanwhile Drake, who is at the very top, delivers a decent verse, looking down on both his fallen comrade Nicki and long gone king Weezy.
[6]

Thomas Inskeep: Appropriately enough for a new track amended to a 2009 mixtape, this has a very late ’00s feel, largely thanks to the loop from Heather Headley’s “In My Mind” underpinning it all. And that the first voice you hear is Lil Wayne, well — this practically sounds like something off of Da Drought 3, and that’s a great thing. He sounds focused! As for his former protégés, Minaj finally sounds like she’s giving a damn, too — more hip hop and less straight-up pop, Nicki, please! — and Drake sounds like, well, Drake. Someone lock these three in a studio for a month and see what they come up with, huh?
[7]

Jonathan Bradley: Did… did Nicki Minaj literally travel back in time to get a verse from ’09 Mixtape Weezy for this ’21 addendum to her Beam Me Up Scotty tape? I’m not a physicist, but string theory and wormholes are the only ways I can account for the first two minutes of “Seeing Green.” My goodness.
[8]

Samson Savill de Jong: I’ve never really been a fan of any of these three, but Lil Wayne in particular I could arguably be called a hater of. He was the biggest rapper around at a time when my musical taste was forming, and he put me off a genre that would later become my undisputed favourite. So trust me when I say there’s no nostalgia goggles on here, and Wayne absolutely kills his verse. He just goes in so hard and sounds interested and engaged and energetic, and there are bars to back it all up. They knew what they were doing putting his verse first, though, because the other two do not live up to his standard at all. Drake’s verse is ok, with lines that dance on the line between funny and corny (your determination of which side it falls will probably depend on your mood), but it’s at least less soporific than normal. This is probably helped by the beat. Nicki’s verse starts out very weak, rhyming “stand in” with “stand-in” in a play on words that isn’t so much witty as a stand-in for an actual opening line. It gets better later, but not by much, and even she’s admitted she got her ass handed to her.
[6]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Nicki is my favorite when she’s rhyming phrases with the exact same phrase, and the double meaning of “stand in” which opens her verse is delivered with signature precision. The less said about Lil Wayne and Drake, the better; all these years later, the queen is still running circles around her sons.
[6]

Alfred Soto: The pandemic inspired Wayne’s sharpest guest verse in months — which isn’t to say he gets “political,” only that things done changed, hence the context must too. Minaj matches him, calling shit on “the corporate giants the machines that went against me.” But Fucking Drake gets two minutes of flaccid talk-rapping, and the lines are terrible: “Your girl was better in the mornin’ like a slice of pizza.”
[8]

Tobi Tella: An overload of 2010 energy, the bars fall on top of themselves so fast it’s hard to even judge the bad ones before more get piled on. Even with a lazy beat and many questionable punchlines (see Wayne musing that girls who have sex MAY be people too), the sheer volume makes this feel like a worthwhile collab for once: the sound of three artists who love to fall back on a schtick actually trying.
[6]

Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t…

[Video]
[4.80]

Samson Savill de Jong: I’m pretty confident when I say that I’m the only reviewer on this site who’s ever lived in Bradford, and I’m fairly sure I’m likely to be the only one who’s even set foot outside the train station. Bradford isn’t a place you go to, at least not the actual city; tourist attractions usually involve getting on a train to Skipton or Shipley, which have Bradford postcodes but are really countryside villages. You don’t have to walk around long to see why. Outside of the (quite nice) central square you quickly start to see the boarded-up houses and worn-down streets, proof of the underinvested North of England, along with the failed clubs that people tried to open before quickly giving up. If you’re young and you want to go out in Bradford, you go to Leeds, the New York to Bradford’s Newark. It certainly feels like the land time forgot, and so when BBCC talk about their sound being a throwback in part because nobody in the (few) Bradford clubs they DJ’d wanted to hear newer music, it makes complete sense. Bradford is a bit of a shithole. But for the people who are from Bradford it is their shithole; they may get to take the piss out of it, but they also love it, and woe betide the outsider who comes and starts shitting on it. That’s a lot of context for a song and group that on the surface don’t sound that deep, but I don’t think you can really get BBCC’s proud irreverence without knowing where they came from, even if they don’t want to be limited to a parochial curiosity. Does it make “Don’t You Worry About Me” a good song? Not exactly. The energy of the crew is infectious, but I’m not a big fan of the hook, and this sort of thumping pop rap just isn’t the kind of sound I’m into. But it would be easy to accuse the song and lyrics of saying nothing, and I don’t think that’s fair either. This song really does represent their experience of being from Bradford, dealing with all the bullshit that comes with that (all the references to drug dealers are in part standard rap shit, but it’s also not an uncommon occupation in the city), but still finding a way to have a good time in spite, or maybe really because, of it.
[5]

Andrew Karpan: Nice to see a new grime act that takes more after Dizzee Rascal than Skepta, even if the effect only fills their chart debut with a nostalgic anguish that the polite group of English lads cannot possibly answer. More transfixing, perhaps, is the work of chorus — which pitch shifts and retools a largely ignored Norwegian EDM single from last year by a DJ act called Hoved, turning it into a Robyn-lite, neon-bright ribbon of sound. There’s something noble about this act of recycling and suggests a bold and admirable future for last year’s duds. 
[5]

Aaron Bergstrom:  A worthy addition to the surprisingly rewarding genre of “British Artists Where It’s Not Immediately Clear Whether Or Not They Are Meant To Be Taken Seriously” (see also: The Streets, Big Shaq). Last year’s “450” was a giddy headrush wasted on our lost Covid summer, but “450” walked so “Don’t You Worry About Me” could run. I want to crash an ATV. I want to get kicked out of a Sheffield nightclub. I can’t stop smiling. (Also, I’m choosing to believe that they picked this sample because they couldn’t get the rights to “Tiny Little Bows.”)
[9]

Scott Mildenhall: Levelling up in action: under pressure from the noble implore of the Conservative and Unionist Party, the Metropolitan Liberal Elite of Radio 1 have added these guys and Tom Zanetti to their playlist in the same week. Regional inequality is cured. Whatever is really going on — and there seems a wisdom to leaving Bad Boy Chiller Crew an intriguing mystery — this blast of Bluetooth pop makes for a charming madeleine. Like hearing MC Smally all grown up, or the Kersal Massive‘s ambitions realised; the Blackout Crew donked so they could run. A few more bites, though, and the charm wears off. It’s not stale, but it does leave a bad taste.
[5]

Thomas Inskeep: These Yorkshire dorks are barely adequate rappers, and clearly think they’re tough and cool. But because they’re making bassline music, they’re rapping over sped-up house tracks, in this case a Hoved single from just last year, and that piece of their music is enjoyable. So, split the difference? 
[5]

Ady Thapliyal: Bad Boy Chiller Crew got buzz off their goofy ’90s rave revivalism; their latest single, however, is a 2010s piano house buzzkill.  
[2]

Katherine St Asaph: This sounds like it’s 10 years ago and everyone’s still making carefree apocalypse-pop like “Give Me Everything.” If it was 10 years ago I’d probably have some Big Theory about the mood of 2011 vs. 2021 and how carefree their relative apocalypses feel. These days I’m just happy to hear a song sounding carefree.
[6]

Alfred Soto: It’s cute how “Jump Around” produces a ripple effect all these years later.
[5]

Mark Sinker: With a beat like someone punching yr arm hard, as if to say it’s just a bit of fun — except twice a second until one of you dies. It deserves to be him. 
[2]

Ian Mathers: If this was just the backing track (including the sampled hook) I’d honestly give it at least a [7], I was nodding my head and singing along in a very undignified timbre like halfway through. As it is, I was deeply disappointed when they came back to the second verse after the hook and… the same lacklustre guy just starts up again. There are more guys in the video! They do eventually get a look in, but I can’t say it’s an improvement. They should have put a donk on it.
[4]

You’re going to get the controversy you deserve…

[Video]
[4.43]

Ady Thapliyal: Two bands known for melodic, pop-friendly takes on post-industrial walk into the studio and come up with this mess, a five-minute-long tuneless drone. It sounds like the filler muzak played before a livestream starts; you can almost see the numbers ticking down — the real show’s gonna start soon, right?
[2]

Claire Biddles: I support Trent Reznor’s quest for an EGOT, but my favourite Nine Inch Nails songs are undeniably The Horny Ones. I was thrilled, then, hearing the first 1:45 of “Isn’t Everyone” — music that could conceivably be on the soundtrack to a c1997 cyberpunk thriller, played over one of those sequences where Keanu Reeves stalks through an underground club entirely patronised by hot vampires. But then the big drop blusters into… nothing much? A sub-Metallica chorus with a sexless version of the lyrics for “Head like a Hole”? I usually love a weird prog structure with a reprise at the end, but here it just reinforces how oddly tame and dampened this is.
[5]

Thomas Inskeep: It’s a little heavy, it’s definitely dark and appropriately machinistic, and it sounds exactly as you’d expect a collaboration between these two bands to sound — which is to say, like a more industrial Deftones. I have no complaints.
[8]

Tim de Reuse: It’s very evocative and well produced and apocalyptic, bleak, spooky, cavernous, growly, etcetera. But, man, I don’t need this. It’s 2021. This kind of self-serious doomsaying doesn’t work anymore, especially when it’s so sonically streamlined and lyrically vague and quote-unquote atmospheric. (Hey, remember when HEALTH was, like, noisy? I’m starting to think it was a mass hallucination.) I listen to Trent Reznor doing his best Trent Reznor thing, and it’s almost adorable that he thinks it’s going to have an emotional effect on me. The depths of dread I plumbed sitting alone for the last fifteen months in my studio apartment stress-eating entire family-size bags of pretzels are leagues deeper than the puddle that is this tune’s attempt at pathos. “We get the world we all deserve?” Speak for yourself. I didn’t do shit.
[2]

Juana Giaimo: I find it really hard to take some parts of “Isn’t Everyone” seriously, like when Trent Reznor does some kind of backing vocals (if you can even call those growls that) during Jake Duznik’s verse. The lyrics are also too vague — “We all surrender to those we serve/ we get the world we all deserve” is something an angry teenager could write. Towards the end, the noise gets lighter and Jake Duzsik’s softer voice is easier to digest, but it’s already too late.
[4]

Katherine St Asaph: We’re probably about one year away from some degree of a Trent Reznor reckoning, so maybe it’s not so bad that the slight baby-talk timbre to his vocals takes me out of this for a while. Just a while, though; the rest is the sort of moody maximalist churn I’m hardwired to love.
[8]

Andrew Karpan: As is always the case with Reznor, we are on the inside of a feeling — a strict and monastically-enforced rage that can express itself only in bursts of beat-scheduled pumps. A prolific commitment to the form is what lifts his act, now in its third decade, above parody and keeps it a few notches away from the ghoulish twisted-mirror universe of legacy punks Iggy Pop, Harry Rollins, etc. But I don’t think we really do get the world we deserve, the metalhead sentiment that Reznor and HEALTH frontman Jake Duzsik grunt toward this record’s end. Surely the man whose keyboard noodling was sampled on one of the biggest pop singles of the current century would have something more nuanced to say about fate.
[2]

Until it’s not…

[Video]
[4.67]

Al Varela: I’ve been fascinated with this beat ever since I first heard it. The usual combination of rock and trap involves a guitar rhythm and trap percussion, but this one focuses solely on an elongated shred over a hazed out, bassy knock and flows so detached from the production that it almost feels alien. Like you’re walking into a UFO in real-time, unsure of what will greet you on the other side. The word that describes this song is “paralyzing”. Magnetized to the beat as Trippie Redd and Playboi Carti tower over you and bring you along for the journey. I can’t tell if I’m a hostage or a guest, but I’m having fun regardless.
[8]

Tim de Reuse: The digital strain of the beat is interesting for a couple bars before it’s out of detail, and the three-note melody of the verses supplies a little bit of pathos for a couple moments more, but before you’re a quarter of the way through this thing you start to realize just how much dead air there is between verses, between lines, between repetitions. The mind starts drifting to other topics, like:  are the processed backing vocals on Playboi Carti’s voice supposed to be so jarringly arrhythmic? And furthermore: why is this four minutes long?
[2]

Thomas Inskeep: Redd and Carti sound alright, but I wish the beat did something, and I wish they had something better to say.
[4]

Ian Mathers: Look, make it properly deep fried, fuck with the whole track instead of just having the bass (kind of) boosted with the rest sounding clean. This could have really gone somewhere, but it just doesn’t commit.
[4]

Samson Savill de Jong: I don’t really know how to defend calling this good, even though clearly a lot of people other than me like it. I wasn’t sure at first, but after a fair few listens it all just started to work. The blown out drums, the random sound effects, the extended chorus: it all just fits into place. Trippie Redd fits in with the song without getting buried by it, and there are some dope lines there, too. I’m not a fan of Playboi Carti’s rhymes, though, and his flow is kind of off beat. Intentionally I’m sure, but the song’s already too askew for him to then add this arhythmic rapping on top. If this were just Trippie Redd I’d like this a lot more, but even as it is I can’t deny I grew to like this the more I heard it.
[7]

Alfred Soto: The line between effort and parody exists for the sake of erasure on trap songs; like Westerns, I can’t distinguish a good from a mediocre one. Carti’s usually fun but he exerts himself less than Trippie, who at least squeezes those punctuative monosyllables like stress grippers.
[6]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: There are the bones of a good song trying to fight their way out, propelled by an entertaining beat and an enjoyable verse and chorus from Redd. But Carti slams on the brakes im verse two, and sends it careening into a broken barrier on the downtown connector, indulging in the worst tendencies of lazy Atlanta trap. ATL already got let down by Julio Jones on Monday, Carti. Do better. 
[3]

Andy Hutchins: The worst byproduct of “XO Tour Llif3” half-serendipitously becoming not just a monstrous hit but a touchstone and lodestar has been not the flood of less talented SoundCloud rappers trying to follow the footsteps of Lils Whoever to emo-rap stardom but the proliferation of instrumentals that swing for “experimental” in an effort to sound like something Uzi could jump on and instead turn out to be someone unsuccessfully trying to shift a digital car into gear. That’s not always a terrible production strategy, having arguably birthed tracks like “Magnolia” and “Futsal Shuffle 2020,” but the entirely grating “Miss the Rage” is evidence that it can produce actively deleterious music. And Trippie and Carti are saying even less nothing than usual. It’s possible that I don’t do enough of or the right drugs to enjoy this, sure; given my hunch that they might come with lasting damage, I’m good.
[2]

Nortey Dowuona: The overladen synths snuff out the song before the heavy drums weigh down on Trippie’s thin, keening voice that is so crushed and wilting it barely makes his spiralling spitting a refreshing change of pace; once he’s free of singing he’s a startling presence. Then Carti turns up the pitch on his verse and bounces around, with a charming laugh, and the song finally comes to life… too little, too late.
[6]