Leçons to be learned…

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[4.78]

Iain Mew: How UK club pop sounds in a nation opening up amidst an ongoing pandemic is a question for listeners as well as those making the music. Perhaps it’s just me that hears in the title line an echo of Kylie Minogue looking mortality in the face and singing “I want to go out dancing”. Whether the apocalyptic angle is deliberate or not, managing to take “Alors on Danse” and make it sound even more blank and alienated is a hell of a way to heighten it.
[8]

Scott Mildenhall: Stromae was so open about the composition of “Alors on Danse” that he repeatedly showed people how to put it together, so this might not surprise him — it’s certainly highly predictable. With that said, perhaps “Out Out” is the double jab for the double jab moment, blithely subverting the subversion of the original in wholehearted embrace of The Club and continental holidays — reassuringly uninspired. Be cynical if you will — these four certainly have been.
[4]

Juana Giaimo: The kind of dance music that relies almost solely on being loud. 
[4]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: This is so interstitial in vibe that I couldn’t focus on it at all until my third listen. It just sounds so much like the 40th minute in an EDM headliner’s 90 minute festival set — none of the excitement of the first run, but not deep enough into the groove to reach even accidental glory. Bad choices abound — “Alors on Danse” doesn’t deserve this, and neither does Saweetie, who raps for 18 seconds total on a track that could’ve used her.
[2]

Oliver Maier: If there’s any trend that doesn’t really need reviving then it’s the detuned horn loops of the early 2010’s, particularly if it’s done by butchering one of the few songs that pulled it off. Shitty horns are better suited to Stromae’s crise existentielle than to Charli and Saweetie’s rather bland night out.
[4]

Will Adams: Unlike “Big Hoops,” “Alors On Danse” isn’t in need of a reappraisal, so putting a house donk on it doesn’t feel necessary. That’s probably why Charli and Saweetie are here; their contributions are serviceable — if unremarkable — enough that I’d sway to this with a vodka soda in hand.
[6]

Danilo Bortoli: This could have been the much-needed 2021 version of “anthems.” After all, she wanted to feel the “heat from all the bodies”. As it turns out, it seems reopening didn’t go according to plan, and this is the mediocre, generic dance track we’ve got stuck with.
[5]

William John: No one else really springs to mind as best embodying the Jekyll and Hyde archetype in modern pop than Charli XCX — locals know her best for “Boom Clap,” an anaemic iteration of her early signature sound, or as a bit part on songs like “Fancy” or BTS’ “Dream Glow,” and even the collaborations on her self-titled album with half the Singles Jukebox Sidebar had the air of a focus group. Contrast all that with the spontaneity and futurism of works like “Grins,” her songs with SOPHIE, Pop 2, or last year’s How I’m Feeling Now, conceived almost entirely in quarantine and over Instagram Live: these have all had little to no chart impact but carry, arguably, significant cultural heft. We’re about to get a new Charli single this week to begin her “sellout” era, but with “Out Out” that seems to have well and truly begun; borrowing elements from “1, 2 Step,” “Alors on Danse” and lyrical tropes from the 2012 Mayan Prophecy era that now scan as truly quaint, this is suited probably to no other context other than being a few double vodka-Red Bulls deep. Though it’s far uglier than most of Joel Corry’s previous Love Islandcore, and though the length of Saweetie’s verse threatens to redefine the term “cameo,” if it all helps fund another “detonate” then I can begrudgingly allow it.
[6]

Tobi Tella: Charli’s charisma as a vocalist makes me want to forgive the inane lyrics, but ultimately for a song with the producers credited, there’s nothing here outside the sample. No one likes an imitateur, Joel.
[4]

Does anyone have a Jukebox to Living Color Code conversion guide handy?

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[6.00]

John Pinto: Why yes, a world locked into bootstrap-mania would call individualist snake oil something like “wellness” and sell it as a cheap balm. But “Mood Ring” sets up this self-apparent argument and then does little else, so one of George Saunders’s go-to bon mots comes to mind: “If you set out to write a poem about two dogs fucking, and you write a poem about two dogs fucking, then you’ve just written a poem about two dogs fucking.”
[6]

Crystal Leww: I’m sorry maybe this is a satire and I’m just too stupid to understand it, but this viral Vine of the indie girl introducing us to her kitchen is exactly what this Lorde song sounds like to me. 
[4]

Danilo Bortoli: The most common critique of Lorde’s newfound sense of happiness comes from a disingenuous place. Yes, she seems to have joined a Midsommar-like cult. Yes, the world is doomed — or it already has ended — and toxic positivity from millionaires might make you want to bury your head in the sand, read Anton LaVey’s Satanic Bible just, like, for fun, or set yourself on fire. Still, “Mood Ring” proves her own out-of-touchness is making the point here. Happiness for Lorde is not only a mental state per se, but also a product of good, old dissociation. But for someone who was once such a brave, universal social commentator, her points on wellness culture all fall flat. Pretty much because I can’t reach her — god, I can’t even relate to her — when her concerns seem so otherworldly in the Year of Disgrace. Too bad.
[4]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: Lorde seems to be critical of the media we consume, though the lyrics leave her participation ambiguous enough for doubt. The track is catchy, but not dynamic. Any hope of a crescendo is replaced by a constant volume level with instruments joining individually over time. But while some might find the flanged guitar an intolerable Antonoff adornment, I find it delightful.
[6]

Alfred Soto: Deciding whether she’s poking fun at anomie or reveling in it misses the point. To poke fun at sun salutations and transcendental meditations is to acknowledge their potency as signifiers of comfort and, the hell do I know, gestures at stepping beyond the self into more selfness. The clippety-cloppety arrangement recalls ’90s Natalie Imbruglia, and she and Jack Antonoff multi-track her voice for maximum yumminess; she’s been more soporific. Also better. She’s right about one thing: the early ’00s do seem further away than the early ’90s.
[6]

Vikram Joseph: “Don’t you think the early 2000s feel so far away?,” our shape-shifting protagonist sings, but for the three minutes and 46 seconds it takes “Mood Ring” to unspool, it feels like we’re right back there. It’s the moment on Solar Power where the influences Lorde touted ring most true and make the most sense — it’s hauntingly, rather gorgeously reminiscent of the frothy urban pop that Nelly Furtado and Natasha Bedingfield, to name a couple, were playing around with in that era. Say what you will about Jack Antonoff, but when the two of them work together they have a remarkable ear for the subtle patterns and embellishments that define genres. The stuttering rhythms, the crisp, flamenco-like patterns of the guitars, and the warm wash effect on the vocals all combine to produce a lovely little period piece, grounded firmly in Lorde’s oeuvre by vocal melodies and affectations that sound unmistakeably her own. Her commentary on wellness could have sounded cheap and snarky, were it not for the sincerity with which she discusses her own anhedonia; I think this is actually a really sharp, aching depiction of trying to navigate the uncertainties around what actually makes you happy and the circumstances that allow it. The stunning backdrop just heightens the internal conflict — when we find those perfect places, what if we still feel numb?
[8]

Andrew Karpan: The lone pure bop encrusted deep inside Lorde’s second attempt to make post-pop music, “Mood Ring” has been read as a “satirical” take on wellness culture and the flower power that underlined it, largely because she has said that it is and it’s easy to quote people, but I find the warmth behind her voice sincere with a conviction that can’t be faked to make a point. She pops off some nice jokes, for sure, but the urgency that underlines her pining to “get well from the inside,” fittingly speaks to the sad, sunny yearning of the late summer and the more vivid dreamlike states before waking. What will become of us in the winter, is the unspoken question that I want to know the answer to as well. More upsetting, perhaps, is that Jack Antonoff’s choice to shove in an incredibly slight, glittery ’80s guitar solo actually works, giving the record’s search for fulfillment a melodramatic potency — the exact thing they hire this guy to do.
[9]

Aaron Bergstrom: Twenty years ago I was that fake hippie in his dorm room bashing out “Flake” on an acoustic guitar, so I’m not necessarily against someone reinterpreting the Jack Johnson songbook for the Zoomers. I just didn’t want it to be Lorde.
[5]

Finding it easy to resume…

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[6.29]

Ian Mathers: Few singers can make rueful heartbreak sound this dreamy.
[8]

Crystal Leww: Katy B has always made music for the girls who go to the club on the weekend but also spend plenty of time crying in their bedroom, too. “Under My Skin” is produced by P2J, frequent collaborator of Wizkid and Burna Boy. It makes sense that the girl who took so much from the UK club underground (dubstep wobbles, UK garage, UK funky, and breakbeats) onto a pop album would continue to be pushing new and underappreciated (yes, still — I don’t care there was literally a collab with Beyoncé) club sounds forward. “Under My Skin” sounds like what happens when the club lights come on Sunday morning, after the cool bus ride home, watching the sun rise from the rooftop, a quiet moment of desperately sad reflection on a set of memories that feel like a different lifetime ago. 
[7]

Tobi Tella: The problem with taking a long break is that a sound you might’ve helped popularized has become overdone. I don’t hate the tropical house beat, and Katy’s a great vocalist, but there’s no shaking the feeling this is the sound of an also-ran. The lyrics don’t help, basically going down the kiss-off checklist: establish sadness, recall ~fond~ memories, explain why his love was toxic, profit! It’s the perfectly pleasant sound of being stuck in the past.
[5]

Alfred Soto: Few contemporary performers get me as excited as Katy B, whose debut a decade ago chronicled the nightlife of a woman hanging out in too many clubs and coming home too late (or early) but doing it because she loved the lights, the drinks, the conversations with her friend Olivia. She thankfully didn’t go in a balladeering direction after 2014’s “Crying For No Reason.” Her first track in almost five years thumps along with a semi-confident gait but doesn’t move fast enough to redeem the boring titular metaphor. 
[5]

Nortey Dowuona: The swallow synths spinning around Katy B’s soft voice sound good even smushed under the tilting bass ones, but altogether it just sounds like a Not3s throwaway with weaker drums that was passed on by that Love Island guy. And Katy’s voice, as beautiful as it is, is too anonymous to buoy it at all.
[5]

Iain Mew: Katy’s best songs have tended to bring together groove and tight songwriting, in a deceptively simple kind of way. This one is much looser on both fronts, which gives it an unpredictable energy but makes it a bit too diffuse to do so much with it. 
[6]

Mark Sinker: Lianas of rumination in a crisp, gentle frame of clicks, plinks and glunks, alive and wounded and supple, also controlled, self-possessed and confident in karmic reward, for the one who done her wrong. Focused, low-key, on-point, Katy B’s mission is the very opposite of hurried, that’s for sure.
[8]

Appraising grand or appraising bland?

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[6.71]

Mark Sinker: Over at this end, the plain commercial fact of it: nice music made by learned professionals with an immensity of shared experience in several fields! Over at that, the mystico-legendary end: an untranslatable Linear A for the young Plant in a tiny few Knossobilly fragments, from before the great doomed post-Cretan empire of ROCK stole all the artefacts and built over all the palaces and labyrinths.
[8]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: When T-Bone Burnett gets behind an album, he’s not remotely interested in messing around. Though I met the first single with skepticism, his work on The Phosphorescent Blues turned it into Punch Brothers’ magnum opus. He’s arguably partly responsible for a revival of mainstream interest in bluegrass and Americana thanks to the expertly curated soundtrack of O Brother, Where Art Thou? and is, with Marcus Mumford, responsible for the sound of what I think is the unsung diamond of the Coens’ filmography, Inside Llewyn Davis. Plant and Krauss are familiar territory for Burnett, having netted him a Grammy for 2007’s Raising Sand. “Can’t Let Go” is a return to form, brushed drums shuffling along in the background as a beautifully toned upright dictates the flow over tight vocal harmonies that have been honed for decades. Krauss’s alto really shines in the low tones, buoyed by subtle but present rockabilly guitar. Plant’s voice, familiar to anyone who’s ever listened to classic rock radio, echoes some of its legendary power as he drives the melody in the chorus. But the true brilliance of Burnett is in the space the track gives to Plant and Krauss. Rather than surrounding them, the instrumentation lets them breathe, making us miss them when they’re gone.
[8]

Alfred Soto: Raising Sand was the kind of critical and surprise popular success I can respect as an achievement instead of an affirmation of my taste; I settled for tasty goods when “Can’t Let Go” began. The rockabilly chords send mild electric shocks through Plant ‘n’ Krauss: the way they harmonize without one stepping on the other is a demonstration of how craftsmanship is its own reward — should you care to accept the reward. 
[7]

Harlan Talib Ockey: Objectively, I should like this. Krauss and Plant each sound great, the Ventures-esque guitars are clearly meant to appeal to me personally — but the harmonies don’t lock in anywhere near as tightly as on cuts like “Gone Gone Gone”, and it just seems to coast along in a state of perpetual anticlimax, never quite ramping up like it clearly wants to.
[5]

Ian Mathers: Plant’s covered Low before — if he and Krauss insist on sticking with the same sound as the pleasant but pretty darn monochromatic Raising Sand every time they get together, maybe they should cover “Disappearing” or something.
[5]

Claire Biddles: Seems like a backhanded compliment to call something “pleasant”, but that’s just what “Can’t Let Go” is. It has a just-about-satisfying forward momentum, Plant and Krauss’s vocals fit together as sweetly as they always have, there are no new revelations about the material… and that’s OK! A nice song!
[6]

Thomas Inskeep: Sure, the Plant/Krauss pairing (both on 2007’s Raising Sand and this new single) sounds a bit like boilerplate T-Bone Burnett, who produced. And his production is as marvelously understated as ever, working a spooky ’50s country vibe. But what makes this work so well is the surprising vocal chemistry between Plant and Krauss; their voices sound like they’ve been collaborating for decades.
[8]

Do we agree on this remix-mashup-duet? Do we like “Sacrifice” or are we living in separate worlds? Let’s find out.

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[4.17]

Will Adams: Well, they were right about the “cold” part. Dua Lipa’s bloodless rendition of “Rocket Man” is proof that swiping classic pop hooks alone does not make a surefire hit. Meanwhile, PNAU’s leaden arrangement serves as a dispiriting reminder — even after last year’s electrifying disco resurgence (not to mention “Sine From Above”) — that, in our current pop age, all roads lead to chill.
[4]

Crystal Leww: I’m sorry but I still cannot believe that someone so devoid of personality like Dua Lipa somehow became the biggest pop star of our time. This collaboration with Elton freaking John (!!!) is so boring. 
[3]

Ian Mathers: There are some remixes that practically replace the ‘original’ version, but I think this is the first time I went looking for the non-remix to hear the difference between them and just… couldn’t find it. Given that Elton’s singing “Sacrifice” and Dua’s singing “Rocket Man,” both over a pretty straightforward (but well executed) dance chassis and some surprisingly vital live-sounding backing shouts, it starts to feel a bit like there is no original. And one of the small glories that keeps you (or at least me) listening to pop music is that… it works!
[7]

Alfred Soto: Rocket Man came out two summers ago. “Sacrifice,” although a UK #1 in 1990, is not anyone’s idea of top-tier Elton. Dua Lipa sings one of his chestnuts as if she’s reading the lyrics on Genius from her phone. I can’t dance to it. Who is this for?
[2]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Elton is a goofball with a habit of appearing on random tracks he has no business being on,whether it be the camp pastiche of Fall Out Boy, the heartwarming affect of Rina Sawayama, the loopy fun of Young Thug, or the bizarro transcendence of Lady Gaga. But against most odds, these collaborations have worked. Unexpectedly matching the style of someone else’s work in an unexpected and exciting way, Elton’s additions have been pleasant, if odd surprises. “Cold Heart,” unfortunately by contrast, doesn’t hit because it sounds too much like the reheated leftovers of an (actually iconic) Elton John song. No one needed to update “Rocket Man,” and while the source material indicates a high floor, this version certainly is too half-assed and languorous to compare to the original. 
[5]

Scott Mildenhall: A successor to the painstakingly conjured masterpiece Good Morning to the Night has reportedly been in the pipeline since its release, and so as welcome as “Cold Heart” is, it smacks of homework done the night before it was due. It’s obviously savvy — if you can get a massive popstar to pitch in then people will listen — but appreciably less ambitious. Nonetheless, it’s still a curious collage set to PNAU on autopilot, and shoorah, shoorah, that is still colourfully weird enough to be happy about.
[7]

Tim de Reuse: How do you get those two names to fit together on a track? PNAU’s trick: supply a four-chord house loop so utterly utilitarian, devoid of nameable characteristics, that the two big personalities have an acre of sonic space each. I think they overestimated just how much energy the two stars would put into their performance, though; the result goes down smooth, but it barely develops the one flavor it’s got.
[5]

Austin Nguyen: Elton John’s career continues to taper off into Snoop Dogg side-questing for collabs with the next generation of gay icons, passing off the torch (or so I imagine the press release saying) in the most anti-climactic way possible. That Dua Lipa appears on this list is no surprise; that their duet would be this phoned-in — they have all the chemistry of a fly and drywall, and handclaps do not a chorus make — feels more underwhelming than already expected. The “d” in disco seems to stand less for “drama” and more for “detached.”
[3]

Claire Biddles: Absolutely the corniest thing imaginable BUT I have to give some due credit for the inclusion of underrated Elton hit “Sacrifice.”
[3]

Nortey Dowuona: I have to be real. I love, love the original “Sacrifice” with a burning passion, think it’s a great song, but it’s not a song that can be flattened into an anonymous 80’s tribute with a bland Dua Lipa croon atop the chorus and with dull house kicks. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d rather they had just covered the original instead. I think Dua would do a fantastic job at that.
[3]

Edward Okulicz: Listening to this has made me realise that melody to the verses “Sacrifice” are kind of okay, even though I’ve always considered the song to have a dud chorus and that singing “sacrifice” as four syllables is unfor-uh-giveable. So cutting out the worst bit of the song is a plus. And “Rocket Man,” now that’s a fantastic chorus, so this is on paper a good idea. But not really, because Dua Lipa is a performer, but she’s not a showman, a character, the same way Peak Elton, or, of course, Kate Bush is. Without that, “Rocket Man” is actually nothing. Fittingly, this “remix” of a quadruple Elton feature is also nothing. None of this is bad, it’s just something that doesn’t need to exist from people who could have made something else.
[4]

Thomas Inskeep: If this were just a (relatively subtle) PNAU remix of Elton’s “Sacrifice,” I’d be fine with it; it would be unnecessary but fine. But adding in Dua Lipa singing bars of “Rocket Man” for no discernible reason other than streaming clicks really cheapens this. And you thought you couldn’t make Elton look cheaper than he does these days…
[4]

Fun fact, half the word count in this entry is in referring to the song title or the band’s name.

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[6.09]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Exactly the same TWIABP& we know — n+1 madlibs on the lyrics, sick riffage that slows down and gets thoughtful in the second half. Despite this lack of innovation it’s hard to argue that it doesn’t work as a massive display of sound, an exercise in both sonic muscle and political commentary that overwhelms you like a wave over Pacific shore. Most of all, it’s a song as a set of pointed questions, a series of riffs that never quite resolve. It’s a song that’s hard to fight, but it doesn’t quite reach the anthemic heights of this band’s best work.
[7]

Ian Mathers: Would you believe I got these guys mixed up with both I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness and A Sunny Day Is Glasgow, and then just before I checked out this song I went “no they’re [and immediately thought of The Pains of Being Pure At Heart instead]”? None of those bands are bad, but there’s something probably there about making your band name more memorable than the songs. That said, this prog(?) emo(??) track does have a song title even better than any of those band names, I just wish there was more to it than the usual pinched vocals and wheedly-wobbly guitar riffing, because that title deserves something genuinely impressive.
[5]

Aaron Bergstrom: I usually love quirky little “life imitating art” synchronicities, but it turns out I do not love listening to a song about eating at your desk (and subsequently suffering a stress-induced aneurysm)… while eating at my desk. 
[5]

John Pinto: “Like an ATV on fire parked indoors” and “Everyone on my block/Who speaks English is drunk” are great lines, indicative of the humor and vitality that animate and counterbalance TWIABP’s prog-iest instincts. If you play rock music in a time signature besides 4/4, you have to be able to laugh at yourself.
[7]

Juana Giaimo: It makes sense this band is making heavier music in this context, but the (lack of) song structure makes it seem really oppressive rather than more free. It’s like going into a whirlwind with no way out, especially because of the repetition of the guitar lines. which gives a claustrophobic effect. Looking at the lyrics, I understand this was maybe their aim, but I can’t seem to enjoy or connect with any of it.
[4]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: Post-by-number with a lead guitar tone that sounds like a midi, yet still it manages to find its legs in the last minute. The lyrics are on-the-nose but effective.
[6]

Thomas Inskeep: Superb ’90s-reminiscent post-hardcore x math-rock that has obvious feeling to it. The ache here is tangible.
[8]

Mark Sinker: There’s something likeably block-form to this composition: as in “We may be highly enigmatic but we’re not wispy. You may not get it — but we still make you drive all the way round it.” You find them nestling deep in the middle of those insane lists where like 1250 emo albs are being polled (the kind of lists you also want to drive all the way round), plus Brad Nelson long ago described a song of theirs as “mathy screamo” — a phrase I’m repeating mainly because it pleases me that so estimable a critic would so evidently trust it somehow to register (not that they’re actually screamo any more, though I guess they are still mathy). Like I say there’s the solid aspect you have to take into account, and then the other stuff, which they work very hard indeed to keep unbiddable.
[6]

Alfred Soto: This builds and crests with the assurance of 2+2 always = 4. The garrulous guitars don’t let up as if representing a spirit of vengeance. On reading the title before listening, my monocle had fallen from my left eye.
[7]

Nortey Dowuona: The churning guitars are swapped out of the front of the mix for muddy, smushed singing and thudding drums, and I immediately want them back. It’s not like David Bello is such a good singer his poetry can’t be smushed against the catapulting synths and heavy, chipped guitars. He fades so quickly into the background you forget he’s there until he drops out of the mix and the song begins to float, until he slips back in and makes the whole mix sag downwards, the the song springs up, struggling with Bello’s voice but beginning to run at a speedy pace, the drums and guitar and bass all locking into this sharp edge passage — then it stops.
[7]

Tim de Reuse: A middle ground, branching forward from the naïveté of midwest emo into something that tries to hit a little more confidently. As a result, there is no awkward crack in the vocals; all this rambling poetry is delivered by narrators who no longer remember what it felt like to be eighteen. The production is lush, clear, and expensive, and the guitars no longer twinkle plaintively in the quiet parts. What’s the point of this band without angst front-and-center? What’s all this momentum pointed towards? I could only ever appreciate this overwrought, cluttered poetry if I could get that it was coming from an equally cluttered mind; now that I’m being asked to interpret it as something that was carefully and deliberately arranged it makes no sense to me.
[5]

No, too easy…

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[4.88]

Anna Katrina Lockwood: Well done to Somi — she has clearly figured out that the way you get regular releases on a YG-adjacent label is to write your own damn songs. Unfortunately, “DUMB DUMB” sounds like a song abandoned at a mere 3/4ths of the way to completion. I was startled by its abrupt termination with a mere 2:30 on the clock and nary a bridge in sight. Lord knows I love a K-pop song of petite duration, but this just doesn’t have enough go in it to satisfy my pop desires. I’m also mystified by the decision to name this song the same as the beloved Red Velvet title track.
[4]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The song itself is well-written– a clever set of lyrics (title line aside) with a driving melody compelling performed by Somi. It’s let down by baffling production choices, most of them less musical flourishes and more sound effects, which turn a decent song into a moderately annoying novelty track.
[4]

Juana Giaimo: The structure of “Dumb Dumb” is interesting, but the delivery makes it seem too normal. The song goes from cute, to extra-trendy, to trap, to a full synthpop ending. For the cute part you have those classic piano chords and a snap as a beat, and for the chorus a deep bass enters and SOMI’s vocals are spoken and cold — all of which is really predictable.
[6]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: It’s amazing that something so relatively sparse feels overproduced. And yet the elegantly simple chorus makes everything else into artifice, dead weight the song must free itself of.
[5]

Katherine St Asaph: Could use more dumb, actually; maybe that’d make this sound more dynamic and less like it’s caught in a playlist vise grip between “Lean On” and “Worth It.”
[4]

Crystal Leww: “DUMB DUMB” is by-the-book end-of-career Teddy and hits all the same cues that what feels like the last eighty of his singles have — quiet start, whistles, chugging chorus, rap part, and booming finale. This feels frustratingly simple, and while it probably does everything just well enough for Somi to keep it going, the starpower is lacking.
[5]

Ian Mathers: The problem with the whistled hook and the throbbing production melding together so well is that it makes the rest of the song, the singing parts, feel kind of superfluous. But they’re by no means bad, and that’s not the worst problem to have.
[6]

Alfred Soto: I can’t fight the hook, will slam that whistle to the ground.
[5]

Not a Lindsay Lohan cover…

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[6.30]

Al Varela: This is the best possible comeback Lizzo could have hoped for. I adore the triumphant trumpet breakdown on the chorus and the confident wobble of the bass, as Lizzo and Cardi’s hilarious quips and incredible bravado draw you into the song’s theatrics. What makes Lizzo such a magnetic presence is her force of personality, her convincing you that she really is that bitch. She brags about being so badass and sure of herself that she knows she’s going to have sex with Drake eventually. Not even “I could have sex with Drake” — “I WILL have sex with Drake.” To hear that confidence as Lizzo tears down the constant sexism, racism, and fatphobia that comes her way is cathartic as hell.
[10]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: “Rumors” is clearly trying to achieve something similar to Lizzo’s two sleeper hits from 2019. It fails at this — the quotables here are less universal, the hooks less friendly. Fortunately, that makes “Rumors” a better song, imbued with a specificity and meanness that those tracks (and most of Cuz I Love You) lacked. It’s even better than Cardi B’s similar efforts around this theme– the union of Lizzo’s pop songcraft and Cardi’s pop personality creates a finely honed hook machine. Ricky Reed’s beat-work captures some of the mid-’70s R&B-rock glitz that a song like this deserves. It’s still corny, but it’s a version of corny with enough surprises that it doesn’t sound like it should be playing in CVS.
[7]

Thomas Inskeep: Riding a beat reminiscent of “The Real Slim Shady,” Lizzo just complains about — you know what she’s complaining about — to no point. Even Cardi can’t save this.
[1]

Tobi Tella: “Proving the haters wrong” anthems feel kind of self-defeating at this point, so it’s nice to hear one with full “and what?” energy. There’s still a streak of twee, but hearing Lizzo on something freakier than her Disneyfied mainstream breakthroughs just feels right.
[7]

Ian Mathers: There’s probably some Sun Tzu/Machiavelli-type advice about turning gossip to your own advantage that explains what Lizzo and Cardi are doing here, but “Rumors” has one big advantage over that: It’s a hell of a lot more fun.
[8]

Harlan Talib Ockey: Is this not just “Look What You Made Me Do”‘s cooler cousin? “Fuck the rumors and the haters, here’s a massively underwhelming chorus”? Still, it’s reasonably quotable, and Cardi’s actually part of the song, not lazily tacked on to jack up the streaming numbers.
[5]

Katherine St Asaph: You know, I was never a huge fan of Cuz I Love You, but at least Lizzo was a force on it, demolishing pretty every song. This demolishes nothing. The beat is halfhearted, the faux-Middle Eastern licks even more so — if you’re reviving that questionable part of the early 2000s, at least commit. Don’t try to make it tasteful! The brass is the most General MIDI-sounding filler I’ve heard since the Angelfire era. Most disappointingly, Lizzo barely seems present for her boasting. Even Cardi sounds low energy, which I didn’t even know was possible.
[3]

Nortey Dowuona: The first line is such a gut-punch that “Rumors” can’t really get out of its defensive crouch. The song never becomes the spin kick it wants to be — it attempts to hit back, but “it hurt itself in its confusion!” (The synth horns definitely don’t help. I wish the drum breakdown on both the pre-chorus and first repetition of the chorus had sprung into a “Metal Wings”-style end-of-song breakdown.) Cardi’s verse, in a welcome turn from her last three years of straight mid, is actually pretty great, especially her line about how blogs from different countries lie in languages she can’t read. But while Lizzo is a big performer, here she’s mostly in her lower range, at least at the beginning. She picks up the slack briefly by promising a swinging guitar breakdown, but it only happens after the last lines of the chorus and only lasts for a few seconds. The rumors got to her, oh well. The Muses cosplay is great — can’t wait for their scene in the next live-action Hercules movie.
[6]

Aaron Bergstrom: What was J. Lo doing that was so important that we couldn’t go full Hustlers reunion on this? That’s more fun to focus on than the way capitalism sells you increasingly watered down, commodified versions of things you used to love. We’re still on the right side of the divide with Lizzo, but just barely, and I’m not optimistic about her trajectory.
[6]

Alex Clifton: “Rumors” gets a [10] for multiple reasons: it’s one of the most fun songs I’ve heard all year, Lizzo and Cardi sound great, and the brass in the chorus is such an energizing addition. But I’ll admit the score is mostly because I have not stopped thinking about “last time I got freaky the FCC sued me” for two weeks. Another case of a surefire summer hit released a little too late to properly count as one, but one I’m happy to dance to nonetheless. 
[10]

Between this and their last two singles, maybe “All Time Mid” is a more befitting name…

[Video]
[5.22]

Andrew Karpan: What would Jean Baudrillard have to say about postmodern anxiety or “PMA,” as pop punk lifers All Time Low call it on their latest single? Certainly, Alex Gaskarth comes to the table with more than enough “disposable simulacra,” delivered in a kind of lanky agitation and tracing the outlines of a world illuminated by memories of watching too much TV. “And I don’t even like it!,” he sings convincingly, even if the lyrics themselves aren’t quite as keenly selected as the ones Matty Healy pulls out of the bag to buffet his band’s theory-book titled albums. But the imperfections give the sound a cringe quality that feels practically joyous in a punk record, whose production values inherently shrug off pretentiousness. Even Healy’s label mates Pale Waves, whose singer dials her concerns in over at the track’s end, comes off with a kind of pure self-assuredness that felt missing among all the rage on her band’s sophomore effort. Some things can be disposable but good.
[7]

Will Adams: Both All Time Low and Pale Waves have excellently executed this early-’00s strain of adolescent pop-punk this year; frustratingly, their pairing here results in doubling down on those pop mental health tropes that tell, not show, the angst. The hooks and surging guitars remain, though; is there any genre better suited to simultaneously rolling your eyes and jumping along to the chorus?
[6]

Jeffrey Brister: Sunny production, bouncy lyrics, pretty slamming drums, but nothing truly distinctive, which kinda sucks! Heather Baron-Gracie has a very interesting voice, and none of its qualities get a workout here.
[5]

Ian Mathers: A perfectly fine, zippy little song, I just wish they were singing something that didn’t thud to the ground with a dull clang like “apathy and irony, postmodern anxiety” during the chorus, and that they hadn’t gone with such a witlessly “ironic” title.
[5]

John Pinto: There’s some interesting stuff here about not having the terms and/or self-confidence to address loneliness/depression/et al. Unfortunately, the song’s vagueness ultimately makes it a victim of that same lukewarm confusion. Title and hook are remarkably bad.
[3]

Thomas Inskeep: “PMA” is the most average pop-punk imaginable. If that’s your lane, you’ll enjoy this male/female duet. If not, you don’t ever need to hear it again.
[3]

Samson Savill de Jong: This is one of those songs that I’ve listened to a lot in an attempt to figure out whether or not I enjoy it. The presence of one of my faves Heather Baron-Gracie may have meant I was more eager to give the song a ringing endorsement, but her parts stood out against All Time Low’s instantly. The reason might not be immediately apparent before listening; the lyrics are broadly on a similar level, and they’re sung in similar ways. But I believe Heather in a way I don’t believe All Time Low. When she sings her therapist hates her, I think she feels that; when he sings that he watches Jeopardy despite not liking it I become convinced that this man’s never watched a television in his life. Repeated exposure has warmed me to the tune enough that I can enjoy the whole song, but Heather’s presence shows how much intangibles can bring to a song.
[6]

Aaron Bergstrom: Listen, Heather, I get it. I bet this was really fun to make. I bet you really mean all those nice things you’ve been saying about All Time Low, and I’m sure they’re really nice guys. But I’m worried about you. Because this is how it starts. Next thing you know, Travis Barker is writing and producing like nine songs on the next Pale Waves album and you forget all about the unique little touches that made your first two albums so special as you slip into the pop punk revival vortex. If I had the courage of my convictions, I’d give you a [3] and call it tough love, but I can’t, because you sold the hell out of this.
[7]

Alfred Soto: A charming fizzer that would’ve hit the top ten of Billboard‘s Modern Rock Tracks chart in, say, 2007. This has lyrics?
[5]

A comeback that delivers…

[Video]
[7.14]

Thomas Inskeep: This pairing of Bad Bunny with bachata legends Aventura could be a train wreck on paper, but it works so smoothly in practice. Romeo Santos and his silky voice, meanwhile, remind us that he should be as big a star as The Weeknd. If this doesn’t make you swoon, I may wonder what’s wrong with you.
[8]

Nortey Dowuona: The gorgeous synths that well up behind Romeo Santos, who handles this song alone, are buoyant but are immediately smushed by the rigid programmed drums, while Bad Bunny hops between the gaps with a firm hand the silky guitar lightly draped over the drums, and it becomes his own with such a careful tilling it’s annoying when Romeo does actually return to wilt and whisper over this beat, nothing but a ghostly presence until Bad Bunny returns, his pained yelp coming from being dragged underneath the drums, before Romeo shoves him under to continue forcing his frail tenor in the listeners face. Then finally, Bad Bunny frees himself and the song with a sample of a previous Aventura cut, suddenly the frail curtain against the slicing drums — then silence.
[7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The grandiose iciness of Bad Bunny’s work integrates into Aventura’s bachata without overwhelming the style’s more organic grooves. It’s a finely tuned machine of a track, Romeo Santos’ reedy voice balancing out Bad Bunny’s baritone perfectly, their shared purpose of immense horniness creating just enough dissonance to offset the just-too-clean production.
[8]

Crystal Leww: A collab with Bad Bunny is a pretty good excuse to convince Romeo Santos to return home to Aventura. The result is fine, which is probably better than most attempts for massive, superstar team-ups. Bad Bunny continues to show everyone how he’s become the force in urbano music — even when he’s not necessarily at the top of his game, he does his thing with a sense of urgency and energy that convinces you to bop around it anyway. 
[6]

Oliver Maier: Equal parts sugar and spice; Romeo Santos’ croon and Bad Bunny’s wail make for a good combination, just enough in common and just enough that’s distinctive. It all fits together in that deeply satisfying, in-your-bones way that only good reggaeton does. The manic outro is a nice touch.
[8]

Juana Giaimo: Instrumental-wise, “Volví” has the best of both worlds: it’s fun and upbeat like reggaeton but also sensual like bachata. It’s not the first time we hear how Romeo Santos’ delicate singing can fit the straightforwardness of a reggaeton beat, but it’s neither the first time we see how Bad Bunny’s heavy tone contaminates the whole song — I feel his voice is slowly becoming a burden. The song structure doesn’t help: his part lasts literally one whole minute during which most of the ornamentation of the bachata doesn’t appear. When Romeo Santos is back, it feels that his song isn’t his anymore. 
[6]

Alfred Soto: Romeo Santos can slow it down, speed it up — he has an instinct for knowing what a song requires and when. Bad Bunny proves a solid duet partner. The insistent guitar pluck sweetens the latter’s partied-out burr and harmonizes with the former. A single so calculated to hit in every market as to take my breath away.
[7]