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Thomas Inskeep: Hi, Michael Ray. Damn right I’ll “kiss a little more and think a little less,” with a come-on like this. (He’s dreamy, this song is swoon-worthy, it’s got great arena-country production — think Rascal Flatts at their best, with a far better vocalist — and it gets in and out in under three minutes.)
Jonathan Bradley: The thick guitar peals set the scene nicely for “Think a Little Less,” as does the talk of creeping midnights and smoldering cigarettes, but Ray himself doesn’t have a lot of smolder about him. Thinking a little less should be no problem for him, but he doesn’t actually sound like he’s thought of anything more than kissing a little more. That’s not a dealbreaker — in tempo at least, this is a tune that wants to take things slow — but if you’re gonna drop lines like “get you out of that bar and out of that dress,” you should sound like you have some idea of what you want to do after that.
Ryo Miyauchi: The bar, the kiss, Michael Ray’s country music providing the theme — the generic, shallow taste of it all left no striking impression. He tells you to think a little less for a reason, I suppose. But it’s kinda embarrassing how I’m still thinking about his cute little joke when everything else following it was forgettable.
Tim de Reuse: Such exaggerated, substance-less twang comes somewhat close to being an unknowing parody of its own genre, but isn’t so lucky as to get all the way there — that would at least have made it memorable. Instead, the only thing that sticks in my head about it is that terrible fucking snare drum.
Scott Mildenhall: “Burning up the night like a cigarette” — that’s quite a small fire, unless you’re advocating arson. Admittedly there’s little more ardour than sense in this rambling gesture towards seduction, almost as if the writers were so pleased with the chorus that they then took the title as instruction. Yes, if this song teaches one thing, it’s how to hinge a piece of writing on some lazy wordplay.
Will Adams: “You’ve never looked hotter” — at least we’re clued into this being just some one night stand dude fantasy from the jump. The songwriting is taut and the chorus soars, but there’s so little to do with the woman on the other end that I suspect Michael Ray is singing this to himself in the shower.
Alfred Soto: I don’t understand why men insist on the false choice between sex and thinking. Some of my best kissing has happened when I’m thinking about Sebald and laundry.