The Singles Jukebox

In some areas of the world, the American bullfrog is regarded as an invasive species.

[Video][Website]
[2.11]

Katie Gill: Man, it’s a bad one. The generic lyrics with terrible alcohol metaphors, a bizarre sound effects backing (frogs???), and a groanworthy “go down good” attempt at a pun make me say this song ain’t good enough. I’ll tell you one thing: this sounds like every other Florida Georgia song ever written. It’s play-by-numbers and, at this point in FGL’s career, is downright dull. Let’s just forget about it.
[3]

Alfred Soto: Overstated vocals, frog effects, finger snaps — on first glance I could be describing New Order’s “Perfect Kiss.” Florida Georgia Line believe in smarm as harm, though. Because they pose as country folk, they would never say they wanna put their hand on a woman’s breast — their songs can’t even be trusted to send mixed signals.
[3]

Anthony Easton: Has a song tried so hard to make a song that appeared effortless? Also, few of the examples elucidated are that smooth. Lastly, the bullfrog sounds are laughable. 
[0]

Thomas Inskeep: The use of the frog’s “ribbit,” as rhythm, is clever. Nothing else about this song is, however, especially its awful lyrics. 
[2]

Stephen Eisermann: To no one’s surprise, this as bro-country as songs come: misogynistic, riddled with call outs to favorite country pastimes, and chock-full of accentuated twang. Additionally unsurprising: I hate it.
[1]

Will Adams: The clever thing about mixing metaphors so hard that you’re comparing a woman to a new inanimate object with each line is that there’s no time to go into the grotesque details about how much she resembles x. (Imagine the whole song built around a liquor analogy… mmm, as appealing as hot beer.) The stock atmosphere via crickets and frogs serves no purpose besides genre brownie points — we’re in the country, see? — but was a baffling enough choice that held my interest briefly.
[4]

Cassy Gress: There’s a sweaty dude in a tropical shirt in this video. Ignore the rest of it about Elvis and Vegas – this is that dude’s song. It should have been sung greasily, with a leer. I mean, it still would have been creepy, but more humorously so. This is sung straight-faced, which makes it more menacing.
[1]

Ramzi Awn: Textbook country built for a salon, and not a saloon. “Smooth” could use some of the old spunk. Florida Georgia Line’s honkytonk jam meets the Tennessee requirement for By-The-Book country but ultimately falls short. Good concert fare nonetheless. 
[5]

Tara Hillegeist: Have you ever watched Die Hard? Have you ever been a woman asked if she’s ever watched Die Hard? I love Die Hard, but the dudes who ask me if I’ve watched Die Hard are some of the most unsavory, smug men I’ve met in my lifetime, and I used to hang out on webcomics messageboards at the turn of the century so I’ve known from unsavory and smug male entitlement for decades. The bit dudes who love Die Hard like to forget is that John McClane is like many Bruce Willis characters and features, alongside his unpolished charm and bruised heart, a misogynistic paternalism you could at points fit an entire Grand Canyon inside. He exists one wrong turn away from being the asshole you cross the road to avoid before he inevitably spots you and catcalls across the street after your quickly-departing back. He does not make a good impression. Many great Bruce Willis movies are about deepening his character past that impression, creating reasons to forgive him, reasons to root for him to be better, creating a person instead of an attitude. I like watching Bruce Willis movies like Die Hard because they set themselves up with an attitude problem and then write their way out of that hole into something profound. But the dudes who ask me if I’ve seen Die Hard never work hard enough to write themselves out of that Grand Canyon-sized asshole; they want to skip to the ending without doing any of the emotional labor that earned it. They’ve let liking a cool story stand in for having a personality. “Smooth”, with its fauxthentic pluck, like a man that asks me if I’ve seen Die Hard, wants me to mistake its awareness of something that might’ve backed a smart idea once for its containing or understanding that idea. But it’s nothing but a catcall from across the street, and I’m walking away.
[0]