This is that one that goes “shock you like an electric feet…”

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[6.50]

Edward Okulicz: Along with a kooky and inessential yet quite pleasant rap from Samsaya (who is Indian-Norwegian but you wouldn’t guess), “Electric Feet” offers everything I’ve loved about Bertine, and producer Fred Ball, in a tidy package. It’s their own greatest hits package — the precise, commanding diction of “Fake Your Beauty,” the dizzying swirls and clicks of “Uptown” and “Out of Love” and a few barking mad lyrics — everything but the beat drops out so you can better appreciate “You will be finding oil!”. Bertine speak-sings the chorus so quickly and charismatically I was hooked before I even had a clue what she was saying and by the time I did have a clue, I didn’t care.
[9]

John Seroff: As a piece of modern art pastiche and commentary on the interchangeability of pop musicians (let’s say Gaga and Rihanna, shall we?), this is incisive, with lyrics that are genuinely funny in their self-parody. The general structure and production have achieved a perfect contemporary average; it’s like a 2009-2011 crucible of radio hits reduced to one salmon-colored, slippery blob of runoff. As music, it is basically unlistenable. In either case: “Electric Feet”? Seriously? What is this, a Muppet movie?
[2]

Anthony Easton: The recent PopMatters column ranking the best Madonna songs of all time talks about how so many people try to recreate the spoken rhythm found in work like “Vogue”; I think there are more people successful at it than they do, but it’s an incredibly small list, mostly Justin Vivian Bond and Britney. (Hipster essay time: what else do these two divas have in common?) This comes really close to adding a third name to the list. Fantastic, urbane, witty, sexy, and beautifully constructed.
[9]

Mallory O’Donnell: Haven’t heard from Bertine since the days of her Italian greyhound. This comes on a bit harsh and over-exerted, but by the end has become quite a nice, frothy little tune. Shame about Samsaya, who has an unique cultural background to draw on but lets herself succumb to the Rihanna effect.
[5]

Iain Mew: A comeback that oozes cool and class, from Bertine herself on down. It takes all kind of enjoyably weird lyrical directions, the chorus is sinuous and beguiling, and it features a pre-chorus drum fill that approaches perfection. “Electric Feet” also makes me wonder about other Jukebox stars of old. Whither Margaret Berger? And particular after Samsaya’s impression of her on this record, whither Nelly Furtado?
[9]

Michaela Drapes: There’s not much appealing here — unsophisticated production, clunky lyrics, a dash of stinky Eurocheeze, and someone trying to sound too much like Rihanna. Not good.
[3]

Brad Shoup: The genial offhandedness of the delivery is great. So are the words, the syntax, the scene-setting theatricality created by the iambic trimeter. Certainly, there are Timbaland stuttering synths and a fine house-style chord progression to note, but what really excites me is the fecundity of the text. Other than a line about fresh meat, Samsaya doesn’t really fit into the spirit of the proceedings, but the damage has been done.
[8]

Katherine St Asaph: The stuttered percussion and the bridge’s fleeting Rihanna effect are the sole concessions to modern pop here; they’re pointless, because the lyrics are too clumsy and Bertine’s delivery too distant for this to ever cross over here. It’s a shame: “watch my heart come undone,” echoed against a rainstorms-at-night track, couldn’t be more wistful. 
[7]