Wednesday, September 18th, 2019

AJ Mitchell ft. Ava Max – Slow Dance

It’s the last dance bro…


Katherine St Asaph: Back in my day, the slow dance songs of choice were Christina Aguilera’s “I Turn to You”; maybe Savage Garden; I assume “This I Promise You” or “Breathe” or (christ) “The Space Between” but have no memory of those, none of the cursed-image-vivid, photographic-and-sonic memories one develops as a preteen hoping a boy asks you to sway. Either way, though: ballad-ballads. Then what once were some of the most fraught three-and-a-half-minute spans of my tweenage life became things I can’t remember ever thinking about for the past decade; but based on “Slow Dance” existing, it seems likely that the kids still slow dance. And based on the charts, what on earth could it possibly be to? Judging by the chorus, the answer seems to be a semi-acoustic cover of “No Flex Zone.” Maybe sit this one out in the girls’ room.

Alfred Soto: Cabello and Mendes’ “Senorita,” only serious. 

Michael Hong: AJ Mitchell and Ava Max never really get into a groove that would suggest you could slow dance to this, but the pair capture a sort of tenderness under neon lights that makes up for it. The rushed, quasi-spoken prechorus gives the track a little bit of a jolt, like nervous confessions from awkward teenagers, but it’s undermined by the harsher vocal theatrics on the final chorus, where Ava Max easily outshines AJ Mitchell.

Isabel Cole: Exactly as sensual and intimate as a slow dance between twelve-year-olds who can’t make eye contact at a Christian school winter social where teachers wander the wanly decorated gym to make sure students are leaving room for the Lord, although from the sound of it not nearly as thrilling to the two people involved.

Oliver Maier: I think the kindest thing I can say about this is that qualifying a request to slow dance with “if you’re feeling me” is kind of hilarious. I can’t wait for the sequel where AJ Mitchell asks a girl to marry him because they just vibe.

Nicholas Donohoue: AJ Mitchell employs a rhythm that utterly kills any romance, as if he’s checking if his mic is on before making an embarrassing-for-everyone display of love. Blessed be Ava Max for salvaging the back half, but we still end up with less of a slow dance than a moderate waddle.

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