Still a decade or two too soon for the Lifehouse reevaluation, then…

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[3.88]

Katherine St Asaph: xx + y decibels – college kids making out = 
[5]

Jonathan Bogart: I hate prosperity theology so fucking much.
[1]

Will Adams: For those who enjoy some melancholy while walking down the cereal aisle.
[4]

Alfred Soto: That spectral guitar riff deserves a restraint beyond or beneath or between the raindrops or whatever else this band offers. Bedingfield, all restraint, deserves another early ’00s B-lister to record with.
[3]

Anthony Easton: I really like Natasha Bedingfield’s voice — enough that I can almost ignore Lifehouse, but not enough that I can ignore the writing or production. The ooohs almost wrestle it to a tie. 
[6]

Patrick St. Michel: The minimal clip-clop beat sounds intriguing for the first fifty seconds, then the dramatic-for-a-dentist’s-office chorus butts in and throws whatever this song had off. Then the same process repeats for nearly five minutes, with Natasha Bedingfield and a whole lot of diminished returns.
[3]

Brad Shoup: I see Mr. Lifehouse still sings with the underbite. I got a thing for male tenors working within limitations of range, and he wrings as much feeling as he can from this soppy chill-rock. Any hope of this becoming an AAA “Two of Us” is scuttled by humorlessness, insistence of smile notwithstanding.
[6]

Iain Mew: You can try to walk between the raindrops, but you just end up wet.
[3]