That average seems about right…
Jer Fairall: Earnest, melodic “indie rock” executed with considerable craft and almost zero personality. How exactly do you rate a song that does something completely unremarkable extremely well?
Martin Skidmore: It’s Californian rock, bouncing along brightly with moderate punch and something like a chorus and a vocalist who makes an effort. I don’t think it is anything special, but it’s a relief to hear a rock number meant to entertain, at least.
Jonathan Bogart: My lizard-brain thalamus always responds to the propulsive throb of this kind of thing, the closest my suburban-nomad people get to heritage music. And then my forebrain engages it.
Ian Mathers: The chorus kind of reminds me of Frightened Rabbit, but wheras that band would make a line like “my body tells me no, but I won’t quit, ’cause I want more” scabrous or at least desperate, Young the Giant just sound kind of enthusiastic. The verses stop the momentum of the chorus dead in a way that really isn’t productive (the less said about the middle eight the better), but there’s a germ of something interesting here. But Young the Giant’s refusal or maybe inability to engage with the conflict and even horror in what they’re singing about sinks the song.
Anthony Easton: The most embodied songs are ones that refuse to be self-conscious about pleasure, or at least don’t foreground a samey, exhausted message of badly disguised appetites.
Josh Langhoff: A reasonably interesting song about a guy who dies in a train crash while visiting his old schoolfriend — or at least that’s the only plot line that could make me like it. “My Body” seems to rush into its choruses with some insecurity, as though the band doesn’t trust the potential allure of their verses, when if anything they’re overrating the power of their chorus. I suppose, since Mr. Giant is raging against the dying of the light and all, it’d be churlish to ask him for a good pre-chorus, more than two chords, and some less sluggish instrumental parts.
Zach Lyon: It’s strange to discover a song on the “popular” tracks list on the hipster wasteland of the Hype Machine,which I scour because I suck at finding new music, and then learn that it’s playing on Modern Rock radio. Context changes things: as a hipster jock jam it’s light and un-“pretentious”, as a modern rock hipster jam it’s unbearably inoffensive and wimpy. Or as Ian Cohen put it perfectly, it has “nothing specific enough to prevent them from also selling deodorant.” Regardless, I still enjoy it about the same as when I first heard it and I don’t think there’s a Modern Rock station here that actually plays music made after 2003 anyway.