I believe, when I listen to Josh Groban, it will feel like forever.

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Scott Mildenhall: Delivering more ham than a pizza takeaway, Groban really puts the standard into standard with this. He doesn’t sound like he means a single word of what he’s saying, but it wouldn’t make any sense if he did; it would be wrong for the strings and choir to upstage him. That said, while it’s pleasingly preposterous in parts, especially at the end, it’s a song that, however it’s rendered, is never quite going to be preposterous enough.
[5]

Alfred Soto: Stevie deserves less wonder, less genuflecting. The Knife bowlerizing this Talking Book chestnut into a synthtastic semiotics lesson, Anthony Hamilton gruffing it up, Vampire Weekend pepping it up, hell, Michael Buble sassing it up — anything but Groban’s wrinkle-free zone.
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Anthony Easton: I admire the sheer level of excess in this, it’s like a fountain of overwhelming smarm that drowns any and all emotion, while still being technically controlled. The last bit reaches Barbra or Celine levels of sincere-insincerity. 
[7]

Patrick St. Michel: Might as well admit my bias right away – I went to Catholic high school and Josh Groban’s music was a constant in my life for at least three years. Maybe those outside of the parochial fold were going wild over “You Raise Me Up” too, but something tells me they were listening to something a bit more…fun. The reason I don’t like this Groban-in-2013 single is mostly because it sounds exactly the same as Groban-in-2004. And so I dislike it for all the same reasons – for all its pomp, the whole thing sounds hollow, whatever emotions supposed to shine through here sounding scripted for the hokiest of musicals. 
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Jonathan Bogart: I mean, is there a sense in which this isn’t the pop-classical equivalent of an earnest beardo doing his acoustic-folk rendition of “Ignition (Remix)”? I don’t care how sincere the appreciation is, the result is gross, smarmy, and “real-music” self-righteous.
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Brad Shoup: Always nice to check on the happenings in Grobania. I thought he was permanently on set or something, being awesome. So, back in college, I maintained a spreadsheet with my favorite songs. Until I realized that I was… um, in college, it got up to 700 or so. The final slot was Stevie’s “I Believe.” It was as much a boundary as a placement; my interest in the stately minor-key verses fluctuated from play to play. But I loved that glorious refrain. It could just have been chorus on chorus with endless countermelody. As usual, Josh conjures joy into courtliness. Where there were numerous lovestruck Wonders, there is now a gospellish choir and the Vitamin String Quartet Tribute to Imprecise Search Terms. Groban’s coda isn’t anything like the original, but it’s actually quite inspired. He turns wonderfully dusky (even inward) — then pulls back for a splashy rock-show finish. Tragedy or farce, I don’t even know.
[3]

Edward Okulicz: I am bewildered that anyone could find the aspartame of this arrangement tasteful let alone swoonsome, but the market decrees otherwise. Doesn’t mean that this is anything other than second-hand Stevie Wonder done in the style of a second-rate George Michael.
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