Will we allay Scott’s confusion? STAY TUNED…

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Scott Mildenhall: What a revelation it was a good while ago to discover that Gavin DeGraw and that man from that Nelly song are not the same person. Who exactly DeGraw really is remained a mystery until just now — he’s the guy from Train, isn’t he? He has at least updated some of “Drive By”‘s lyrics – if you found “my love for you went viral” a bit two-thousand-and-late, then you should be pleased to note the beyond zeitgeist “hipsters” line — but it’s all a little too eager to please, as if Tim’s tried to capitalise on the fun of “Drive By-uh-uh-y!”, and instead just capitalised it.
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Jer Fairall: Free associating a list of contemporary maladies (climate change, drone strikes, hipsters) alongside a love story that apparently began with his copying down a phone number off a bathroom wall, DeGraw delivers this nonsensical verbal splay with such earnestness that one imagines him claiming this as “Dylanesque.” Which would be laughable enough even if he didn’t already sing like a funkless Adam Levine and sound like the product of a studio freshly equipped with a preset labelled “Mumford.” 
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Alfred Soto: This hoedown given faint electronic propulsion professes confusion about “hipsters” and obligations: two things about which good pop shouldn’t be weak-kneed about. I’m recommending it, though, because DeGraw is working up a sweat while sounding buoyant. A neat trick.
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Patrick St. Michel: Please, no more mentions of “hipsters” in song. Also, nobody be like this walking eye-roll factory.
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Iain Mew: I spend most of the song wishing DeGraw would shut up (“neon gypsy”/”desert rain” beats out some close contenders for the worst bit), but he never, ever does, and behind him things are even busier. The moment closest to quiet involves him and others going “AAAAAAAHHHH.” It’s an experience, but I don’t mean that a recommendation unless you are curious about how Train to the power of Train would sound.
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Katherine St Asaph: People say Mumfordite rock (a pointless “genre,” but whatever, we’re stuck with it) is self-serious, but it can be so deeply, deeply goofy. And unlike Imagine Dragons going GUHHHH in what’s otherwise a portentous slog or Train tailoring their metaphors to the Lyttle Lytton Contest, I kind of think Gavin McGraw means to be goofy. “Best I Ever Had” isn’t about a Manic Pixie Dream Girl so much as Gavin’s mental pinball trying so hard to imagine he had one and is now in deep mourning. As you might expect, this produces social commentary far less incisive than it thinks it is (“night sky full of drones” onward), race buffoonery (if “savin’ Africa” didn’t do it, “neon gypsy” will, and if neither did there’s a 1-in-4 chance you’re writing an angry comment that includes the word “Tumblr”) and outright cynicism (arguably the premise, but definitely the multi-state shoutouts, which falls just short of LMFAO recording umpteen custom versions of “I’m in Miami Bitch.”) But for every moment like that there’s something like a giddy “I failed algebra!” which is silly and strained and embarrassing and flat-out amazing. It helps that the music’s good; that intro sounds like Crayonsmith, the folk rave-up is properly raucous, and the moment of clarity (or at least “Clarity”) when the parade passes by the first chorus for once feels earned. It’s OK to like this, really. (If you scoffed at Gavin’s “too many hipsters” line but swooned at Taylor’s identical line, ask yourself why.)
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Brad Shoup: His prattle about hipsters and booze and nicotine isn’t transgressive in the least — but neither are most people I know. This slots well next to the new Avicii: frantic cornpone yielding to a swell EDM-absence chorus. His mouth is less mushy than it once was, and he gives a shout-out to the lesser states, so I’m good.
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Anthony Easton: Too many details, too much nonsense, too much grinding power, but it doesn’t go anywhere, even as it opens up into that coda. 
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Jonathan Bogart: When a chirpy piano-folkie Drake cover with the same title would have been a better-case scenario than your “original” (Christ) song, it’s time to set your fedora on fire.
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