I am Sheeran, you are Sheeran, you are Sheeran, Sheeran all together…

[Video][Website]
[3.38]

Scott Mildenhall: The on-off-kilter nature of Labrinth’s music sets him apart from most singers and producers in the UK chart milieu. His nearest match in that sense would be MNEK, but MNEK could never throw out the rulebook to the degree “Let It Be” does. There is a balance to be struck, though, and, for once, it isn’t. It’s not even all the wacky touches — it’s the decision to be so plodding, with little in the way of a hook. The coda only hints at what could have been.
[5]

Megan Harrington: This is signifier soup: a little robot rock on the outro, a Wild West whistle refrain, a strumpet bassline and Labrinth’s oversung, quavering vocals. Every spoonful threatens to overwhelm, but you finish the whole bowl before deciding it’s too much. 
[7]

Patrick St. Michel: Labrinth can load this with as many horn blurts and cliches and squeaky voices as he wants, but this just swirls around in one big pointless circle.
[3]

Micha Cavaseno: Run through those cliches, lad. You can try to testify on a song, dip into organ, but you’ve got about as much spirit in your heart and soul as a gingerbread church. This post-Danger Mouse run through of every single pop “eccentricity” to make your MOR basura more exciting is not going to fool anyone because you threw every gimmick into the book, Mr. Bungle style, to distract from how badly you don’t mean it.
[0]

Alfred Soto: As a maxim “let it be” makes superficial sense: accept what you can’t change with serenity, and so on. Surrounded by a melody, however, it turns the singers into privileged mooncalves (ahem, Paul McCartney). Coming from a Simon Cowell-fronted British pop star, the maxim sounds especially loathsome. And he doesn’t mean it: he couldn’t let this gross amalgam of reggae and soul, er, be. This thing even sports a false ending. 
[1]

Katherine St Asaph: Like some dreadful Nethack alchemical mishap where Labrinth’s trying to enhance his musical formula with Ed Sheeran or maybe Dan Auerbach, and suddenly it all goes BOOM and in a puff of smoke there’s Crazy Town.
[5]

Brad Shoup: You hate to see someone upstaged by their kinda-cool/kinda-stab-me-with-this-letter-opener pitchshifted hook, but here we are. The arrangement is beefy, with ingredients from all over the timeline — the ending alone combines that vocal squeak with ELO-style vocoder and some John Barry orchestral sparks. But there’s nothing for Labrinth becoming a slightly better Aloe Blacc.
[4]

Josh Langhoff: This guy needs a little coke and sympathy.
[2]