And yet no mention of Joan Jett…

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[5.12]Alfred Soto: “Somebody Loves You” sounded lived-in — an updated Alison Moyet composition from 1982, sung by an equally distinctive vocalist. But unable to imbue this banal chorus with any meaning she bellows; she sounds like Tina Turner singing “Friday.”
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Anthony Easton: That floating ethereal breakdown around 2:39 is one of my favourite sounds in pop this year, and how it ends is equally exciting. I’m sad that the intrigue of the production fails to match the generic/anthemic quality of her vocals.
[6]

Micha Cavaseno: There’s a reality show who needs this for ten seconds to score the scene transition as the couple breaks up somewhere. That’s about as useful as this song can be.
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Katherine St Asaph: Taylor Swift’s “Mine” airbrushed, sandblasted, inflated and wind-machined to an inch of its life. As spectacle, it’s undeniable, but any more of this and I’m gonna start listening exclusively to twee indie-pop cassettes with chickadees on the front.
[6]

Thomas Inskeep: Kelly Clarkson after a Missing Persons binge, and that is most definitely a compliment. This would’ve been monstrous on KROQ in 1983.
[8]

Edward Okulicz: Despite the bang-on Boy Meets Girl-isms of the production, this still sounds mostly Katy Perry under heavy sedation, having forgotten how to write a chorus.
[4]

Brad Shoup: A couple of interesting choices: sucking the track into a drain before snapping the chorus into place, and a disorienting delayed beat after the bridge. It threw me off from sussing out the plot, which I think is two rich kids being terrible during the summer of their sophomore year. I mean, you don’t hijack a car if 1) no one’s in it and 2) it’s your dad’s. Also, who spends “funds”? Basically, I wish PSB had gotten to this first.
[6]

Will Adams: Betty Who knows how to write songs. It’d be one thing if “Somebody Loves You” were a one-off bottle of lightning that soundtracked a reblog-ready viral video. But it was no fluke; she backed up her words with massive chorus after massive chorus. In the shadow of those songs, then, “Runaways” is disappointing, hinting at escapism but ultimately spending too much time with wordless hooks. But in the grand scheme, it just works, mostly thanks to Peter Thomas’ production; amidst the giant, star-spangled synthpop, he finds the best moments in negative space, like the tiny click that precedes the chorus. “Runaways” is slight, but Betty Who’s bar is set high, a blessing and a curse.
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