The jury is in.

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[4.00]
Micha Cavaseno: Until the last five years, rap has generally functioned like a foreigner in the community of music. Whereas everything else used the common tongue of melody and harmony, rhythm was the main school and language. When the artist aspired to go to melody, there were choruses, melodic flows, imitation, but it wasn’t safe to enter SONG until maybe Cudi or 808s & Heartbreak. Raury is the ultimate sign of things to come: not a hip-hop influenced singer/songwriter but a songwriter dwelling within hip-hop and that’s HIP-HOP, not the many genres they’ve used as fodder before. It’s admirable, but Raury lacks the lyrical prowess (can anyone tell me if “Cigarette Song” has a concrete focus), a true adventurer’s spirit within the genres he mines, and a great melodic ear. If we’re lucky, Raury will be yet another step or maybe further his ambition. Yet his entitlement once he’s rewarded for this break might thwart his full potential.
[2]
Crystal Leww: Raury has been compared to every single artist who can’t be pinned down or defined to a particular sound or genre, from Lorde to Frank Ocean, However, he also takes on the worst tendencies of Frank Ocean: the parts that are interested in **~~true artistry~~**, whatever the fuck that means, and ends up somewhere in the world of pretension rather than anything close to resembling a hook. “Cigarette Song” has so much going on, and Raury tries so hard and ends up with something empty.
[3]
Alfred Soto: Because his publicity people have done such a comprehensive job of comparing him to this or that artist, I won’t go through the trouble. It’s possible the comparisons are so breathless because Raury doesn’t sound like anyone, period, least of all himself.
[4]
David Sheffieck: Raury’s more interesting when he’s exploring the intersection between genres: rap and folk, or funk, or full-on pop. He’s not necessarily boring when he dedicates himself to a more straightforward approach, but he is utterly predictable. The titular metaphor is fine enough, but once it’s laid out early on there’s nowhere else for the song to go, like the song’s a punchline followed by a long explanation of why the joke was funny.
[4]
Anthony Easton: For someone who is labelled as a prodigy, this is exactly the kind of ballad that I expected an 18-year-old to perform. There’s maybe a bit more writerly detail, and his loping coyote vocals are a bit more emotionally regulated than some other kids, but it’s kind of a perfect text for O Level pulling.
[6]
Brad Shoup: I know an indigo child. He’s a friend of a friend, and at a party last week I found a copy of a book he recently self-published. It’s a hero’s journey from cubicle to psychedelics, and I have got to pick up my own copy. When I think of him, I wonder how endangered I must seem. with my bemusement and my constant checking of Twitter and my cigarettes. Obviously, I’m projecting, but so is Raury; whatever kills her makes him stronger. The track is so crowded with diagetic noises that I kept tugging my headphones off. I particularly like how the matchstick sounds like it’s three feet long in a half-mile alley; I’m cool towards everything else. But how else to distract from a singsong melody and a busker’s sense of rhythm guitar?
[5]
Katherine St Asaph: Why is Raury comparing his dick to a cigarette? (Isn’t the standard metaphor a cigar?) Anyway, he emotes and portends to conjure a storm, but sometimes a one-night stand is just a one-night stand.
[3]
Edward Okulicz: No doubt a talented guy, but this is the sort of thing that a label might have long ago seen potential in and then let percolate for a few years before being shameless enough to hype. I’m always skeptical when I see hipster kids wearing an artist’s swag long before I’ve heard their song, but this is just a dude with an OK voice who thinks he’s got a really OK voice and a guitar and an OK song. Nice outro, though.
[5]