Sometimes a video can feel like a battlefield. OH! A battlefield! UH!
Jer Fairall: If you’re gonna boast about your various triumphs, shouldn’t actually having done something be a requirement first?
Katherine St Asaph: I, for one, would never stand by any Ryan Tedder music not made amelodic.
John Seroff: Anjulie IS hiding behind the music, pretending she’s one of us like Mitt Romney at a pancake breakfast.
Pete Baran: There is much to like here, and yet it all sounds a little too engineered. I am not sure how she stands behind the music, though she would be wise to because the stabs at ‘tude and being street are about as convincing as a Disney star doing Death Metal. Sorry Anjulie, not convinced.
Alfred Soto: Martial drums, hands up, dashed hype, disses against “pop tart candy” – that’s an awful lot of baggage for a bantam-voiced Pop Tart candy to carry.
Jonathan Bogart: Reaches for M.I.A. but lands squarely on Jessie J. Which in itself wouldn’t be cause for the score below (Jessie J’s not smart enough to be worth hating), but the infuriating glibness of the protest-chic video crossed with the yawning egotism of the lyrics, which embrace nothing more politically resonant than her career as a middling Canadian pop singer, makes for a disgusting display — especially when the protest imagery takes cues from the London riots instead. Of course, promises of danger, anti-establishment posturing, and ludicrously overstated displays of narcissism are all venerable pop traditions — what really galls isn’t her message, it’s how incompetent she is at selling it.
Brad Shoup: This is the worst fucking single I’ve heard in five years. First, the call-out conceit is so bizarre — especially since the person sniping has only one top 20 single (the trailblazing “Brand New Bitch”). Yeah, Canada may not care for you, but dammit, you’ve got all that integrity! All her professions of realness and all her namechecks of deathless, edgy luminaries like U2 and Annie Lennox have mostly resulted in a string of tepid US dance hits. A prophet without honor, I guess. Second, fuck the current pop regime that demands its stars have pretenses toward autonomy. The kids who believe ‘em probably don’t really give a shit, and the kids who know what artistic freedom looks like are just going to be frustrated. Third, hearing Anjulie spitting obscenities is like watching a toddler play with a handgun. Ditto for the way she tries to snarl “addiction”. Fourth, the chosen melody for the titular phrase sounds ripped from a turgid dramatic-arts school drama, and the piano progression sounds like “Where Is My Mind?”, which likely circumscribes her non-pop knowledge. Fifth, does anyone else under the age of 60 ever say “randy”? Is that an oblique American Idol reference? Sixth, she brags about genre-hopping like they give gold records for seeing what sticks to the wall. It’s very possible that she considers this song hip-hop for the “who I is” and “la-dee-da-dee” parts. Seventh, even in this declaration of personal awesomeness, she can’t help admitting her past pop striving. She makes it sound… extensive. Eighth, she seems to have blithely described being raped by someone in the music industry. I am unaware of her ever mentioning this before. Ninth, she and/or her people signed off on a music video that co-opts headlined revolution and protest in the service of a singer’s ego. “An-ju-lie, An-ju-lie,” chants the golf club-wielding, tire-burning crowd, about to clash with riot police that probably represent iTunes revenue or some shit. Tenth, the fucking flanging on the drums. Somehow Anjulie’s gone from anonymous purveyor of focus-grouped sass to out-condescending Jessie J. So here’s her second zero from me. I’ll stand behind the goose egg.
Michaela Drapes: Wow, I’m really regretting that  I gave to “Brand New Bitch” right about now. Whatever promise I saw there was clearly just a mirage; everything here — lyrics, beats, and all the other um, musical motifs — is beyond rehashed. Bummer.