Not completely mutual here.

[Video][Website]
[4.33]

Edward Okulicz: This is basically a delivery device for a lame Sia-esque chorus with particularly obnoxious SOAR!!!! towards MEANING!!!!. Oh and the verses remind me of Colbie Caillat’s “Bubbly” for some reason. In other words, while theoretically worthy, it is pretty horrible.
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Patrick St. Michel: Woooo boy, that rap is sub-John-Cena quality.
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Micha Cavaseno: Full disclosure, I’m a true fledged Winehouse hater. Kat Dahlia is an obvious American  derivative of Winehouse’s character, but like Adele, doesn’t actually have the pipes for that. In fact, listen to that video we’ve linked to. She’s fucking terrible, it’s astonishing. And money is totally going to get poured into her ‘tough and full of sass’ routine, fans will love it, but this doesn’t strike me deeply. It’s that I’m a bit sad for Winehouse because her legacy deserves more than to have sired so many cheap Go-Bots versions of her who can’t even have the decency of learning how to sing. Not just even half as good as her, that’s an achievable goal, like when Young Scooter brags to me that “I MADE A QUARTER OF A MILLI IN 29 WEEKS.” They don’t even learn how to fucking sing…
[0]

Alfred Soto: She says she reaches for crayons because she senses that’s the level at which this Sia/Rihanna arena belter is written. Please, Kat, use the scratchy timbre of the verses from this point on.
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Will Adams: There are points where the verses veer dangerously close to sounding like those twee Cotton ads, but the strong chorus lets Kat Dahlia’s voice, ragged like homemade paper, shine through.
[6]

Anthony Easton: I could do without the birds rising to the sky chorus, but some of the rhymes here are tight (especially “you’re the dutch and I’m the dutchess”), and the flow has an elegance that flirts with the aggressive. It’s nice to have a song that is so joyful without being twee. 
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David Sheffieck: Dahlia’s voice, fried and sharp enough to slice an atom in half, is my favorite sound of the past few years. She’s a fantastically versatile and immediately recognizable performer, from the turn-up-to-end-all-turn-ups of “Clocks” to the head-over-heels of “Crazy” to the epic love story she delivers here. Dahlia pushes every note, every syllable, to the breaking point and beyond – the production swings for the fences, but in her hands each word is a celebratory firework.
[9]

Katherine St Asaph: Once I discovered Kat Dahlia was neither Kat DeLuna nor Kat Graham (and I’m named Katherine, I am my own one-Kat-limit and can say that), my interest fell off precipitously. It fell off more when it became a ballad as lumpenly heavy as the boulder attack from Super Mario RPG.
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Josh Langhoff: Hearing Duchess Dahlia get all cutesy-gag with her future husband about loose blunts, munchies, crunches, and lunges is about as annoying as eavesdropping on the couple behind you in the movie theater, and that’s part of what makes her so compulsively listenable — her songs don’t acknowledge any difference between good taste and bad, smart lyrics and dumb ones. But unlike Ke$ha or the Stooges, in whose mental orbit I place her long-awaited-but-still-not-going-anywhere album My Garden, Dahlia doesn’t rub your nose in the dumb tastelessness. It’s just there, the setting for her spellbinding voice. This power ballad lets her shred the high notes, one specialty, while shaping every cutesy-gag word in ways that are utterly unpredictable. (“Tumbao,” the song that follows this one on the album, could almost be a different singer. I mean it’s partly in Spanish but still.) Her line about crayons is especially smart; few activities are more relaxing yet captivating than coloring, and love and Kat Dahlia sneak up on you in similar ways.
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