Spurned by the charts, but will we let him back into our hearts?
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[4.86]
Thomas Inskeep: You may may not remember a time before Robin Thicke released that song, or before that VMA performance, or before his messy divorce, or before the unfortunate subsequent album named after his ex-wife. He was a big deal, the biggest white R&B singer since Teena Marie. 2006’s “Lost Without U” spent 11 weeks atop the R&B chart. 2011’s “Love After War” was, arguably, even better (and like “Lost,” topped the Adult R&B chart, where he is a bonafide STAR). This year he dropped “Morning Sun,” a return to his form of yesteryear, smooth R&B for lovin’. I love this song nearly as much as I love “War,” and I dearly miss this iteration of Thicke. Here’s hoping that this signals a 180 from “Blurred Lines,” because not only is this what Thicke does best, he does it better than most. This is smooth, string-soaked (there’s a reason Barry White has a co-write credit), and sincere, and it’s one of my favorite R&B records of 2015.
[10]
Brad Shoup: Oh wow, that sax timbre. He’s clearly got his head down: the details are impeccable and well-placed. There’s some lingering tension between the sexstruck verses and the almost pained confession at the end of the chorus, but it’s not off-brand for either R&B or Robin. Kinetic and without camp: the string washes and harp figures aren’t here to bail him out. Just funny that Barry White got the co-write but not Shuggie Otis, is all.
[8]
Patrick St. Michel: Even the stink of post-“Blurred Lines” Robin Thicke can’t skunk up this easy-breezy bit of devotional pop. This is effortlessly smooth, the sort of song that sounds apt for both necking in bed on Saturday morning or as soundtrack for like a Burger King breakfast menu commercial. And then that saxophone comes in and sweetens the deal even more.
[7]
Katherine St Asaph: It’s hard to exactly feel sorry for him even if you haven’t memorized that deposition, but Robin Thicke is among the more egregious victims of tabloid bullshit encroaching upon music criticism. His career is very likely dead, even as he executes the most shimmering, flawless retro cut since — no, the last few albums had these too. “Twenty different smiles and twenty more when you’re naked” would barely merit a mention, let alone a retch, if it were tagged as a Miguel lyric, or even a Timberlake. (Let alone R. Kelly, who you’d think would have actual clouds over his music.) “Morning Sun” wants to be the ’70s but ends up somewhere around 1997, which for R&B was still pretty great. I suggest playing this for people context-free, maybe in a year.
[7]
Jonathan Bogart: From the first notes: is it the the heirs of Shuggie Otis or the heirs of the Brothers Johnson who are owed damages for this one?
[6]
Micha Cavaseno: It’s a return to form for ol’ Rob, destined for R&B radio where he belongs. The sad result of his big pop breakthrough was that all his talents as a crooner got lost in a hell of think-pieces about sexuality and copyright before he ended up becoming everyone’s scapegoat for everything wrong in music today. Thankfully, “Morning Sun” shows the kind of blue-eyed soul adult-oriented fare he’s delivered time and time again; a little patchy as far as lyrics go, but a good step in the right direction after a sharp tumble.
[6]
Alfred Soto: Imagine if we could return to a time when Robin Thicke was a comer churning out solid R&B albums every couple years. He wasn’t a natural — he was a dork — but his proficiency had charm. Meaningless and fleet, “Morning Sun” has little in common with Thicke’s forebears; he’s not influenced by Maurice White, he’s staring longingly at his copies of those early Lenny Kravitz records.
[5]
Josh Langhoff: Robin Thicke is adrift among strings, harp, glockenspiel, rhythm section, sax solo, possibly alto flute, hypothetically bass clarinet — I mean who’s gonna tell him otherwise, he’s ROBIN THICKE, kickin’ out thick luxurious jams of undifferentiated SOULFUL SOUND and distilling women’s attributes into NOT ONE BUT THREE (BUT REALLY ONE) celestial bodies, a Pagan Trinity of desire — and has he mentioned yet what an attractive and talented body you have? Oh, he has? Many many times? But check it out, did you know he has a SAX SOLO?
[4]
Edward Okulicz: Hey, the verses remind me of “No Air,” which is nice. And the song’s central metaphor is unashamedly grandiose and ridiculous, which is exactly what it needs to be (though quick astronomy lesson: the Sun is a star). But it’s hard to get through lines like “twenty different smiles/and twenty more when you’re naked” without cringeing and I sincerely hope nobody has ever, ever called Robin Thicke “papi” because gross. It’s all a bit too slick as well; if you mix out the vocals, it would make as good an aural backdrop for shots of maple syrup being poured lovingly on pancakes as it might a seduction. Sorry Rob, ever since you went sleaze-pop, to me your falsetto and your songwriting now will forever code more loverman parody like Isaac Hayes on South Park than anything else.
[4]
Madeleine Lee: I don’t know much about Robin Thicke aside from having a feeling that I shouldn’t nod my head to “Blurred Lines” as much as I do whenever it comes on. But I’m told that this is a return to pre-deposition form for him, so I presume that his form is “songs that I don’t want to hear people sing to each other at their weddings,” in which case, well done!
[4]
Anthony Easton: I like filthmonger Thicke better than earnest Thicke.
[3]
Will Adams: If this is meant to represent some grand redemption from Thicke’s veritable shitshow of 2013-14, it fails, not least because the lyrics are still creepy (“Twenty different smiles, and twenty more when you’re naked”???). Moreover, “Morning Sun” seems to represent that infuriating line of thinking that posits that the opposite of offensive is safe/boring. There is little to recommend here, except the song being a case study of songs about sex that are anything but sexy.
[2]
Rebecca A. Gowns: Robin’s theft is the most devious kind — not of exact song phrases, nor words, nor any kind of thing that you could put your finger on definitely. No, he steals vibes. He steals essences and souls. He is the demon camera, the taunting echo. His songs sound “good,” but they have no right to be good. He’s not an artist, he’s a clone stamp — set at an extremely high rate of feathering.
[2]
Megan Harrington: The problem with Robin Thicke is that he’s more relevant, more entertaining, more useful, and more original when he’s an unqualified disaster. The deposition where he admits he’s a zero creative presence in his own work is how I think most people will remember Thicke — useless, high, a human vacuum. “Morning Sun” might be his better side by traditional metrics, but even if you’ve tired of everything Al Green ever wrote, everything Marvin Gaye ever wrote, every David Ruffin song, Lionel Richie and Luther Vandross too, there’s still Style Council. Robin Thicke is completely redundant even by the lowered standards afforded to white men singing black songs.
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