He’s sobered up enough to drive and get country radio airplay…

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Micha Cavaseno: Last week it almost hit 70 degrees before this random monsoon came in over the weekend and sent us right back into winter. The reason I bring this up is not just to remind you that the planet is dying, but that the expectations of the seasons are not what they used to be. March is still pretty chilly, and you don’t think you’d want to hear a record with organ and DJ Mustard-citing production by Sam Hunt. Yet here we are! It’s fine, albeit a bit clunky and a bit dated out the gate by going for the Mustard style in 2017.
[5]
Hannah Jocelyn: The cheesy guitar/organ combination at the beginning. The DJ Mustard “hey”s. “We go way back like Cadillac seats.” The entire chorus. The hook, a horrid combination of “Follow Me” and “Send Me On My Way.” The talkbox. This is nearly so-bad-its-good, but it’s also too-cute-to-hate, with lines like “had to get her number/it took me like six weeks” somehow coming out endearing. But it’s definitely too-stupid-to-enjoy.
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Jibril Yassin: Sam, Sam, Sam — is it really necessary to cram all that lap steel, organ swells and faux-Mustard chants into the same chorus? This could have flown higher with a little less heavy lifting on the boards.
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Ramzi Awn: As far as driving songs go, Sam Hunt gets the job done. His signature production values go a long way, but he still has some soft edges to rough up.
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Alfred Soto: This is Sam Hunt — so ecumenical are his affections that I’m surprised he didn’t title it “Ass Like a Loading Dock.” This way the line that sounds like “drivin’ with my ass closed” would make sense. Over whoops that Nelly would approve, a guitar hook that John Mayer would scrape his tattoos off for, and twaddle about something or other bein’ “thick” ‘n’ strong, Hunt gets away with love jive that would flummox Kenny Chesney.
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Thomas Inskeep: “Body like a back road, drive it with my eyes closed/I know every curve like the back of my hand,” Hunt sings, entering the Ewwwww Lyrical Hall of Fame alongside such women-as-objects smashes as John Mayer’s “Your Body is a Wonderland” and R. Kelly’s “You Remind Me of Something.” Then he talks about turning her jeans inside-out, for which he apparently “don’t need no help.” The under-production is a good choice, but these lyrics — and Hunt’s smarmy-as-fuck delivery — are pretty gross. I don’t hate Sam Hunt; he’s got about as many decent singles as poor ones. But this is appalling.
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Josh Love: I never thought John Mayer’s “Your Body is a Wonderland” could be surpassed in the annals of terrible metaphors for the female form, but here we are. Regardless of intent, I have a hard time imagining there’s actually a woman out there who’d swoon at having her body likened to a back road, seeing as how its synonymity with familiarity is perhaps more than a bit outweighed by its synonymity with dirtiness, uneven terrain, and poor upkeep.
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Katie Gill: You’ve got a body like a back road: it’s uneven, there’s probably a bigass hole in there somewhere, it’s one-way, and if I’m not careful, I’ll bottom out my car. I understand that country music is big on rural metaphors, but you still need to think these things THROUGH. “You’ve got a body like a back road, so I’m going to take it slow” is technically accurate, but nowhere does this song continue the logical train of thought: I’m going to take it slow, because if I don’t there’s a high chance it will fuck up my car something fierce. A body like a back road is a potentially dangerous body, and nowhere does this song give even the slightest hint of danger.
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Katherine St Asaph: You only take it when 40/85’s busy or you need an easy route to Wendover? If you do 15 on a back road you’re going to get sideswiped and cussed at by the person behind you doing 65, unless you’ve already driven into a ditch from closing your eyes. The metaphor, clearly, is self-parody and vaguely insulting. It’s also not the most interesting thing. Sam Hunt consistently sings with more gusto and horniness than his bro-country colleagues on the same subject matter — he’s kind of like the Britney of modern country, in his tradeoff of vocal personality for critical scapegoating. But that’s not specific to this song. What is: Country music politics prevent Hunt, even as an urban-influenced artist, from coming out and saying it, but there are enough signifiers in the music and lyrics (from the start: south side of Atlanta; braids, plural) that this is one of the exceedingly rare country songs that may be about a black woman. That alone is noteworthy, though its accompanying an uptick in “Brown Sugar” objectification is questionable. Also questionable: adding trap drums and DJ Mustard loops to laid-back country music is fine, but it puts you at risk of sounding like “Starving.”
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Lauren Gilbert: With an intro like “got a girl from the south side / got braids in her hair”, I was concerned about incoming fetishization of black women, but instead Sam Hunt doesn’t appear to know the South Side is a specific place. You definitely could make a good song using getting lost in the back roads as a metaphor for slow, languorous sex, and you get glimpses of the song this could be in the bridge and chorus, but the weirdly cacophonous production kills any mood that might be developed. This isn’t a song for private moments, for touching her body like it’s a work of art. This sounds like a song performed at a crowded bar on a Friday night, over the sounds of glasses and conversation, his girlfriend at a nearby table like some prize he’s showing off. Strip down the production, kill the awkward “I’mma take it slow just as fast as I can,” and you could make a passable song about making love. As it is, it feels like a humblebrag: “look at this piece I’m bringing home tonight.”
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Will Adams: That the chorus melody aligns perfectly with “My House” is strange, since Sam Hunt already has his own “My House.” While I prefer him playing Flo Rida to him playing Drake, the cloying crossover mix and lyrics that too often swerve into Yikesville make “Body Like a Back Road” too easy to discard.
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Anthony Easton: I am a stan for Sam Hunt, but though I love how low a grind this is and how sexy I find its complete lack of energy, it is a road that has been used and abused a little too much.
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