We’re worried about your bandmates too, Jamie…
Patrick St. Michel: All I hear is a gaggle of just-adolescent Adam Levines singing, and I don’t like it one bit.
Alfred Soto: If the singer wants a shot at being the next Adam Levine, he should have written “You’ve got the style, you’ve got the flavor/I want you now, I want your neighbor.”
Jonathan Bradley: Hot Chelle Rae’s peppy naughtiness — “everybody knows I’m hung… up on you” — is so tepid that I can’t help but enjoy its sniggering inanity. They’re far too dweeby (and nowhere near sufficiently self-aware) to attain the status of America’s One Direction, but at least they do a decent job of giving us something to laugh at, though never with.
Edward Okulicz: So numbed am I to over-processed, surreally-treated vocals and flat walls of chromium-plated guitar that it took three listens before I realised that “everybody knows I’m hung… up on you” wasn’t just awkward scansion. Perhaps for their next single they should really go to town and base it around some poo and wee jokes.
Iain Mew: A little surprised that they didn’t go the whole way, P!nk style, and call it “I’m Hung (Up On You).”
Anthony Easton: Hot Chelle Rae writes the least sexy song intended to get people to have sex in months. Mostly I am immune to the phrase “let’s get down tonight,” which is shopworn beyond any use or reinvention.
Jer Fairall: Two possibilities: Either this is a rewrite of Simple Plan’s “Addicted” cannily pitched at an audience too young to remember even that, or this is a rewrite of some other, more forgettable Simple Plan hit that I, tellingly, have forgotten. It all hinges on whether the pause between “HUNG” and “up in you” in the chorus is deliberate or not, in which case we have a track that’s either aggressively and obnoxiously stupid or just harmlessly and painlessly stupid. Consider my score giving them the benefit of the doubt.
Brad Shoup: At this moment, there’s a kid in junior high who lives for that time in the evening when he or she can slip on the headphones and mime along to “Hung Up.” I was an inveterate lipsyncher all through college, and every once in a while I’ll disregard my beer gut and go harass the bathroom mirror. The macro view of “Hung Up” is concerned with songwriting and pandering, but the micro view — and every song I’ve ever panned here has one — is the cadence and the emotional pull in “on you” and that shaved Bo Diddley riff made for mime and the air in one’s bedroom.
Scott Mildenhall: Hot Chelle Rae man is waiting for your call every night and day, as long as the “you” in question is a member of Cher Lloyd’s “team,” and your call will be to confirm that no, this wasn’t good enough for the latest repackaging of Sticks + Stones (nor appropriate, given the terrible “gypsies” line), and that yes, he can have it for his band. Presumably, anyway. What he didn’t vouch for is that the whole “so many other people fancy me but actually it’s you I want” schtick sounds so much more conceited coming from a boy than a girl (viz. Jepsen, C. R.). But what can you do?
Will Adams: Fuck this shit.