She’s on a boat! (Editor’s note: she is not on a boat.)

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[6.88]

Tim de Reuse: The phrase “emotional motion sickness” rolls nicely off the tongue, I grant that, but the metaphor is clunky and inelegant; then again, so is most of this song. Bridgers’s rhyming schemes are inconsistent, her delivery is aggressively smooth, and the instrumentation swells dramatically at the end of the bridge before promptly forgetting what the build was supposed to be heading towards. On the other hand, the awkward specificity given to each of the ex’s faults makes them each a burst of petty color — how great it would be to find out that the new date you’ve got sings with a hilariously affected English accent, huh? — and in general it’s all disorienting enough to feel a little motion-sick itself. So, I’m conflicted: there are elements here that sound badly planned, but there’s also an atmosphere that makes the opening admission “I hate you for what you did/and I miss you like a little kid” into a ten-ton fake-smile dead-on-the-inside-this-month gut punch after the rest of the song contextualizes it.
[7]

Eleanor Graham: It’s something that only Mad Men characters and pop stars with intellectual capital can do without being laughed or screamed at: use arbitrary memories to hint at half a meaning. Somehow, by the third listen, “you gave me fifteen hundred/to see your hynotherapist/I only went one time” seems a reasonable thing to say about love. Because this song is as contained and non-negotiable as a headstone. The emotional headstone of this guy who was in a band when she was born. Her voice is an pale violet mist floating uncorrupted above grouchy crunches of guitar. There’s a deep thrum so steady and assured that it startles you to realise that you’re at the climax; that “why do you sing with an English accent?/I guess it’s too late to change it now” is the saddest line ever sung by someone who has won.
[8]

Hannah Jocelyn: Hell yeah, I’m always up for wordy choruses! When I heard this song, I originally called it “Julien Baker with a budget,” though Baker clearly has a budget now. Regardless, this song sounds fantastic, and all the little production choices serve the song extremely well. Similarly, I love the lines about the hypnotherapist and the crack about the English accent. The dissonance of softly singing about screaming to drown thoughts out is smile-inducing rather than clever. I feel bad for making all these comparisons (there are also hints of Neko Case in the harmonies), because the song has a really unique feel on its own, with a sense of humor — an extra point is for titling this album Stranger In The Alps –– that’s always welcome.
[8]

William John: The notion of “emotional motion sickness,” that queasiness brought on by longing, a feeling of stones in one’s stomach that can last for days after just a moment of thinking about somebody, is familiar to many. It’s something I’d conceptualise as distinct from disconnect or ennui, however, which is the overarching tone set by Phoebe Bridgers’ dejected vocal. She sings like a drowsier Emma Louise, and with too much reticence and remove to leave a lasting impression.
[5]

Nortey Dowuona: Nice, crunchy drums plod along as the guitars swing and scrape, the soft keys sink into the thick muddy bass and Phoebe floats above it softly swaying.
[6]

Anthony Easton: There are too many metaphors here, too many different ways of working through a song, and her metaphor does not carry things as far as she thinks it might. The guitar is nice and it has a (not too) propulsive beat, and I like the sudden end, but the work seems centered on a series of examined questions. 
[5]

Edward Okulicz: The phrase “emotional motion sickness” was a red flag, bringing to mind this lyrical horror, and the alt-rock rumble had me ready to groan and turn the whole thing off. But Bridgers makes it work — she’s wordy as she throws rocks at both the song’s target and herself, but her words hit home, and the chorus’s melody — and how the guitars sigh as if they can’t bear to go into it — is downright lovely. Less lovely: the ex she’s describing, who’s tormenting her long after the fact. I suppose a song about a kind of helpless unease can be lovely and lacerating.
[8]

Stephen Eisermann: Yikes, this one hurts to listen to, but not in the way you’d think. Sure, the instrumentation is rather dull, but the bite that these lyrics bring work well with Phoebe’s disinterested vocal turn – “I care so little that I don’t even want to be singing this song,” I can almost hear her say. A hell of a statement to be making to and about an ex, but one that Phoebe makes brilliantly.
[8]