The Singles Jukebox

Game recognize game.

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[4.50]Patrick St. Michel: It isn’t. This is Max Martin pomp joining forces with whatever Chad Kroeger contributes, “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”‘s idea sewn up with the last Lavigne single (with Radiohead references whited out, just so nobody does a double take at the hipster line). This is pop, and it sounds really good at points. The rock ‘n’ roll, meanwhile, comes from two places. This song nabs a few ideas from “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll,” a subtle tribute that’s nearly negated by the lyrics. It’s as if Kroeger rewrote his band’s “Rockstar,” but removed the cynicism in favor of teenage naivety. Which, well still sounding dumb, is what Lavigne wants her image, here’s to never growing up and all. Unfortunately, that refusal also mars what could have been a really great pop song.
[5]

John Seroff: I imagine this is what bronies think rock ‘n’ roll sound like. Joan Jett wept.
[3]

Alfred Soto: Of course she deserves recognition as a Joan Jett heir, but she refracts her birthright through several layers of vocal filtering, toothless power chords, and terrible lyrics (for one, Jett doesn’t care whether she is your motherfucking princess). She rhymes “bad reputation” with “wrong generation.” You had a right to remain silent, ma’am.
[4]

Will Adams: An improvement over the previous single if only for a more committed vocal performance. But committed does not equal good, and while the hook and the title is sure to troll someone out there, it still sounds ghastly. Both she and the track — garish and cluttered, but without charm — seem to think the only way to convince is to be AS LOUD AS POSSIBLE. I blame Chad.
[5]

Anthony Easton: There is an essay to be written about how P!nk transferred into proper inspirational music from pseudo-punk roots, and how Avril attempts to work that pattern and fails, but that would require more work than this might be worth.
[2]

Katherine St Asaph: Everything changes. Avril Lavigne and her haters are probably all bored as hell with “I’m so punk!” “No, you’re a stupid pop girl!” — so now it’s “I’m so rock and roll!” The villains, meanwhile, aren’t the valedictorians in preppy clothes but Max Martin’s hipsters. (Is this a thing? Do hipsters really rule high school now? Or did Max just get stood up once by Bethany Cosentino?) And Avril Lavigne’s long since become one of those acts who caters less to radio than to her increasingly insular fanbase, which explains why she’s written her second consecutive defensive single, the multiple callbacks (“motherfucking princess,” “I’m with you”) and the way this sounds like the capper for a 20th-anniversary arena tour. And the worst change of all: Avril and Chad wrote her best chorus melody since “I’m With You,” but it’s buried under the noise of the times.
[6]

Daisy Le Merrer: On first listen, I had to check my headphones were plugged in and the tinny guitar sound didn’t come from my shitty work laptop speakers. This kind of “raise your booze in the air” riff usually sounds a little bit fuller. But this is Avril, and she’s not singing about how she loves rock’n’roll, she’s singing about herself, and how she does anything she wants. What she wants, here, is to upstage the riff. Unfortunately, she doesn’t do it through charisma but by mixing it down. That’s cheating, IMHO.
[3]

Brad Shoup: Future Grantland will, no doubt, publish a piece entitled “Avril Lavigne Is Our Last Rock Star”. I say this cos she’s been flogging the teen revolution for a longer-ass time than I ever would have expected. She might outlast us all. This being Avril, “motherfreakin’ princess” is just a stroll from “hipster bullshit,” and the track features more voices than a spelunking party. This being 2013, there’s a desperate plea to keep listening to your local I Heart Radio affiliate and the pneumatic hiss of synths receding before the acoustic breakdown.
[5]

David Lee: In the context of servicing Lavigne’s continued efforts to channel Veruca Salt, it’s not surprising that this is jam-packed with obvious homages to brat pop artists and rallying cries, including her own. You know what is surprising? Chad Kroeger had a hand in this. Yes, the person responsible for heading a pop act that churned out a lot of constipated, post-grunge sludge has aided in the crafting of a carefree “Pour Some Sugar On Me” redux. Who am I kidding, though: Max Martin is clearly the head nerd here. He supplies the snotty pop tropes with the glitter-spewing booster rockets they need to transcend their roles as accessories to image construction. Nothing’s new under the sun, but when it sparkles this brightly, who cares?
[7]

Edward Okulicz: I love Max Martin, but there are times when all the Max in the world doesn’t come close to Mutt Lange.
[5]