The Singles Jukebox

But what type of way? Be more specific or you’re not going to pass this creative writing class.

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Anthony Easton: For a song that is supposed to be about how the body movies in space, it has little understanding of that — it’s too much of a muddy slog. For a song that rests on taxonomic choice, it is unclear about what those choices mean or what their consequences are. What types of way are there, and what does this type of way mean? For a song that hints at eroticism, there is no pleasure here.
[3]

Crystal Leww: Two of the summer’s biggest rap songs, “Versace” and “Type of Way”, rely heavily on basic repetition. They’re both also from the city of Atlanta, and you have to give it up to Atlanta’s Future for popularizing this choppy and weird yet totally effective flow. Words that shouldn’t form a couplet like “single” and “subpoena” end up fitting together with no problem at all. Shout out to the line “I set it off like Queen Latifah cause I’m living single”. There is something super endearing about the fact that Rich Homie Quan shouts out one of his rap elders for her goofy TV show. That reference got me feeling some type of way. This song got me feeling some type of way.
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Patrick St. Michel: The New York Times linked Rich Homie Quan to fellow Atlanta rapper Future, and it is appropriate for reasons beyond geography. Both amplify the emotional impact of their songs through simple but effective means, transforming simple bragado into complex…or, at the very least, catchy…stuff. Future coats his voice in Auto-tune, Rich Homie Quan peppers “Type Of Way” with urgent ad-libs that take this up a notch.
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Jonathan Bogart: Yeah, quoting “Smooth Operator” is a quick way to get me on your side. More generally, this is a smarter and funnier than average take on woozy post-Future sloganeering.
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Alfred Soto: Like Kevin Gates and Future, Quan can give a vowel an incantatory power, more so when boasting an electronic sheen. An impressive performance. The rhymes and song will catch up.
[6]

David Turner: The first generation of post-Future rappers is here. *Confetti Falls from the Ceiling* Before Drake fanuted Migos’ “Versace” into the rap song of the summer, “Some Type of Way” had been making it’s way slowly out of Atlanta and started receiving major play on rap stations. So despite some idea that this song came out of nowhere, “Some Type of Way” for certain rap fans has been a hit this entire year before it ever touched the Billboard charts. Future might be the touchstone, but Rich Homie Quan here is far more joyously turnt-up than Future has been the last couple years as he has been refining his love-song writing craft. And for such a party song, its key phrase “some type of way” is so easy to say that simply the song is making you feel some type of way, and that’s all you have to say. 
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Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: First of all, there’s that hook, meme-ready and applicable to pretty much every action you’ll carry out in life: “[insert here] make you feel some type of way!” It’s immediately ready to stick to your brain, a celebration of confidence, a coronation for keeping up. The verses, however, find a man juggling a moral code: in one passage, he thanks the Lord for waking up, then almost immediately yells “don’t FUCK with me” like he’s ready to put someone back to sleep. Religion and righteous violence aren’t new concepts to put side by side, especially in rap music. But when Quan sounds like he could happily rupture your cheek whilst juggling divinity, “Type of Way” feels less than the melodic turn-up throwaway many have it pegged as. It’s a song of mental struggles. “I got a hideaway,” he brags at one point, delivered with real outlaw hero defiance. On the turn of a dime, he’s turned introverted, his voice hushed: “I go there sometimes, to give my mind a break… to get through the struggle.” He then closes the song on a choked “thank you Lord!” as though staying on the straight-and-narrow for this song was trouble enough. He can’t be blamed for celebrating — especially not when you hear him try to keep a head above water, try to forget the subpoenas, try to forget that there’s always people lurking round the corner.
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Iain Mew: Rich Homie Quan’s vocals sound so choked up with feeling from the beginning that the escalation of the asides and the thick bass fug around him is just a matter of catching up. The best part is when the relentless feeling of some type of way ends and then he skips back in with “I know you do!” Yeah, you got me.
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Brad Shoup: “It is what it is.” Reporters hate it; they feel cheated. It’s a coping mechanism, an invocation to ward off mental examination. If you want to speculate on a safety’s busted coverage or your go-to reliever’s blown save, that’s on you. If necessary, he’ll make the physical adjustments. Everybody’s feeling some type of way, but Quan’s not here to explain further. Which is kind of a problem: he’s a musician in a field whose primary export is similes. But as it’s used, it’s at least as good a projection of nonchalance as “I ain’t scream when they served a subpeona”, and his pun game is probably a 55-65, bolstered by two identifications with female musicians. The melodic tufts — blooming like food coloring dripping into water — are similarly noncommittal, but there are hints of fanfare throughout, so he knows he’s in the pros.
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