The Singles Jukebox

Your editor tried to write a tagline about something other than an overpowering lust for Jake Owen’s taut midsection, and failed.

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[5.67]

Josh Langhoff: Handclaps! Mysterious complex minor chords! Lumberjacks shout “Hey!,” someone places their power chords judiciously, and the whole thing’s got such momentum you almost don’t notice you’re whizzing past THE SAME IDIOTIC GOOD-TIME SIGNIFIERS FROM EVERY OTHER COUNTRY HIT THIS YEAR. Still, it’s better than the lot. I just wish it was about running down a dream. Or precious metal investments. Anything else.
[6]

Brad Shoup: Like “Country Girl (Shake It For Me)” or “What Was I Thinkin'” on Adderall, “Days of Gold” assaults your defenses with words on words. In its frenzy, it gives us “whiskey in the air” without pausing to explain whether someone did a spit take, a still blew up, or what. This would be so much dust without the flourishes: melodic leaps, impatient mouth-harp, those guys yelling “Hey!” like somebody’s been listening to the adult alternative station!
[7]

Alfred Soto: Owen, who reconstitutes the most boring parts of Gary Allen and Eric Church, kicks up a fair head of steam without specifying what “days” are, much less “gold.” The drums are fun though.
[4]

Anthony Easton: How is this a hit now, when even the South argues in favor of fall? The lyrics are the usual backwoods tailgating bacchanalia, but the guitar is so thoroughly rock that Church must be taking notes. 
[4]

Rebecca A. Gowns: Shucks, just two months too late. Owen delivers a total paint-by-numbers job, but it’s still a job done well; a glass of cold lemonade made from the packet. It’ll do just fine when the mood strikes, but it’s definitely not anyone’s favorite song (unless they hear it on the radio in the next few months and latch onto it as a reprieve from the Seasonal Affective Disorder starting to settle in).
[6]

Edward Okulicz: If “Barefoot Blue Jean Night” was rocking out with beer in one hand and lighter in the other, and “Alone With You” was lonesomeness fuelled by too much whiskey, this is a barbecue where everyone’s drinking light beer if anything at all. But that’s OK, I have been known to drink light beer and I really like the skittering rhythm (you don’t need loud drums to dance) and the harmonica here. But this song is maybe missing a couple of percent of something that would make it great; the nimble chorus sounds like a prechorus/precursor to the real party that we’re not invited to.
[7]