We’re hungry apparently…
[Video]
[5.14]
Kylo Nocom: Somehow so tasteful it comes out flavorless. Her voice is limited enough where the verses feel like an afterthought; the minimal hooks and outro are savory yet not enough to justify the slightness.
[4]
Iain Mew: Love comes quickly; so do chewy drops that melt away into nothing even quicker.
[5]
Leonel Manzanares de la Rosa: It seems that house-infused electro disco is Bích Phương’s only trick at this point, but that feathery, breezy vocal delivery sells it every time, complete with a quiet earworm of a hook. The videogame sounds only enhance the ride.
[6]
Jessica Doyle: I absolutely loved this on first listen; there will be more listens, but I’m not as enchanted the second and third go-rounds. The synth background, with the occasional touch of string or flute, is very much up my alley, but it’s content to stay put, and Bích Phương sounds a bit too relaxed for either her message or the music, so we end up not really getting anywhere. But this is a very, very pretty place to be stuck in.
[6]
Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: We’re so deep into the throes of disco pop revival that the only things that struck me as consciously retro here are the house piano and the spoken bridge, which vaguely hints at new politics of sexual freedom in comparison to more hemmed in old days. Everything else is smooth and charming without leaving much of a particular mark– Bích Phương is a compelling vocalist and the track could fit on dancefloors the world over, but there’s just not much there beyond winks and flirtations.
[6]
Katherine St Asaph: The 2010s have given us such a surfeit of evocative, wistful, neon-to-the-nerves disco that there’s no need to listen to diluted takes on the sound. Every part — arrangement, vocal — seems half there. I have no idea what’s up with the Super Mario coin sounds; maybe the producer, noticing a thin arrangement, attempted to fix it with gimmicks?
[4]
Michael Hong: Club music is often one of two things, either something with a commercial-pop edge going for massive catharsis like you might see on a “Top 100 Club Beats” playlist or something that never aims for any release, there’s no reward and you have to just enjoy it for whatever it is in that moment. Bích Phương’s vocals are a vision of elegance over top those club beats, but by attempting to split the difference between these two modes of club music, she never quite meets either option. The chorus heads towards something grand, but as that post-chorus drop sweeps in, the synths are twisted into muted thumps and it’s hard to find either catharsis in the drop or stay lost in the elegance of her verses.
[5]