The Singles Jukebox

The Pacific North-West continues its search for a non-Macklemore rapper to rep the region…

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Adaora Ede: The idea that this isn’t really a slant interpolation of “Roses” aside from the nominal hook is really lamentable. Despite the apparent lack of tangible relation to the Outkast song (no, the chorus is still not enough), “Caroline” is somewhat evocative of Southern hip hop with its adoption of a languid brass beat, but what else is there? The popularity of this song can be explained by Amine’s ingenuous talk of romantic romps with a cast of characters not unfamiliar to us plebeians, no doubt. Subtracting highly priced pretenses and adding in everyday references to astrology hoes and Pulp Fiction equals a track partly matched in its hype.
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Will Rivitz: This is certainly correlation at best, but when Chance yelped the tremendous line “I’M JUST HAVING FUN WIT’ IT!” in “Ultralight Beam” earlier this year, a few “JUST HAVING FUN WIT’ IT” sea changes of note followed in its wake. “Broccoli” is the most notable example, but the rise of Lil Yachty, the mainstreaming of Young Thug and his “swag has no gender” attitude, and, to a lesser extent, Desiigner’s “Tiimmy Turner” and the rapper’s horror-movie ad-libs all stem from Chance’s radiant grin. “Caroline” is a loose part of this family: the one-note beat sounds like Lido’s take on “Broccoli,” Aminé’s flow stepping precisely on its fortified points. It’s the kind of hip-hop that’d go off at a college party, and to be honest there’s not much more I want at this stage of my life.
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Jonathan Bradley: I feel like the success of Chance the Rapper has blinded us to the reality of the “everyman” rapper: mundanity as an aesthetic too often results in mundanity in execution. And like J. Cole or Wale, Aminé tries to add interest to otherwise prosaic subject matter — and writing — with an onslaught of doggedly detailed sex talk. (Risque yet commonplace, sex is perfect subject matter for the everyman.) I don’t think this Portland rapper necessarily wants to be an everyman though. On the SoundCloud info for “Caroline” he’s written “shoutout 3stacks,” and I guess if I squint I can perceive an Outkast influence. This song’s subject gets her name from The Love Below single “Roses,” and women as lovers, friends, muses, and frustrations frequently made their way into André 3000’s rhymes, albeit in possession of more personality than Aminé’s Caroline, who doesn’t appear to exist outside the bedroom. Aminé might yet prove worthy of his aspirations: he imbues his flow with a fantastic elasticity, switching up his phrasing and delivering worn signifiers like “Tarantino” or “knee-pads” with unexpected vim. The beat, too, which he produced with Pasque, is a modest delight, managing to sound dusty and futuristic at the same time, like a space laser abandoned in a back shed.
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Thomas Inskeep: Weirdly stripped-down (and just plain stripped-down weird) what-I’d-call-backpacker-hip-hop-if-this-were-10-years-ago. He’s got a light touch, akin to early De La.
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Alfred Soto: The stop-start structure owes much to trap music, specifically Migos’ “Y.R.N.” to my ears, but the cowbell and other bits of subtle percussion, together with the sudden bursts of inane harmonies, imbue “Caroline” with a joy in performance that’s, I guess, like a good Tarantino movie.
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Anthony Easton: Though from Portland, this sounds Chicago, with the gattling gun percussion and hyper abstract percussion. Too bad the skeleton isn’t animated with better lyrics, the Tarintino line’s implied connection between spurting cum and spurting blood is especially unoriginal and more than a little icky. 
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Ryo Miyauchi: At one point, Aminé dedicates how he wants Caroline to be his in sweet song. But nope. All he wants is a good lay, and the length he goes to drill that part down makes him look dickish. His definition of safe sex is putting on knee pads, and please, shut up about the future because he’s only coming and going. Yet, the delivery of his brutish advances is bouncy and elastic as the winding beat, with the flow switching from speedy stutter to straight-up singing. It’s cocky, and he knows it, but also fun as hell.
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