The Singles Jukebox

Lukewarm shit.

[Video][Website]
[5.00]

Thomas Inskeep: Durk raps about “bitches” (the less said about his verse, the better), and Kanye does his conspicuous consumption lines on autopilot. But Cardi, as is nearly always the case, comes with the, well, hot shit. Over a minimal beat (which frankly spotlights her voice better), she spits and spits and proves yet again that she’s so far above the commercial hip hop game right now — well, her and Megan — that it’s ridiculous. Minus two points for her guests’ verses.
[6]

Oliver Maier: Cardi could stand to go for more interesting beats if she’s going to drop so infrequently (and Tay Keith can do better), but she, Durk and even Kanye all manage to be charming on this, if not that clever.
[6]

Andy Hutchins: Cardi was the hottest shit circa the release of Invasion of Privacy, and she had bona fide hits with “WAP” and “Up,” but this just sounds like a distress signal from label-based purgatory: The same “super fly” Jimmy Snuka bar hundreds before have used, no brags bigger than buying houses and wearing unreleased Chanel, nothing more clever than “I’m a bad bitch at breakfast,” and all over a stepped-on variation of Tay Keith’s signature minor key menace. (Telling that AJ Tracey and Aitch realized they could do more jogging than bragging and slid better on “Rain”!) Smurk has some entertainingly smirky bars, but he ain’t carrying Cardi and an entirely uninspired Ye.
[3]

Tobi Tella: A few years out from her massive debut, it’s weird to see Cardi become the “Ol Reliable” of mainstream female rappers. There’s nothing wrong with this; she gets in some good punchlines, the hook is fine enough, Lil Durk and Kanye don’t embarrass themselves (although Durk insisting the song is for Glock users only may have needed some focus grouping), but nothing about it makes it essential. Feels weird to ask such a big personality this, but can we get some style with this substance?
[6]

Andrew Karpan: A continuous and simmering rage animates Cardi’s first top-billed record in over a year. Her voice quivers with audible impatience as it crawls around a quiet blare of stylishly ominous, hard beats from Tay Keith. This creates a kind of frustrated authenticity that swallows the song whole, leaving an impression not of so-called street life, but of hours of studio time. On the other side of the song is Kanye, another studio rap maven, who continues to both push nobly at the sonic boundaries of his repeated scatting on last year’s Donda (good) and threaten to stalk his ex-wife (bad). In between all this, Lil Durk is perhaps slightly underappreciated.
[6]

Harlan Talib Ockey: If you clipped ten seconds from “Hot Shit” at random, I might be impressed, but sitting through all of it is exhausting. Cardi’s verse feels like an endless slog, given the sheer repetitiveness of her flow. Although she gets a few good lines in (“I don’t know what’s colder, man, my heart or my necklace”), most of it is on the level of rhyming “contest” with “contest”. Even the energy she brings drains out almost immediately with such an obvious lack of variety or progression. Kanye’s flow is actually mildly interesting, but it’s so full of self-absorbed, arcane nonsense about God, Skete, and Balenciaga that I can’t sit through it either. Lil Durk, who would be largely ignorable in any other song, is somehow the strongest link; he sticks to the theme, switches up his rhythm a few times and sounds like he genuinely wants to be here. The production is the most viscerally grueling element of all, sending an overpowering onslaught of bass to incessantly club you over the head. There is such a thing as going too hard, especially when doing that without variation for the entire song. Any component that might work here is hammered into the listener in the most punishing way possible, with no sense of structure or respite at any point. I’m so tired.
[3]

Alfred Soto: Cardi sounds engaged, and, boy, can I relate to “I don’t know what’s colder, man, my heart or my necklace.” Kanye offers varied meter and a Maybach full of merchandise. Durk barely hangs on. A draw.
[5]