The Singles Jukebox

Let the good times roll…

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[4.29]

Iain Mew: Living in an oversinger’s paradise.
[4]

Katie Gill: Between those Spanish guitars and those raspy vocals, Maé seems to be gunning for a position as “Rod Stewart mixed with the Don Juan DeMarco soundtrack.” So tell me have you really, really really ever loved the ’90s?
[4]

Tim de Reuse: Even for a song that wallows in platitudes, we cover precious few in four minutes! Try as I might to see some value in, uh, the sincerity on display, or something — I just can’t engage with the cartoonishly minor chord progression, or the gruff, world-weary sobs, or the part about smiling on Christmas to keep the laughter on children’s faces safe from the cruel, cruel world.
[2]

Jonathan Bradley: Perhaps it’s better not to quite understand the details of Maé’s malaise: he’s sucked the marrow from life and wonders now why it’s hollow. As a lament, it’s gaudy, but I’m not sure there’s anything more to be done after we’ve admired his sorrow.
[5]

Patrick St. Michel: Have to respect how much this guy can do with his voice, but I wish he could find a compelling song to put all this growly singing to good use.
[4]

Scott Mildenhall: Pessimistic bordering narcissistic bordering solipsistic bordering nihilistic, were it not for the bamboozling answer to Maé’s own question. His riddling rolls as if in his own pastime paradise, but that circular, cyclical, endless revolution is what appeals. A strong, simple melody grows stronger and stronger as the song progresses, and the ensuing chaos is finely poised.
[7]

Will Adams: It doesn’t have the heart to double the tempo, instead sounds like a song that might have made the final round for the French Kiss soundtrack.
[4]