The Singles Jukebox

And here’s your panning…

[Video]
[2.89]

Alex Clifton: Your perfect what? What’s perfect, Jamie???? This song isn’t good enough to let him get away with using “perfect” as a noun.
[3]

Aaron Bergstrom: In his 2017 run to the finals of The Voice UK, Miller performed six songs, which the Jukebox had previously scored as follows: [3.00], [3.82], [4.25], [4.60], [5.36], and [6.64]. As “Here’s Your Perfect” seems like it was written specifically to be performed at future televised singing competitions, those are the benchmarks it should be judged against, and in that context it actually comes off pretty well: the melancholy bounce of the pre-chorus adds just enough change of pace, it builds to a passable climax, and the whole thing is over in under three minutes.
[5]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: The type of overwrought, submersible, market-tested anthem™ that could only be conjured by reality TV singing competitions.
[3]

Ian Mathers: Hmm. Think I might have figured out why they wanted to leave, dude.
[3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Frankly cannot imagine anyone listening to this willingly and intentionally. A complete void of conveyable emotion or musical excitement.
[0]

Tim de Reuse: Sometimes you want your breakup to feel like the twist ending on a season finale, so you tell subtlety to leave the room for a minute, and under those circumstances all this blustery instrumentation is perfectly justified. The excess of Miller’s performance is a different type of over-performance that does not work nearly as well with the subject matter. Every little creak and whimper in his voice feels manicured, every tender little gasp rehearsed, whine so over-tuned it reads as cynical and calculated: a Jenna Maroney sadness. I don’t expect performers to actually be going through heartbreak every time they open their mouths, but I expect them to convince me to suspend my disbelief a little!
[3]

Nortey Dowuona: The clinking piano behind Jamie’s thin, static voice limply thuds as Jamie strains and yelps, while the lopsided, barely on tempo drums lurch behind. Then it ends.
[3]

Scott Mildenhall: Quite literally taking notes from Julia Michaels as much as the whole canon of Clintons Cards elegies, Jamie Miller proffers a nevertheless soft-edged proposition. To his credit, the six diverse rhymes before the chorus are the mark of a craftsman, and he’s on top of the fundamental trick: making the moment momentous. It’s the conceptual crystallisation of an identifiable anguish — but also quite boring.
[5]

Alfred Soto: An Earth-3 Olly Alexander, doomed to play Ne-Yo tracks for the girlfriend he can’t love.
[1]