Surprisingly, we like this guy more than Gwen now…

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[5.29]

Scott Mildenhall: Not so much a zombie as a survivor of the ’06/’07 Mockney microboom. That was aeons ago though, and again, far from a “post-teen”, he’s nearly 30. It’s a swift and welcoming invitation to a Swiftian market to corner nonetheless; an ambling, bittersweet acknowledgement of general rubbishness. On and along it chugs, and down and down it devolves into a man laughing at the nothing in particular he has to think about. Where Graham Coxon was “Freakin’ Out”, Jamie T just cannot be bothered.
[8]

Micha Cavaseno: The title already suggests the lack of pulse implied by this sack of post-mod redundancy. In a post-Archy Marshall world we’re more than good, but has anyone really loved Jamie T? This kid’s attempts to fuse The Streets and Arctic Monkeys have always sounded like Michael Franti meets Gorillaz if you’re lucky, and now it’s just become a lot more traddish and dull than ever before. Oh well, maybe one day he’ll find one little subsect of Britpop where he can do more than just the cliches.
[1]

Alfred Soto: Keep your chord changes and Vincent Price sound effects. No one said a thing about singing like one.
[3]

David Sheffieck: The intro is almost painful — I came close to just turning it off when the vocal cracked on the “apart” — but Jamie T recovers well once the song kicks into gear. This is a tightly-oiled machine of a track dressed up as a ramshackle affair, and it’s surprisingly convincing in that disguise, a professional makeup artist showing up to a neighborhood costume party.
[7]

Anthony Easton: This gets very boring very quickly. If I thought he was being cleverly meta-textual, I would have liked it more. 
[4]

Brad Shoup: This is exactly the sort of mod bullshit John Peel would’ve given a 19 out of 10, but the mixture of King Krule anti-nunciation, power-pop formalism and modern melodic sense overwhelms, eventually. The romanticism of the bridge practically chastens the refrain.
[8]

Dan MacRae: Starts out drippy, veers into goofiness, ultimately plants its feet in some nicely glazed guitar-pop merriment. “Zombie” is about as revolutionary as a Clash pin on a 9th grader’s backpack, but there’s mild thrills to be plucked out.
[6]