The Singles Jukebox

April Fool’s Day is over, now time for some SINCERITY…

[Video]
[5.92]

Taylor Alatorre: This song sounds embarrassing. It sounds excessive. It sounds like something you might regret putting into the world five seconds after hitting “publish.” It sounds, in other words, like high school. Porter Robinson’s post-brostep career has been an extended treatise on escapism — from the appealingly plaintive paracosms of 2014’s Worlds to the soothing self-inventory of 2021’s Nurture, with his Virtual Self side project managing to be both esoteric and stupidly self-explanatory. He’s crafted a series of immersive alternatives to analog messiness, allowing the listener to check out of the everyday and place themselves for a moment in a softer-edged realm, with more explicable rules and a more poetic set of problems. “Cheerleader,” though, offers the listener no assistance in either sidestepping or reconfiguring the uncomfortable reality into which they were born; music video aside, it’s not really a song about fanbases gone wild either. Instead it’s about the girl in your school’s Anime Club who gave out her deviantART username before her phone number and taught you against your will what the word yaoi meant. The fujoshi representation, besides filling a glaring gap in the TSJ search index, makes it clear that this is about a real person and not an avatar, and it’s that awkward flesh-and-blood realness which is precisely at issue here. Maybe she’s as real as him, and maybe he couldn’t live with that. The perspective of a boy who is unused to being the object of obsession is an under-explored one in music, probably because it’s very hard to land it within the narrow range of acceptable loserdom. But Porter sticks the landing by enveloping us fully within the loser’s headspace, where both his emo-inflected chagrin and his fragmented memories of the girl’s “cheering” are enshrouded by a waterfall of blown-out Obama-era detritus. If you ever wondered what a big room house remix of Two Door Cinema Club might’ve sounded like, or Oracular Spectacular if it had debuted on Beatport, here’s your answer. Other seemingly out-of-place additions — the bitpop cowbell, the Punk Goes Acoustic bridge, the hilariously overwrought drumroll that becomes less so the second time around — fit right into this 1080p capture of late adolescent bag-fumbling. Taken together, they convey a mismatch in interests and hobbies that may have seemed like a deal breaker at the time, but in hindsight was just another excuse to avoid vulnerability. Perhaps I only arrived at this gonzo interpretation because the 4chan-core single artwork serves as a kind of shibboleth for these things. If that’s the case, then I plead guilty: I ate the apple.
[10]

Oliver Maier: “We have Anamanaguchi at home.”
[6]

Hannah Jocelyn: I loved Porter Robinson’s Nurture for its unapologetic sincerity, a balm when emerging back into the world post-lockdown. I miss that early hopefulness as the years have gone on; even now, it’s hard for me to hear “Unfold” without being close to tears. “Cheerleader” is a frustrating detour, with inane lyrics about yandere fujoshis fetishizing Robinson — you know you’re doing nothing new when the Nostalgia Critic beat you to it, and Robinson hardly sells the can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em message better. Nurture, for better or worse, incorporated the pitch-shifting vocals of hyperpop into EDM (to the point where a trans woman musician I know grew frustrated with Nurture’s acclaim for doing what acts like Katie Dey had done for years, regardless of how Robinson himself identifies.) That’s worth acknowledging, especially as this attempts to go right to the source: 3OH!3 and Metro Station come to mind. Except there’s none of the polish that makes those songs work despite themselves — What’s with that tinny hi-hat? Where’s the low end on the guitar? Listen to “Shake It”; that song from 2007 sounds better than this one from 2024. It’s not enough to replicate the aesthetics; for some ungodly reason, Robinson decided it must sound like it’s coming from a Hot Topic speaker too.
[4]

Claire Biddles: We have “Shake It” by Metro Station at home.
[4]

Tim de Reuse: I admire the chutzpah to take a stylistic hairpin turn like this. And I appreciate the ability to do that while retaining the crystal-clear boom-bap production chops that made you a breakout sensation in the first place. And I appreciate how it makes its power-pop references clear without sticking to them too desperately. And I appreciate the sheer craft; birds fly, rocks sink, Porter Robinson writes synth hooks that wrap around your mind and squeeze tight. And I appreciate the line about getting drawn kissing other guys. But there’s a clean and edgeless quality here, a sterile expression of his EDM roots, that directly contradicts his attempts at a heartbreaking singalong. Nowhere does his voice crack with raw emotion; nowhere does it seem even possible that his voice might crack with raw emotion.
[5]

Kayla Beardslee: Porter Robinson’s doing anime OSTs now? Good for him.
[7]

Leah Isobel: I see this fitting into a whole universe of PS1/Nintendo DS aesthetic indie games, YouTube video essays about old anime, trans girls with Neocities websites, indie pop sung by vocaloids. I could call it hyperpop — not in the sense of overdriven chaos, but in the sense of the hyperlink. (HTML revival would be more accurate.) As such, it feels a little too precise, its scruffiness deployed too purposefully; I feel like this stuff works best when the self is obscured, and Porter is too big of a star to let that happen. But that also means the chorus is fucking massive, so I can’t complain too much.
[7]

Nortey Dowuona: The soft, limply placed drums in the song for once are not the sabotaging element in this song. The lithe, acoustic guitar bridge is even nicely played. The guitar riff, doubled by the synth, is the true arrow to the heart of this song. Porter is processed to hell and back, refusing to give over his composition to a more present, entertaining vocalist, but that riff is so grating and stiff that when it first arrives, sliding up as the culmination of the slowly hopping pre-chorus, it stops the song from progressing any further, simply pushing Porter into the background and leaving his Melodyned voice slack below it, struggling to be heard. Now, does this stop me from screaming that chorus in my head? Of course not. It’s not fair I have to keep hearing this grating riff every time, though.
[6]

Ian Mathers: God, I love that recurring, overdriven synth sound that kicks in on the chorus. If anything I wish it was more all-enveloping when it hits (yes, like shoegaze, yes, I’m predicable). There’s lots of other interesting things going on here, but I can’t quite get over that visceral rush enough to figure out my response to it all. Hit the whoosh button again, Porter!
[8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Not nearly dumb enough for me to enjoy its shtick.
[3]

Isabel Cole: This sounds like a One Direction album track in a universe where after they got kicked off The X Factor, Simon Cowell realized he could save so much money by replacing everyone but Liam with robots, only when they got into the studio there was some kind of malfunction and Zayn-bot started screeching uncontrollably and Niall-bot fell on his side crackling horribly with static while Harry-bot and Louis-bot took turns punching each other until they were dented beyond recognition, and that’s why it sounds like how it sounds. (Liam didn’t notice anything amiss, obviously; have you met him?)
[4]

Will Adams: At the heart of Nurture was its… well, heart. On that record, Porter Robinson wore his on his sleeve, crooning lines like “I’ll be alive next year / I can make something good” without a hint of irony. On “Cheerleader,” he surprisingly lets a bit of cynicism slip in. It’s not a leap to see how producing such earnest, sincere art would naturally invite fans to form parasocial relationships, to draw fan art but not know where to “draw the line,” to develop a near-fatalistic expectation of commitment. But between each of those details is a generous counterpoint, where Porter wonders if he benefits just as much from these feelings. It creates a fascinating tension, expressed best by the chorus: “IT’S NOT FAAAAIIIRRRRRR!”, stretched over a fizzy, tightly-wound power-pop arrangement complete with a skyscraping synth line. Porter just can’t help himself. We’ve all got feelings; why not scream them to the rafters?
[8]

Katherine St. Asaph: Porter Robinson’s brand of earnestness makes my heart feel burnt or dead.
[5]