The Singles Jukebox

It’s the rock Harry Styles with fewer shit tattoos and his bandmates who don’t yet have their own Wikipedia entries. More like “YES!”

[Video][Website]
[6.73]

Jonathan Bradley: I saw The 1975 twice at the Hordern last year, and both times it was like being at a One Direction show, only without the chaperones. Matt Healy, lithe and fantastic, was the centrepiece, a ludicrously-coiffed rock ‘n’ roll frontman in the Harry Styles mold, feinting at Simon Le Bon or Michael Hutchence ambitions. This is one of the best guitar bands going right now, but no one notices because they’re hormonal and heartfelt and ostentatious (and probably also the wrong people go to their shows). “UGH!” is sproinging blurting hologram pop, vivid like video has become a brand new phenomenon and pose is as vital as elastic hooks and yelped staccato melody. “I don’t have the capacity for fucking, you’re meant to be helping me”: somehow, here, even impotence is a power move.
[8]

Micha Cavaseno: You folks remember when we had the massive conversation two years ago about all these 80s R&B band influenced indie musicians who very very rarely actually sounded like more than a Prince Synth preset (Dev “Lightspeed Con-Artist” Hynes, what’s good? Giving up on your trash falsettos yet?)  or even dared approach that actual level of songwriting? Yeah, these guys actually accomplished it, and nary a post-modern hint of irony in sight!
[8]

Alfred Soto: Fans of 1985-era Scritti Politti will swoon over the syncopation, keyboard jabs, and distorted guitar, and despite his protestations Matthew Healy sounds damn confident about his capacity to fuck. In other news, he rhymes “diarrhetic” and “empathetic.”
[7]

Jonathan Bogart: Because of an irrational skepticism of all guitar bands beloved by/made up of people more than ten years my junior, this is my first to-my-knowledge encounter with The 1975. The electro-funk was a pleasant surprise, although what I appreciated even more was that Matt Healy doesn’t try to croon like Adam Levine, maintaining a rocker’s rasp that, even if I find it ridiculous on a stripling, at least has the virtue of variety. The song itself is only okay from my weary vantage point, though I’m sure it’s quite clever and meaningful to people still trying to fight their way through the anxious welter between hookups and relationships. Tl;dr: Kids today.
[7]

Thomas Inskeep: More like the 1986: Green Gartside deserves royalties for that guitar lick. A delightfully unexpected left turn from the British rock quartet.
[6]

Will Adams: Pattersong is quickly rising to the top of my list of underused songwriting tricks. Healy’s piqued delivery helps to balance the 80s smoove production, like pink flames painted on a car. “UGH!” is in the category of songs whose catchy music may obscure the darker lyrics, but considering the introspection that addiction brings about, it makes sense.
[7]

Leonel Manzanares de la Rosa: Watching Matt Healy complete his transformation into this generation’s Michael Hutchence is fun, but the sinister funk of “Ugh!” is so tight it makes this coked-up lyric work. Healy’s vocals channel Phil Collins appropriately, and the piercing synths throughout the song are tremendous; the only problem i find is that this elegant, decadent track deserved a bigger-sounding chorus.  
[7]

Anthony Easton: This is weirdly awkward, like it gets so very close to a sing along pop song, but is nervous or self aware enough about the form, and the band don’t allow themselves to release fully into the work’s potential, but are too proud to go fully meta. 
[3]

Edward Okulicz: “Hey boy, stop pacing around the room using other people’s faces as a mirror for you” — that’s a ripper of a line. I mean it was better when Miki Berenyi used the idea to taunt a douche prettyboy, but it still works when Matt Healy uses it to pull the piss out of himself. The second verse rings true with my experiences of talking to recreational coke users, so that works too. Making one’s self-obsession the major talking point is ridiculous and self-absorbed, but you can either relate to Healy’s impotence (your choice as to what kind, he’s showed plenty so far) or ignore it and retreat into dancing completely ignorant of the subject matter, and “UGH!” is the most slinky thing The 1975 have come out with yet.
[8]

Brad Shoup: They filled the riffing guitar with a noble gas, and most everything else is on nitrous. It’s a nice stop-start facsimile of last century’s more outre funk-pop. Shame the Healy kid thinks cocaine is something you write to death. Pull the finger out of your mouth, make the shape of a hook.
[5]

Megan Harrington: Taking yourself a little less seriously is an almost foolproof strategy for improving your bad, ripoff rock anthems. Writing a love song to cocaine seems just about diametrically opposed to silliness, but silliness is exactly the spirit Matty Healy embraces on “UGH!” If we trip back through time, rock’s storied entryway is lined with coked up lyrics that are praised for their honesty and efficacy, especially when swaddled in some gloriously innovative guitar. “I wanna be adored” is Ian Brown’s snowy kiss. “My dreams is fading down the railway line,” Mick Jagger lamented. And now, their spiritual little sibling joins them. Healy is complicated and verbose, twisting words around his fingers like their one his of spiral curls. Ultimately, the song rests on its refrain; “I’m not giving it up,” Healy insists, his eyes black pools, and another rock genius is born. 
[8]