The Singles Jukebox

“You’re making a scene.”

[Video][Website]
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Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Every part of this is high level bad in a different way. The production is simultaneously cheap and sterile, with each cod reggae acoustic guitar strum and faux-profound piano chord sounding like it was synthesized in a bunker underneath Malibu. Yet the vocalists somehow are even more dire — Pat Monahan somehow has grown even more Adam Levine-ish in his old age (we’re in the third decade of Train, by the way), relative bright spot Cam manages to oversing the four lines she’s allocated, and Travie McCoy references Sia and Mr. Belvedere for no goddamn reason. The worst part of “Call Me Sir,” though, is its very concept, which invokes a weird melange of ideas around marrying up, gold digging, and having to call the guy who wrote “Hey Soul Sister” any sort of honorific title at all.
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Alex Clifton: Pat Monahan has evidently joined a BDSM cult, which is not knowledge I ever wanted or needed. He’s also trapped Cam into appearing on this song, which is a tragedy as she deserves much better. (Wish I could say the same for Travie McCoy, but I think this is about as good as he gets.)
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Alfred Soto: Why Cam wants to play soul sister to Train is a question I want The Hague to ask when they haul Train before them next year. 
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Andy Hutchins: Rather not! Also, does Travie not understand the point of “Chandelier”?
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Katherine St Asaph: The sonic and queasy-making equivalent of Elon Musk tweeting about his Marquis de Sade costume.
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Stephen Eisermann: Cam shouldn’t have said yes to such a corny, sleazy, mess of a song, but also Travis should’ve known better than to hop on this as well. Train seems incapable of putting out music that doesn’t feel like wypipo in music form, so it’s probably best to not answer if good ole Pat is calling.
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Will Rivitz: At least it’s not “Drive By.”
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Will Adams: I’ve now gathered enough evidence to come to a conclusion on a question I’ve had since 2017: Pat Monahan is a troll. How else to explain the barrage of awful ideas he pelts us with here? We’ve got: the shiver-inducing lite-kink of the title; the Adam Levine-style vocal honk; the jumbled narrative that’s either about how he only earns respect when he’s got a lady on his arm and/or her glee at having a sugar daddy; Cam’s involvement in this at all; oh-oh-oh’s; and finally, the nostalgia lolz of exhuming Travie McCoy for a verse of the same, er, quality we had to look up his singles because we forgot remember him for (as if listeners aren’t disoriented enough; now they don’t even know what fucking year it is!). There’s plenty to be upset with, but for me it’s squandering the music — a minor key stomp whose clipped guitar provides the only hint of a human emotion — by burying it under all that mess. The rest just leaves me tired.
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Taylor Alatorre: Two featured artists on a Train song means two fewer verses of Patrick Monahan’s lunar speak to parse, which can only be a good thing, right? You’d think so, but… let’s just say Travie McCoy is way too good of a culture fit here.
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