The Singles Jukebox

More like Light Years & Light Years…

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[6.30]

Claire Biddles: Pop stars rarely come to us fully formed. Years & Years have metamorphosed several times since their first release in 2012, negotiating their way through initial fey electronica and introspective synth-pop, to their final form: the glittering bird of paradise of “Meteorite.” It isn’t by any means their best song, but it’s significant for being the sound of a group coming good on their promises. Compare the timid delivery and lyrical submission of “Real” from first album Communion to the confidence and instruction here — the desperation of the refrain “love me like it’s the last time” comes from the same place as it always has, but Olly Alexander has never sounded more commanding. The increase in straightforward pop thrills also coincides with the group becoming more visibly queer, both in the sequin-covered form of Olly himself and the dancers of all genders surrounding him in videos and onstage — a celebration of love and sex and desire and liberation. The yearning that motivates Years & Years no longer feels tentative; it feels purposeful. “Meteorite” is the launch into the sky, the actualisation of self.
[9]

Alfred Soto: Years & Years’ debut was a sleeper: one of the most sterling examples of synth pop released in many years, its gay overtones finally exposing what had always been subtext in boy band pop. Perhaps because it’s a movie theme “Meteorite” sounds muffled and tentative, its conceit designed to have, ah, impact.
[6]

Katherine St Asaph: “Meteorite” is another single off the Bridget Jones’ Baby soundtrack. I have not seen Bridget Jones’ Baby, so based on evidence I am going to guess it soundtracks a scene in which the baby plummets to earth. Based on sonic evidence, it seems meteoroids come from the tropics and, in falling, sound like “Waiting For Tonight.” I’m a little unsure about these theories.
[5]

Will Adams: Years & Years’ delicate takes on dancepop are typically effervescent, but as Communion showed at times, they can veer toward flimsy. Unfortunately for “Meteorite,” the weak chorus and enervated production leave it with little use beyond soundtracking the experience of trying to refold a shirt you’d thought you would like at The Gap.
[4]

Kat Stevens: This would fit nicely between Cut Copy and Miike Snow on my former boss’s “I need to get on with some spreadsheets” playlist.
[5]

Brad Shoup: They pair a throwback Max Martin topline with rinky Chic guitar. It’s focused frenzy, a high-velocity pop song with a warping synth gunking up the aerodynamics.
[7]

Katie Gill: I’m a big Y&Y fan so I’m biased by default. But as soon as those glittery synths started up, I knew I was going to enjoy this song. Olly Alexander does an admirable job on the vocals, though his voice tends towards whiny at certain points. But those technical bits just SHINE. That layering of the vocals, those trills that sound almost alien before the last chorus, and all that wonderful synthwork steal the show. The song’s tension builds up to an exceedingly powerful chorus that hits like a…well, you know.
[8]

Edward Okulicz: The big chorus hook is too gauche to work and kind of falls on its face. I buy the anxious stream of emotion in the verses more, but the production is dinky and suggests they should have gone a different kind of retro and made it filter house.
[5]

Madeleine Lee: The line between perfect execution and cliché can be thin. Despite its combination of a well-worn disco groove and pseudo-apocalyptic imagery, “Meteorite” manages to stay on the former side because Olly Alexander can sing just about any word and make it sound revealing and sincere.
[7]

Ryo Miyauchi: “Devotion” rhymed with “emotion,” the final night as the time to dance, and a plead to never let go — these are disco basics, always reliable but far from unique. Yet Olly Alexander convinces that the better route is “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” A meteorite might not be the most original object of comparison, but after experiencing that synth igniting the neon firework of a chorus, no other word seems more apt. And he probably knows he built one sensational rush by how quick he returns to it, cutting out the cliches for the second time to get to the heart-pounding thrill even sooner.
[7]