Next up is Dave, with a song that goes somewhat farther than making out…

Dave Moore: NLE Choppa has been putting out this smut all year, each installment better than the last, but something about his left-field turn-of-the-’10s indie disco firecracker really underlines how truly foul the words are. It brings to mind the heyday of mashups of raunchy rap with French house or millennial teenpop. I could make a big show of ignoring the lyrics and claiming disingenuously just to enjoy my throwback “Yam Who? Rework” filth for the articles, but no — I’m going to swing for the fences and defend the whole thing. NLE Choppa is global in mindset, dabbling in dembow to generally inept but undeniably charming results. For all its rank misogyny, the project is both inclusive and weird; forget a freak flag, this is a freak tarp. But the weirdness is genuine and indiscriminate. My favorite part is how the women in the chorus are asking him to “have my baby,” an aural typo that nonetheless opens up a world of radical fertility realignment. I choose to believe that NLE Choppa understands that with great freak power comes great freak responsibility.
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Aaron Bergstrom: A light-hearted, bouncy disco-pop party track where NLE Choppa explains how sex is a terrifying and demeaning ordeal borne of pathological compulsion that literally no one enjoys.
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Isabel Cole: Nothing about such an aggressively single-minded ode to fucking as many bitches as physically possible should work, and yet I listen to “Slut Me Out 3” and am filled only with radiant joy. The song is is so hyperbolic, so extreme, so wildly filthy and yet weirdly unhorny that it’s impossible to take at face value as an expression of actual human behavior or desire; it reminds me less of other songs about fucking and more of that sketch where Vanessa Bayer can’t nail the tone on a cutely self-deprecating Instagram caption. Every single detail is miraculously deranged: the most genuinely disgusting scatological image I’ve encountered this year or possibly this decade, all the more jarring because it comes right on the heels of an incongruously sweet bit of mama’s boy pride; the concept of an endorsement with Plan B, as if the manufacturers of emergency contraception are a cereal brand signing a deal with the gold medalist of the Sex Olympics; the fact that she wants him to have her baby; “marinated pussy.” Take the proclamation “fuck her til my dick bleedin’”: for a half second it sounds normal, just a guy bragging about his stamina in the sack, and then your brain processes the actual line and you think, wait, what? Is that… good? Is it supposed to be hot? Is it even possible? Should he be seeking medical attention? Lines like that break reality, rendering the universe of the song cartoonish and bizarre. NLE comes across as some kind of pornographic comic book mutant, a superhero whose gift, burden, purpose, and promise is to fuck every woman alive. His dick is not just huge, it’s inconveniently large; his touch is so hot it can literally be fatal. When he excuses himself after finishing the job with two freak hoes to depart for an orgy at “pussy villa” (a pussy villa? the pussy villa? is Pussy Villa a proper noun?), his attitude is that of Batman, depositing the Scarecrow at the precinct before turning right back around to resume his unceasing rooftop watch. His hunger for justice (sex) is as insatiable as his determination is relentless; wherever there is pussy to be fucked, he’ll be there, Tom Joad as written by Philip Roth. The whole ridiculous scenario floats easily by on an ebullient beat, busy but never crowded, anchored by NLE’s motor-mouthed nonchalance. Carey Washington’s playfully chipper refrain functions similarly to the close-ups of women laughing in ecstasy during the stripping scenes in Magic Mike XXL, reassuring the audience that however it might look from the outside, everyone involved wants to be here and is having a grand old time. After the music cuts out, she says “Oh my God,” laughing and incredulous. You can almost see her rolling her eyes, giving him an affectionate shove, turning to us as the house lights come up, smiling and shaking her head as if to say, can you believe what we just did?
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Taylor Alatorre: Nothing but respect to NLE for stretching the sex positivity paradigm (among other things) to its absolute breaking point. The third SLUT SZN installment is a sex jam in the same way that Sharknado 3 is a disaster movie; turn off both your brain and libido, because neither are of use here. His forays into straight-up pornogrind lyrics have a paradoxical sanitizing effect, transforming the carnal act into a funhouse dreamscape where, as long as there are words for it, any sequence of Twister-esque contortions is possible — “make a bitch shapeshift,” as he put it in an earlier hit. The goal is approachability, hence the choice of a malleable producer who’s turned from future bass to digicore as the times demanded. Whethan treats NLE’s voice with a feathery reverb that gives his blasphemies all the aggression of an overstuffed plushie; together they work to ensure that the party can keep going after the shock value has worn off.
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Brad Shoup: On paper, 3 is 2 (runway rumble with disco stabs) times 1.5 (having a woman guest a la Sexyy Red on the remix of the first “Slut Me Out”). But this time, Choppa’s up Nile Rodgers, paddling in place while he tries to write a decent rugpull. “Dick so long that I tried to shrink it” is pretty good, “fuck her ’til my dick bleedin’” is a patch on “I’ma bust my nut ’til I die.” (What happened to the flunked biology of “Don’t cum quick, I control my bladder”?) Red thought she was doing a standard sex-rap guest turn and got swamped by—Jesus Christ—the sugar gravy; Washington does “Hypnotize” by way of blog house and scores a great reversal of her own (“Fly me out and have my baby”).
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Tim de Reuse: Buoyed by the wide playfulness of the beat, full of rainbow-colored ornamentation thrown across the mix; let down by how often it flits rapidly back and forth across the line between “charmingly provocative” and “grating.” Dropping a strong rhyme about his dick bleeding once would be kind of funny. Twice in two minutes, and I’m worried that this is, like, a recurring thing for you.
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Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The sheer depth of horniness is impressive on its own, to the point that it’s difficult to recommend this in mixed company even to the extent that one could do so with “WAP” or “Fisherrr.” Yet all that talk would be nothing if “Slut Me Out 3” were not also one of the most genuinely fun tracks of the year. Choppa bounces off the walls of Whethan’s electrofunk beat like a man possessed, reveling in each outlandish boast like he invented sex itself.
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Katherine St. Asaph: As seasonal excuses to chant about being DTF, slut season = hot girl summer > brat summer. “Slut Me Out 3” improves upon the previous slut installment by replacing “no Diddy” with an effervescent club-house beat and less actual misogyny than one might expect (if you can mentally separate the track from this year’s reckonings about industry sex parties; if you can’t, that’s understandable). The track’s incongruous glamour and accessible strut just dare — but crucially not The Dare — event organizers to slut out all their playlists regardless of venue: unedited, lightly bleeped, heavily censored, literally just the instrumental, he’ll take them all. I’m going to need all the zillennials feigning shock at the lyrics to stop pretending they didn’t see 2 Girls 1 Cup like the rest of the internet.
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TA Inskeep: Whethan’s track is funky as fuck, riding an early ’80s post-disco R&B bounce, and NLE has a musical voice and understands cadence. A shame that it’s wasted on humorless lyrics that suggest that a) he needs treatment for sex addiction, and b) he has no respect for women whatsoever except as vessels for his bodily fluids.
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Nortey Dowuona: I’ve always thought of NLE Choppa as the new age LL Cool J — just tough enough for the fellas, smooth enough for the ladies, the perfect balance. Thus, it makes sense he’s the only rapper who’s been able to comfortably inhabit the pop/rap realm with no sellout cries/homophobic slurs from people at large. This little flimsy ’80s programmed kick snare bop was produced by Whethan, who also adds a flat brass line that struggles below the chanting led by Carey Washington. Once NLE slips back in, his smooth, lilting flow comfortably rides the groove and is perfect for the old schtick of portraying him as a loverman. Except for the bleeding dick line. Bleeding dick is never sexy.
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Al Varela: Most male rappers, especially in mainstream trap, could not get away with making a song about being the biggest whore in the building. Let alone three of them! Only a rapper who’s embraced his flamboyant and unapologetic sexuality like NLE Choppa could get a whole crowd of girls to chant his name and crave for his love while he struts around to this borderline pop disco beat. This song’s greatest strength, and that of its counterparts, is simply that the sex NLE Choppa is having is genuinely fun! The over-the-top innuendos, the exaggerated brags that would probably be impossible if attempted in real life, and Choppa’s autotune crooning all over the hook and verses remind the listener that at the end of the day, both partners are having a hell of a time.
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Alfred Soto: Hooks on hooks it’s got — the glee with which the chorus of willing objects of lust reminded me of the kiddie voices in Tom Tom Club’s “Wordy Rappinghood.” Gifted with the boyish timbre that everyone from LL Cool J to Swae Lee has exploited to mitigate their potty mouths, NLE Choppa also has one of those musical voices that turns moments like when he floats over the shit-hot bass sequencer into bliss-outs.
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Jel Bugle: It’s funky but kinda unpleasant, which detracts greatly from the general upbeat quality of the track. Maybe it’s funny? I didn’t laugh.
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Ian Mathers: Introducing some playground chant energy into this increasingly gonzo series of sex raps is surprisingly successful, as are the relatively subtle disco strings in the back. Like the other installments, “Slut Me Out 3” moves fast enough that if you’re going to be into this at all, you’ll probably find it consistently delightful. Although not quite as much as the easy [10] of NLE explaining the lyrics to the second installment.
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Frank Kogan: Brilliant clutter, as various chants and shouts avoid being anthemic, and raps set the pace by going in opposite directions.
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Will Adams: I love the pairing of Whethan’s polite synth-funk beat with NLE’s one-man competition to out-crass himself. But Carey Washington’s chant-along hook anchors everything. She might not match his freak, but she matches his fun.
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