We liked her before all the critics did…
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[7.00]
Mallory O’Donnell: Devotion must be one of the key pop releases of this year, if only because it’s one of the few that could actually be listened to and enjoyed by people above the age of fourteen. “Sweet Talk” is the song that might afford the admirable Ms. Ware the greatest chance of success, as it sounds like a great late-’80s R&B chart you somehow slept on because you were too busy listening to R.E.M. or whatever. But there are other songs to be heard on the album, and not a few of them are even better.
[7]
Brad Shoup: Reviewing a Ware single without comparing it to the work of the paisley-vested production set is tough indeed. There’s the usual frisson of her reverb-soaked vocals against the upfront, almost impatient rhythm section and staccato guitar. Ware’s vocals here are savory without being savored; neither she nor her male accompaniment (who seems to be here for contrast rather than coloration) seem very interested in digging into the possibilities of this track. However, that task is very much yours if you want it.
[7]
Jonathan Bogart: Swing time established by phased and flanged hi-hat, the rhythm jumps into the ’80s with rat-a-tat synthpad snare. The sour-pitched keyboards set expectations of exquisitely poised trouble, but when the guitar comes in about halfway through, and never leaves, it turns into more of a party than a lament. A more personality-driven singer might need to shout over it; Ware has the confidence (or, perhaps, the lack thereof) to hang back and enunciate in a hushed alto. The result is maybe the third or fourth best song on the album, but then it’s a deep bench.
[9]
Alfred Soto: I haven’t heard Fender Rhodes in this sticky adult contemporary context since Oleta Adams in ’91 and haven’t heard fuzz guitar this insistent in this context since the last Sade record (the beatbox drops in like it’s the Hollywood party scene in Mulholland Drive). The languorous Ware vocal takes getting used to, though, so I’ll hedge my bets.
[7]
John Seroff: “Sweet Talk” feels consistently off, as if some practical joker put the record on the wrong RPM. The occasionally unrhymed verses, the too-retro production, the slightly sour minimal, melancholy melody and the sheer joyless monotone throughout suggest an Earth-2 Shanice single. That final flat bass note at the end gives me pause: perhaps this is arch, quiet storm deconstruction? It’s either creepy clever or very clueless but it’s not effective in either case; “Sweet Talk” is as unsexy and bloodless as slow dance gets.
[5]
Katherine St Asaph: Deceptively smooth, between the lounge backing, tinny percussion, weird guitar solo, studied vocals and that ever-so-slightly wrong phrase in the chorus: “you give me that sweet talk, and it works for me.” It’s the kind of track to start caviling about why Jessie Ware was the one who broke out instead of [insert downtempo Brit here; I’d insert Jess Mills], and how you never listened to Sade anyway. Maybe the R&B nods get you to listen closer, if only to hear her try the cadences you loved. Then you’ll hear her: “how long till you disappear?” “I know I’m the weak one.” “So many moments we waste.” She’s poised, but it’s an act, a constant struggle of being blank, looking detached — he saw my eyebrows flutter at his approach, he’s figured me out — and it’s clearly not succeeding at anything. This only works because Ware can sing full-on, and she’s still more or less immaculate here, but she’s reduced herself to anxious palpitations and headlong tumbles of speech and a track on tenterhooks. It works for me.
[7]
Patrick St. Michel: As good as the off-kilter keyboard sounds, the real highlight of “Sweet Talk” is how straightforward it is. The SBTRKT guest spot and earlier tracks like “110%” made me initially associate Jessie Ware with artists like Purity Ring and AlunaGeorge, acts bending R&B into future-obsessed shapes. “Wildest Moments” and now this, though, show that she has just studied up on R&B, as “Sweet Talk” is an uncomplicated showcase of her vocal abilities, highlighted by the line “don’t keep me with the kisses/there’s never any there when I need.”
[9]
Anthony Easton: It’s the absurdly lush production that does it for me. Her vocals weigh the whole mess down, and what you expect to float sinks, but the production is sweet enough that this listener almost doesn’t care.
[5]