But not a single [4] 4 U…
Tim de Reuse: Bizarrely sleek, full of studio-magic ornamentation and elegant, serpentine chord changes all seeking some great road-trip catharsis to emphasize — but there’s nothing at the core of this song, no clever lyrical turnabout, no melody beyond a five-note ascending scale, no third-verse twist in the plot. The refrain of “four by four by you” is moderately clever when written down, but it’s a lyrical dead-end. Half the elements in the mix sound like they’re from session musicians who showed up to the wrong session. The bongo player plunks along like they’ve never heard this song before.
[2]
Claire Davidson: Given Wilson’s huge voice and her professed penchant for bell bottoms, it doesn’t surprise me that the intro of “4x4xU” sounds like it could’ve been pulled from a ’70s soul cut, all spacey keyboards and lush string accents. I wish the song committed to that style completely, as it would certainly fit the lyrics’ disarming intimacy, so potent that it can overcome Wilson’s usually free-spirited instincts. The actual song, a standard country love ballad, is fine enough, even if the hook forgoes a distinctive melody in order to center Wilson’s voice. But then again, this is Lainey Wilson, whose full-throated delivery matches the song’s devoted tone perfectly, even if I wish there were more than faint wisps of guitar and organ supporting her.
[6]
Alfred Soto: With a couple of blerps on the electric piano we’re in 1976 and listening to Barbara Mandrell. The extreme stylization of Lainey Wilson’s rubberband snap of a twang is 2025, though: affect as effect. But she sells her crazy goin’ crazy anyway.
[7]
Katherine St. Asaph: Irritating Country Snowclone watch: “drive my crazy crazy.” This may be the distinguishing feature of country music this century — since the actual music increasingly distinguishes nothing — although the hacky Kalamazoo/Timbuktu rhyme suggests that songwriters Aaron Raitiere and Jon Decious would rather inhabit an earlier one. (Neither here nor there, but speaking of earlier centuries, they look like Jay and Silent Bob.) So does the sleepy, dated arrangement.
[3]
Julian Axelrod: Good country songwriting is finding a new truck brand to flip into a romantic metaphor. Good pop songwriting is making that metaphor hit home for dummies like me who didn’t know what a 4×4 was until writing this blurb.
[7]
Melody Esme: “Hypnotized by the white lines” is a wild line to show up in a country love song, and it took me a second to realize what she meant. Then again, if this was about the powder, it might actually have wheels. The song is pleasant enough, and the title pun is neat, but its charm didn’t survive to the end of the first listen, and it was nowhere in sight when I played it again. I’ve never felt starved for great country songs by women, so I feel comfy saying this is average.
[5]
Nortey Dowuona: I really loved the lushness of the arrangement here, opening with sprite-like Rhodes pianos and closing by smoothing out the kicks. Throughout, the song bounces between its softly brushed-off electric guitar/bass/live drum building blocks (the bass is played by Tommy Scifres, who is allowed two bars to really get into it) and the glittery but thin synthesizers. It also vacillates between its well-polished late-1998 throwback and the weak, poorly amplified djembe acting as an anchor for the dub elements that briefly slip into view during the second verse. Wilson herself is a knockout, though the pieced-together songwriting by Aaron Raitiere and Jon Decious (songwriters of a flimsy novelty for Tyler Halverson and a gentle cheating lark for Ashley McBryde) is standard, formal and stilted. But the depth of Wilson’s voice shines through, strong and vibrant, whether she’s tearing into the chorus, coasting gently over the arrangement, or going into a sterling run. Jay Joyce, all is forgiven.
[7]