Even Ms. Howl is embarrassed at how rubbish our new photo editor is…
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[5.67]
Iain Mew: “The trouble with no strings is you can only fall” sounds clever on the surface but it’s a metaphor that’s broken in both directions. What activities avert a fall by strings, unless you’re a puppet or a stage-flying singer? And in the relationship context, fall how? Fall in love? Fall out? Fall over? The song is therefore built around a pay-off that is vague and unsatisfying, and made worse by the “Pumped Up Kicks”/”Once in a Lifetime” hook which is both incredibly lazy and unignoraby forceful. The surprise is just how close Chlöe Howl comes to making it work anyway. On the verses, especially “Don’t need to talk to each other, we have codes” and the fatalist sigh of “They’re playing our favourite song”, she still manages to spin some heartbreak.
[4]
Ian Mathers: My wife heard the intro and said “I want to listen to ‘Pumped Up Kicks’ again now.” Also, the appeal of Lily Allen (or even Kate Nash) was never her accent.
[5]
Katherine St Asaph: Just what pop needed: a Florence worshiper lurching her way through a graceless, danceless track, a fuck story between a nonentity and Overly Attached Mumblemouth.
[2]
Anthony Easton: If there are no strings, does it really matter what the sex of the person is — could have potential to be genuinely queer, but that is a little cryptic (what kind of twins?) and suggests a disappointing hedge bet. Extra point for the autonomy of the subject, minus a point for the production being so close to Lily Allen that I miss her.
[7]
Pete Baran: Nice bassline, a good squelch to it which prepares you for a very 2006 vocal. And the question is where Chloe’s voice stands on the London Chanteuse-o-meter. Perky and witty like Lily Rose Allen, or eventually annoying (and pathetic in the true sense of the word) like Kate Nash? And I fear we are tipping Nashwards the further we get into the song. But at least it is honest enough that there really is nothing with strings involved in the making of the song.
[6]
Alfred Soto: “Chloe Growl” more like, and it suits her: smoky around the edges, sardonic by design, it fits the fart beats and bratty lyrics.
[7]
Brad Shoup: Can’t really get a handle on the situation here, or even the metaphor. Howl’s lassitude pairs with the glum bass; perhaps they’re bummed at nicking Katy Perry and Foster the People, respectively.
[4]
Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: Four-letter gutsiness cloaks a stroke of social anxiety: people speaking in “codes”, identity crises running rampant, sexual partners out collecting partners and the implied VDs that come with it. Howl’s persona is an antsy moralist, gazing out at her peers and thinking of the fastest route to the exits. Now let’s talk about the music. Well, er… it’s not unpleasant…
[6]
Jer Fairall: Hey, if after all of her cursing at him, sneering challenges to his sexuality and platitudinal moralizing, he still chooses to go home with her, I refuse to feel bad for either of them.
[4]
Patrick St. Michel: Honestly, I’d still give this an [8] if Howl was singing about something different entirely. The sneering, triumphant kiss-off present, though, makes it even better.
[9]
Edward Okulicz: Howl gets some real forward propulsion from the “Pumped Up Kicks” bassline, but the song really only cracks into gear when it sheds it and pulses in neon. Coincidentally, her yowl becomes that little bit less unbearable at this exact point. Even better is pilfering that moment from “Blue Monday” — the whole thing is brazen enough to cover the shortfall in her voice.
[7]
Alex Ostroff: So the kids of 2006 are grown up and making music but they’re Alright, Still. Some will appreciate that Chlöe Howl’s sharp tongue can now sit at the front of the mix without her having to couch it in ska or 50 Cent covers or cutesy piano anthems that erupt in glorious “Fuck You!”s or Motown accoutrements; others will miss the humour and lighter touch of her inspirations. Lily’s confrontational attitude and humour both attempted to cloak and soften the blow of strong feelings and strong opinions (that needed no softening, but alas). Chlöe’s humour about the whos hows and whys of sex with her partner is more pointed, and despite the casual swearing and the foolhardy bluster that “I hope I have twins”, her heart is more obviously on her sleeve — she’s too agitated to avoid mixed metaphors, let alone layer emotional ambivalence. She can, however, impeccably set out the utterly confusing dance of NSA, and the frustrating number of rules attached to those who wish to convey a calculated disinterest in rules or attachments. Obviously, she thinks that it’s all ridiculous, but she does the dance as well as any one else, and it’s unclear if “No Strings” is an attempt to goad her partner into giving a shit, or an extended double-bluff showing exactly how few fucks she gives? Or possibly both.
[7]