John Mayer ft. Katy Perry – Who You Love

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[3.40]Scott Mildenhall: Is this what John Mayer sounds like? Vague knowledge suggests it’s nothing like what he usually sounds like, but it could just as easily be nothing, like what he usually sounds like. Maybe there isn’t a sound that he usually sounds like. It’s funny, when you repeat something often enough, it can lose all meaning.
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Alfred Soto: From the pitter-patter of the drums and pussy-drunk lyrics eschewing logic for an ideal of sloppiness to the studio-born anonymity of the licks, this big-lipped casanova’s studied Tupelo Honey but still emerges a fool: callow, self-regarding, making dick motions with his guitar neck. He’s such an unreconstructed heterosexual male that Katy Perry suppresses her awfulness (which is at least her own) to pledge her troth and probably cook his dinner and cut his toenails too (he’s Van, she’s Rita Coolidge). And when Mayer gets defensive about press clippings he’s still a squish. “Some have said his heart’s too hard to hold” — I’m sure US Weekly editors have phoned their legal department.
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Patrick St. Michel: Love like a dentist’s waiting room.
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Crystal Leww: This manages to be both sincere and trollgaze at the same time. These two assholes truly deserve each other.
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Jer Fairall: So comatose it manages to subdue Katy Perry. Small favours, I suppose.
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Mallory O’Donnell: The dippy instant standard you always knew would born of their unholy union.
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Edward Okulicz: You know, John Mayer turned into Jack Johnson so gradually, I didn’t even notice!
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Brad Shoup: That sharp figure and “who you love” are both meditative; switch the singers and you’d have an anthem for BuzzFeed activists. As it sits, it nestles: light touches from a team of professionals to soothe you. When Perry strays from the path, it’s a little jarring, but along comes that graceful ping to settle me down.
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Will Adams: The combined Annoyance Index of these two artists approaches Threat Level Red, so it’s somewhat of a consolation that “Who You Love” is mostly a bore. The tautology’s fine, Perry’s outro duet with the guitar features some of the best vocals she’s ever done, and Mayer even drops the smirk that often renders his other work unlistenable. Were it so easy to be memorable without being grating.
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Anthony Easton: The horns here are quite lovely, and everything is almost slick enough to let you forget the rest of the nonsense, but Katy Perry’s little girl giggle at the end places in stark relief how solipsistic this is.
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