Ask your doctor, Jason Mraz, to see if Love™ is right for you!
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[2.75]
Anthony Easton: Energy is just the word that weedy agnostics use when they are afraid of words like God, isn’t it? At least God has this sublime terror of existence, sort of like the abnegation of self that occurs in really great sex, when one calls out the name of God, to remind you that how you fuck and how you pray becomes a destruction of self. Love should be that way too, loving someone enough that it reminds nothing more than ego death. This, weak willed and soppy, uses the language of desire, of sex, even of God, and it is so absent of meaning, it denigrates any attempt to make it anything more than a cheap attempt at cheaper seduction.
[0]
Alfred Soto: Don’t laugh, but I hear promise in the first minute: arpeggiated chords and hushed vocals evoking the prairie vistas of Cass McCombs. Then it turns out the prairie looks like Big Thunder Mountain.
[3]
David Sheffieck: And a thousand music supervisors ran outside in the pouring rain, threw their heads back, stared rapturously into the sky, and slowly raised their arms, giving thanks once again to Jason Mraz.
[2]
Patrick St. Michel: How clunky is Jason Mraz’s wordwork here? I’m not really talking about the subject matter; his diction is just really strange. “Shining stars all seem/to congregate around your face,” “it’s making my blood flow with energy” (is there another way for it to flow?). There’s not much praise to heap on Mraz, but at least a lot of his older songs moved ahead all easy-breezy like. This is poetry you find in a notebook while cleaning out the attic and recoil at.
[1]
Jer Fairall: Hint: when aiming for wedding song ubiquity (and banality), it is best not to set your sentiments to a tune that has all the pace and fervour of a funeral dirge.
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Thomas Inskeep: It’s like Art Garfunkel and James Taylor got married (back in the ’70s), moved to Boulder to open an organic co-op, had a son, and force-fed him Xanax by the handful from a very young age. Only worse.
[2]
Brad Shoup: Come on, dude. Mayer left this ground fallow years ago. He would’ve dropped a sly guitar solo, too.
[3]
Megan Harrington: I’m not eager to hear some ass-talky back patting about who Mraz presumed to speak for with “Love Someone,” but absent the inevitable he’s turned sap into a jar of delicious maple syrup. If I’m honest, I have loved someone, and none of what Mraz says is true and never will be, but I like watching movies where Batman’s enemies ravage Chicago, so why not indulge this little bit of fantasy?
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