The Norwegian synthpop artist, not any of these 24 other folks…
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[5.67]
Alfred Soto: I’m a sucker songs about wolves, whether Duran Duran’s or Shakira’s, but from the pizzicato hook to the glacier-like verses this is anything but feral.
[5]
Thomas Inskeep: Like an indie-r Robyn, with a surging chorus and gently throbbing verses.
[6]
Brad Shoup: More like running with the Knives, amirite?
[5]
David Sheffieck: A little too thinly produced; with the exception of the bridge, the song never finds a strong counterpoint to Aurora’s thin, high warble of a vocal. But the backing “ooo-oooo” howls are just on-the-nose enough to work, and Aurora sells the straightforward melodrama of the verses with aplomb.
[6]
Iain Mew: The trick of how “Running with the Wolves” is arranged seems obvious once spotted, but that doesn’t make it less effective, just shows a careful insight on Aurora’s part. The verses are bare and vulnerable, bass and piano uncertainly creeping along with words to match, most obviously when the second verse gets to “I walk alone”. Then the anxiety gets swept away by the synth rush of the chorus, running and running with the wolves, Aurora showing communal certainty in her voice just as well.
[8]
Micha Cavaseno: I will proudly shame this potential otherkin anthem out the box, just for that uselessly produced hook. Why is every bit of electronic tinged pop so used to regressive pop/rock theatrics now?
[2]
Rebecca A. Gowns: I’m glad somebody pronounces “wolves” like I do: “wooves.” I also say “wolf” like “woof.” (Look, the “l” is silent, like “salmon.” I stand by my pronunciation fervently.) Anyway, this pronunciation makes the chorus free and open — “running with the wooooooo-oooo-ooooo-ooves” — and the rest of the song slinks up to each chorus like a rollercoaster ticking up an incline before letting go and letting the music roll along fantastically.
[8]
Megan Harrington: I like this song because it puts a feminine spin on a distinctly male childhood fantasy. From White Fang to Where the Red Fern Grows, books about wolves (or, more commonly, dogs) explore their relationship to young boys. The closest analogy for women is perhaps the Twilight saga, but Aurora presents lycanthropy from the viewpoint of participation, not observation. The production is dewy, set in the very early morning when the sky is just fading from indigo. It’s physical but graceful, a ballet among the pine trees. We read Where the Red Fern Grows aloud, round robin style, over a few weeks in third grade. Everyone cried, but I pretended — maybe everyone pretended. Aurora has me closer to real tears.
[8]
Ramzi Awn: Belinda Carlisle called, and she wants her horses back.
[3]