Comes out February. Gets remix. Original, not remix, peaks on the Hot 100 in November. That’s 2013 Billboard for you.
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[6.50]
David Turner: The stuttering trap drums, funeral march horns and twisted simmering synths each work their way into one’s mind as the evening goes on. The individual elements of the song morph into one joyously melancholy blur after every round of shots. And to make sure Alsina isn’t too cross-faded, Trinidad James joins in to vomit out his own relationship woes. But James keeps looking at his phone for a call he know is never coming and Alsina has to tell his friend to take a round and join in on this chorus of “I LOOOOVE THIS SHIT.”
[8]
Alfred Soto: He does insist on his real nigga-ness, although he’ll blame the booze and drugs and so will the horn section. Trinidad’s Luda imitation goes just far enough.
[6]
Crystal Leww: This song has been such a slow burn of a success, but it features a lot of elements that make for a repeat-worthy R&B jam: a lurching bass-driven beat, a smooth, slinky voice that is worthy of noun “babe,” and horns. Blame Drake, but sounding like you kinda want to die even while you’re successful is here to stay.
[7]
Brad Shoup: It’s the touches that make this. That initial synth-horn bit is straight off a Toto record; it’s chased with fun-size fanfare that crops up near-randomly. I don’t really buy Alsina’s level of gone, but the song’s more about realizing you’re entering the prime of your professional life. Trinidad’s sober as a judge, but I still don’t know where he is.
[7]
Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: “I Luv This Shit” feels like it’s about nothing at all but it’s distinctly about becoming comfortable with having come far from nothing. Alsina sings, with a little of Ginuwine’s curl, that he’s too young to be living at his lush advantage. He doesn’t love it: “goddammit” he loves it, like there’s no other choice to have. Trinidad James remains a welcome surprise – the uneasy weirdo lays underneath his expected presence as a juice-the-system one-liner. He raps about being wounded, then asserts his realness out of nothing more than sheer confusion: “I don’t understand these girls…” Together, they’re two men trying to navigate across divergent paths and learning to enjoy it.
[7]
Rebecca A. Gowns: Here comes another sleepy slow track with lazy lyrics. It’s like every other song on the radio’s been affected with Seasonal Affective Disorder, and it’s only November! These guys aren’t serving Ciroc — it’s more like a hot toddy left out on the counter. (Good enough, but someone needs to warm it up a bit.)
[4]