Would it be a really bad joke to ask what Jamais did on this track?
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Wayne Weizhen Zhang: With Spanish language music increasingly mainstream and the final triumph of K-pop stan armies having finally transpired, one question I’m increasingly interested in is what language will be the next to penetrate the global English-speaking market. Why not French? Some might call it unlikely, but the inklings of a crossover have been bubbling under the surface for years; at this point, more than anything, what’s needed to take the language global is finding the right artist to be its herald. Enter Aya Nakamura: three albums into her career, she has undoubtedly cemented herself as French music’s hottest force, effortlessly marrying Afrobeats, pop, and R&B sounds with a healthy dose of French argot. She’s had her global hit, her infectious dancefloor moments, her viral TikTok dalliances, and her cross-language collaborations; now she just needs the song to introduce her to even more audiences. “Plus Jamais,” if there’s any justice in the universe, should be just that. An unassailable argument for her global superstardom, Nakamura torches her way through the autopsy of a relationship (“I gave you my heart/I’ll never do it again”), sounding right at home with a heartbroken, achingly charismatic Stormzy. Does the bilingual duet feel a little focus-group-tested in nature? Absolutely. But should we care about being catered to when the results are this electric? Absolutely not. This song feels important and Aya sounds massive; I hope it marks the genesis of more to come.
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Joshua Minsoo Kim: There’s always been an emotional underbelly to Aya Nakamura’s songs, but it’s a bit hard for the average English-speaking American to see that given how lively the production can be. On “Plus Jamais,” it’s obvious: there’s so much weight placed on that faint guitar wail. Even when the beat enters, it sort of stumbles into the song before petering out again. She’s never done so much with so little.
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Nortey Dowuona: Aya gently dusts her voice in autotune, a plaintive note shining through the heavy, teetering bass and shifting synths as Stormzy’s gentle yet threateningly cold voice closes in. She slips away, as Stormzy has pretty much given away the game — if he simply followed Aya’s lead, he might not be facing losing her. The chipmunk squeaks are chirping out a warning that despite her regrets and fears, she needs and heeds.
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Alfred Soto: The mix turns Aya Nakamura into a guest on her own song, or, uncharitably, a sound effect. And while Stormzy sometimes registers merely as aural pleasure, it’s not a good idea to mute him too.
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Rachel Saywitz: Aya Nakamura sings with such an assuredness that is surprisingly strengthened by the digital processing of her voice; I hear her words as if they are floating directly into my brain, carried along with soft, despairing verses from Stormzy.
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Thomas Inskeep: This French R&B track is pleasantly bouncy, but both Nakamura (a strong singer) and Stormzy (a superb rapper) are soaked in Auto-Tune for no perceptible reason. Why would you do that to vocalists who don’t need it? I am gnashing my teeth and banging my head against walls, because “Plus Jamais” could’ve and should’ve been better than this.
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Samson Savill de Jong: Criticising a song for being drenched in Auto-Tune feels very 2008, but my word it adds nothing here. It makes Aya Nakamura basically unlistenable for me, meaning that Stormzy’s soporific crooning becomes the best part of the song by default. When you’re relying on the rapper to bail you out by singing well (which to be clear, he isn’t), then it’s time to rethink the song. Never again.
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