Who needs fireworks when you have lasers?
[Video][Website]
[6.42]
Katherine St Asaph: My instincts are that pop critics have a moral obligation to support Bonnie McKee. Everything else in me knows this is wrong, a giant step toward being one of those people healed by sending death threats to whomever gives 3/5 stars to their fave; if I don’t want to be coerced into suffering through Mad Max or Bridesmaids to make a statistically insignificant political point, I certainly mustn’t attach moral coercion to my tastes. And yet I read things like pop songwriter Lola Blanc worrying, quite understandably, that she’s too old to work at 27, or Bebe Rexha talking herself into being OK with being disappeared from her own credit, or this: “When the first album didn’t go as planned, I had to take a step back and look at why it didn’t work. What was the flaw in my songwriting? And I realized, kids these days don’t know or care about [Fiona Apple’s] “Shadowboxer,” or [Sarah McLachlan’s] “Building a Mystery.” I wonder whether she really believes that, or did. God knows I understand the mindset though: thwarted hyper-determination, agonizing over finding that one personal flaw that derailed your future, rather than looking for external factors: in this case market support for female singer-songwriters bottoming out. That was in 2011; McKee’s since come around, as she beamed via press release: “This is what my art looks like when you remove the filter of a corporate overlord record label.” Translated from PR, this means she was dropped from Epic Records; given that said corporate overlord was Dr. Luke, the situation may be win-win(-win). At any rate, it doesn’t matter, as “Bombastic” is functionally identical to those overlord-approved pop singles. McKee showcases every hook and voice she can write: roboticized soprano, fighter patois, wordless hook quantized until it resembles a vocal line less than a Slinky, an overeager cheerleader chorus. The lyric scoops up pop-culture inspiro gumbo, including the first sufferable use of “tiger blood” to date, and distills it down to one mantra: work hard. The end result is not only geared toward infinite replays but so blown-out and crunchy it ends up somewhere around Sleigh Bells, and specifically “Comeback Kid“: loud bombastic faking it until you make it. The earworms have stuck. I hope the determination does soon.
[9]
Cédric Le Merrer: However much we wish the opposite to be true, the success of a song, in commercial or critical terms, isn’t linked in a linear fashion with the quality of the songwriting and arrangement. “Bombastic” has those two things nailed down to perfection, though. The verse masterfully builds towards a big chorus, only it’s not the one you expected. A huge guitar riff reminiscent of Wish-era NIN, but which still makes perfect sense in the context of a 2015 booty-shaking anthem. And then there are the other qualities that make success. An attitude, a mood, a personality. “Bombastic” is about its own bombastic chorus, and everything else is blown away in a songwriting deflagration. The last time we saw a song ride its supposed own perfection to popular and critical success, it doomed Carly Rae Jepsen to cult one hit wonder status.
[9]
Leela Grace: Parts of this I would swear were Kesha (“vicious like a viper” sounds like an Animal discard), but the neon giddiness shakes that comparison. That babydoll voice is so addictive and the way she squeaks the second syllable, bomBAStic, is the most gum-snapping ponytail-tossing pop moment we’ve had all year. This is a soundtrack for the cheerleading squad assassin movie I can only dream about. I want to put glitter on all my knives.
[8]
Anthony Easton: If you pack everything into a song (except for handclaps) and make sure the chorus is a monster, will you finally get to have a song of the summer? Extra points for the 8-bit sounds, extra extra points for the exceptionally dumb and slightly outdated lyrics.
[8]
Thomas Inskeep: Reminiscent of Britney circa Femme Fatale, which is not a compliment. One can argue the wisdom of an adult making a single that, musically, seems focus-grouped for the Radio Disney audience, but which, lyrically, isn’t at all in that pocket. (What’s that about “tiger blood”?) Gets more obnoxious with each listen.
[3]
Jonathan Bradley: Our American Girl trades the 7/11 parking lot for the grind of the speedway. Bombast, as the title makes clear, is the point, but the throbbing here is one of a brain that’s been rattled too long by engine roar. The fumes make me nauseous.
[3]
Brad Shoup: I’m in the phase where someone trying super hard to entertain gets a lot of sympathy. McKee dumps out all the tricks in her toolbox: a reference to “Boombastic,” a moldy reference to Charlie Sheen, some cod-angelicism before the tuff-fuzz guitar. They’re all glancing blows of varying power. I wish she’d built a song around the “work hard” hook; Lord knows she has, and will.
[4]
Alfred Soto: Cannibalizing the bits she wrote for Katy Perry and others (e.g., the oooh-AAHH” from “Roar,” the electro guitar crunch of “C’mon”) is her right and I’d say privilege. With the title she even preempts criticism. I wanted “Contorted” though.
[5]
Ramzi Awn: Bonnie McKee may be vicious like a viper, but she doesn’t sound it, and that’s the main problem with “Bombastic.” Nicole Scherzinger could teach this American girl a lesson or two. The single would have benefited from an extended freestyle remix of the 0:37 pre-chorus, letting Ms. McKee’s lighter side do the heavy lifting.
[4]
Josh Winters: The opening couplet is McKee’s mission statement: a death threat thinly veiled with cutesy coyness. But once the guitars come blazing though, she burns every ounce of sweetness to a crisp and lunges at your fucking throat. It’s then when “Bombastic” shakes itself into a deadly concoction of sugar, spice, and everything nice mixed with Chemical X.
[9]
Will Adams: The science of songwriting always seems more apparent when it’s coming from the source. For McKee, one of the best pop writers of this decade, this self-awareness is how she distinguishes herself from her clients. Like the criminally overlooked “Sleepwalker” and still-perfect “American Girl” before it, “Bombastic” almost taunts the listener with her craft, each hook doled out in Fun Size quantities before the chorus explodes in every sense. What this does is give her songs a timelessness, thus returning to them couldn’t be easier; it’s just too fun to be in McKee’s crosshairs. She’s coming for you.
[8]
Micha Cavaseno: Recently, Bonnie McKee figured out how to finally make a song that sounded like how Dale Bozzio looked (as opposed to how she sounded). At times its a bit too “leftovers from the sales catalog,” with the little “Tiger Blood” quip. But the leering grin could’ve easily been paired with something off Charli XCX’s last go-round, so McKee’s got her finger on the pulse of something going on. The curious thing though is that people are continuously aspiring to rock moves, and I don’t think anyone who’s succeeding in pop is doing so with overtly “rocking” songs. This weird disconnect with what’s succeeding and what’s continuously being put out and rooted for remains a curious sort of spectacle.
[7]