It’s a *shrug* kind of day…
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[4.12]
Alfred Soto: Raphaelle Standell-Preston tugs and resists the melody, reluctant to fit her lyrics into recognizable patterns — an appropriate choice for lyrics raging against the expectations we place on women. The chordal and rhythm shift at the two-minute mark that turns the track into Amnesiac-era Radiohead is another attempt. I’ve made “Miniskirt” sound more interesting than it is, however. Beyond its formal enchantments it doesn’t give me much pleasure.
[6]
Josh Love: The message here is no less relevant today than it was years ago, as Standell-Preston would say, but I wish this song showed more than it told. The commentary on women starving themselves and the subsequent likening of men to cake is delicious but unfortunately goes nowhere, and it’s the only portion of the first two minutes of the song worth preserving. Around the 2:15 mark “Miniskirt” actually starts moving and the lyrics leave behind didacticism for something more personal and compelling, but then everything grinds to a halt again scarcely a minute later. Standell-Preston deserves praise for refusing to sugarcoat her perspective, but songs and tracts are two different things and “Miniskirt” is far more the latter.
[4]
Brad Shoup: I don’t know if I’m supposed to listen to this song or retweet it.
[3]
Micha Cavaseno: Lyrically tense but musically over-saturated with gobs of production that echo every buzzing ‘plays with electronics’ band I can think of (Oh look, there’s some Purity Ring! Oh hey, there’s some Crystal Castles). This bee is not harvesting honey strong enough to drive its point home.
[3]
Katherine St Asaph: This is one weird demographic shift for Christina Perri.
[3]
David Sheffieck: The beginning is dull, but at least seems to be building to some sort of climax. Unfortunately that climax sounds like three different songs being played at once: frantic percussion, squelching synths, and breathy vocals gratingly just out of sync with one another. It’s a relief when the song runs out of batteries at the end.
[3]
Anthony Easton: The politics are so tight on this that you kind of feel like an asshole for hating the music, which I find self-indulgent and repetitive.
[3]
Josh Winters: Nothing can overpower Raphaelle Standell-Preston, who gracefully slices through a swarm of synths that try to engulf her like overgrown vines on an old house. The short break between the two passages feels like a dunk in the river, a momentary beam of energy from the sun before she continues on with her harrowing fight, tireless and triumphant.
[8]