Something tells us this isn’t going to be as potent an NYC anthem as “Empire State of Mind”…
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Jonathan Bradley: What a curious little track: Cassie an ethereal wisp curling round the silvery filigrees of Rico Love’s production, her presence characterised by concerted smallness and oneiric specificity. Transitory phenomena glow brightly while all else recedes into darkness: the balcony, the tourists, New York City. It is a rare R&B track that has this distinct a geography — both in regards to the path their tryst traces and the city in which it occurs. “Balcony” is most reminiscent sonically of JoJo’s take on “Marvin’s Room,” but Cassie’s voice is sweeter and more receding than JoJo’s. Which makes Jeezy’s contribution all the more bizarre. The timbre of his voice suits the track; his technique is more jarring. Jeezy tends to deliver dialogue as if it came in bold type enclosed in speech bubbles: as a comic book character, action in Jeezy’s universe occurs panel by panel. (That’s what makes something like “Standing Ovation” so marvellous.) When he played a similar role on “Love in This Club,” it worked, because the action was gestured at rather than detailed. Here, he sounds like he doesn’t belong — in the tune or the scene. Which isn’t awful. Just… curious.
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Anthony Easton: Is Jeezy here for some added texture to the almost absurd smoothness of the production and Cassie’s vocals? Even if he is, it doesn’t strike me as an effective use of the talents. Jeezy disappearing becomes the least interesting thing about the track.
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Iain Mew: As an ode to the transcendent powers of (balcony) sex, this works all the better because of the disconnect between its participants. There’s Jeezy, not giving a fuck and already thinking about all the other locations to do it. Then there’s Cassie, floating on air with a weightless production to match, courtesy of Rico Love outdoing even “4AM” for early hours vibes. When she says she doesn’t want to talk because it might reveal everything to be a dream, it seems to actually be because it is an out-of-body fantasy that she’s inhabiting where she’s taken the guy out of the picture. Yet still, somehow, the experience can bring them together. When the song finally resolves itself to a moment of perfection, it’s “the city was all ours“.
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Alfred Soto: When Cassie wetly lingers on the sight of tourists on Times Square spying her on the balcony, I’m ready to allow that Stars Get Lonely Too — she’s this convincing. But from the foregrounded percussion loop to Jeezy’s rap to the voice distortion this sounds like Tony Gilroy’s already scored a fuck scene between Jason Bourne and Carey Mulligan.
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Brad Shoup: Absolutely improves once you hear “I saw a tourist staring back at me” as “a saboteur is staring back at me,” which turns that classic blankness into something clandestine. As for Jeezy, he uses the scene as a jump-off for Sexual Bingo; at least his fantasies don’t ensnare innocent bystanders.
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Patrick St. Michel: Hearing one of these drowsy, Shebib-by productions coupled with lyrics not centered entirely on overloading on intoxicants or whining about the perils of fame is a nice change of pace. Unfortunately, Cassie’s story of doing it in view of some out-of-towners doesn’t seem like a good match to the music. An even worse pairing, though, is Young Jeezy’s theme-wrecking verses.
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Will Adams: It’s getting awfully crowded in Marvin’s room, but Cassie is content to be the wallpaper.
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Katherine St Asaph: If you’re uncomfortable with Cassie as a glassy pinup or dreamy muse, this certainly won’t change your mind at first. The track sounds like Rico Love got commissioned to score one of those tawdry Basic Instinct ripoffs. Cassie poses and drowses about making airbrushed love on the balcony; Jeezy narrates a far pornier scene, and Glock joke aside, it doesn’t seem like he’s the unreliable narrator. Who’s got the power here? The key’s in the details. “Don’t you quit, don’t you stop,” whatever: if you can make out tourists on the street from an NYC penthouse, your mind is not on whatever sex you’re having. Then everything sounds vaguely disturbing: “it was perfect” intoned flatly, “started enjoying the scenery” (as opposed to?), “honestly, I was scared, because I knew you were prepared and you knew what I was thinking,” especially “I don’t want to scream, I don’t want to tell you how good it is” (the very first line), that quantized nothing Cassie’s voice becomes. She’s withholding something, whether boredom, disdain or reluctance; it’s like her own hidden answer song. I doubt that meaning was intended, but it’s certainly more interesting.
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Ramzi Awn: Cassie’s enunciation is as particular as ever, and “Balcony” sounds just as dark as you want it to. The beat rouses a quiet storm of vocals, and it’s clear that the austere cleanliness that has come to signify the songstress is in full effect. Another priceless charm on the Cassie bracelet.
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Alex Ostroff: Cassie is at her best icily asserting herself on Ryan Leslie’s spare productions, or sweetly flirtatious and yearning overtop of something more upbeat and maximal. The one thing I maintain she’s never been before is ‘blank’. But it’s 2012, and the last attempt to get Our Lady of Perpetually Delayed Release Dates on the charts with 4×4 electro failed. Is it any surprise that she’s tackling hazy Weeknd vibes? Cassie’s been working the melancholy late-night R&B angle long before Jhené, Melanie and JoJo proved that pretty much any Drake track could be vastly improved by female vocals. The production entrances, and Cassie still has the power to capture my attention like a black hole at the heart of the song. (Think Romy xx, I suppose.) Still, although I think this was meant to be nostalgic, or possibly sultry à la ‘Demonstrate‘, it mostly just feels distanced and numb. Which makes this song upsetting and fascinating and disconcerting and intriguing, but it’s not any more likely to be a hit than this was three years ago.
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