Nelly and FGL can have lil a high scoring blurb, as a treat…

[Video]
[2.78]

Ian Mathers: Florida Georgia Line are to Tim McGraw what this song is to “Over and Over”.
[2]

Alfred Soto: Nelly specialized in this crossover shit more than a decade ago when he shared his secrets about country grammar to Tim McGraw.  Apparently so well learned was the lesson that he disappears from subsequent collaborations despite the billing. The giant bit of “Lil Bit” is its hook, sanded by FGL into meaninglessness.  That’s the point, though, right? Eroding racial differences for the sake of collaborative blandness.
[2]

Al Varela: I’m conflicted. On concept alone the song sucks. You can tell both artists are in desperate need of another hit so they’re trying to recreate the “Cruise” phenomenon. The mere image of Florida Georgia Line trying to play in the same lane as booty-shaking rap makes my stomach turn. That said, the stomp of the percussion and the fluttering banjo make this way catchier than it deserves to be. Plus, it’s not so aggressive with its blend of hip-hop and country that it’s obnoxious or sounds like a bastardization. Still, for a song that sounds like a bad idea from the start, I’m almost disappointed that it’s not a disaster. Not quite good either, but it should be worse.
[6]

Samson Savill de Jong: Nelly and Florida Georgia Line bring out the worst in each other, yet somehow have been allowed to collaborate 3 times and go on tour together. Somebody needs to get on to Nelly’s phone and block FGL before irreparable harm is done, if it hasn’t been done already. Anyway, this song is dull, uninspired, more than a little sexist and patantly unfun, a crime in a song all about having fun. It also includes the line “I’m the black Tom Brady, I’m the GOAT” which is a trite and easy line at the best of times, but the beat drops out and Nelly laughs at himself after it!? He really wants you to notice that line, as if he’s just said something witty or clever or subversive, instead of just saying he’s good like the good American footballer (it’s not like Tom Brady is some underground pick or anything). If that’s the standout moment of the track, the rest of it doesn’t bare thinking about.
[2]

Aaron Bergstrom: I have spent far too long thinking about who the real “black Tom Brady” might be: undeniable greatness, deeply weird in an “uncanny valley” sort of way, seems wildly unpleasant to be around. (I think it might be Kawhi Leonard?) It certainly isn’t Nelly, who hasn’t had a new idea in going on twenty years and yet still seems like he’d be fun at parties.
[2]

Thomas Inskeep: In case you weren’t aware that Nelly x FGL does, in fact, equal Sam Hunt. Except that Hunt can at least sing. And has something to say.
[2]

Tim de Reuse: You could argue over whether or not “country-rap” is a good idea, but the point isn’t relevant here, because the veneer of “country” is paper-thin; if you swapped out that twangy banjo loop for some tropical bells then this could just as easily have come from any regionally-famous European pop-rapper. You could read this as a cynical grasp at crossover success, but, again, why bother? Nelly’s voice layers over itself constantly, hyping himself up from every angle, ensuring that not an instant of negative space is left for you to catch your breath: exhausting by the standards of any genre.
[1]

Edward Okulicz: It’s a rap song only nominally, because Nelly sounds like someone’s dad busting out rhymes that are simplistic and generally quite bad, as if he were a pop star who took up rapping late in life rather than being actually a rapper to begin with. It’s also not country either, or at least not country that isn’t already infused with pop. So we’ve got two hybrid genres themselves hybridising, and this is the F2 offspring: a little rap, a little country, the crossover’s baked in with a whole lot of corn. Like many hybrids, it’s sterile, but it is a low-key good time with the good-natured banjo, and a chorus you could follow along with even if you started drinking five hours ago when it was 3pm. Which is exactly how this song makes me feel. But it’s a bop anyway.
[7]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Thought experiment: What if at the opening of this track when Florida Georgia Line sing “What up, Nelly?/You ready to do another one, bruh?”, Nelly just responded “No!” and then the track just ended? 
[1]

A whiskey drink, a vodka drink, a lager drink, a cider drink…

[Video]
[4.78]

Crystal Leww: Since 2019, Twice have been transitioning away from their cute concepts into something more ~mature~, which thankfully has actually been less clumsy and awkward than girl crush posturing or trying to be sexy or just straight up going for being Bad. It’s ranged from being cool oontz oontz fashion girlies to tropical aquatic dance drop banger to doing ’80s synth twinkles. Unfortunately, this has swung too far in an old direction while still trying to do… idk, puritanical and sweet? The result is a mess of a song that sounds like a Hilton Hotels ad made to appeal to drunk white wine spritzer aunt. 
[3]

Michael Hong: POV: You just stepped off the hotel resort elevator and on to the patio and a gorgeous girl is reading you the drink menu.
[4]

Thomas Inskeep: I mean, the “refreshing” jokes kinda write themselves, but this doesn’t sound like any of the current obnoxious pop trends: it’s a light, airy record with an uncluttered arrangement, based around a slightly samba-ish/flamenco-ish (it’s both, at various points) acoustic guitar riff and an easy beat, and not a lot else — which is to its benefit. The women of Twice sound appropriately sunny. There’s nothing whatsoever not to like here.
[9]

Dede Akolo: This is Jimmy Buffet K-pop. I, as a “zillenial” or whatever, enjoy it, but I think that signifies my age and the tolerance I built up throughout the second generation of K-pop. I am glad that this song doesn’t bring beyond the mezzo-soprano range because my girls’ vocal cords need a break. And the vocal range does along them to sing this live more successfully. Regardless, I need to have a good long talk with Mr. Jinyoung Park about delegating tasks such as songwriting and possibly going into retirement. 
[6]

Rose Stuart: I can’t find any fault with this song. Every note, every layer, every sample sounds perfect. But, like every Twice song since “Feel Special” and their introduction of a more mature sound, if I had never heard this before nor ever heard it again, I wouldn’t feel like I was missing anything. I guess the only problem with this song is me. Me — and JYP: I thought we’d agreed to stop the creepy whisper. Don’t bring it back now.
[6]

Katie Gill: What an aggressively boring song. The summertime vibes are the most cliché, stereotypical summer vibes you can imagine and it’s got a corny rap break and a remarkably middle-of-the-road chorus, instrumentation, and arrangement to back it up. I get what they’re trying to go with. But wow is this a serious misstep in the grand K-pop pantheon of summer songs. Hell, it’s a serious misstep in the grand Twice pantheon of summer songs: they’ve done better before.
[4]

Jessica Doyle: If we were using the Smart Bitches’s scale rather than our in-house one, “Alcohol-Free” would be a DNF: I’ve tried listening to the song five or six times now and managed to get all the way through maybe once. It comes off as both boring and unpleasant: tinny, and everyone somehow required to sound similar, to the point that it’s hard to tell the difference between Sana and Tzuyu on the chorus. (That this vocal compression threatens to blow up in the performers’ faces every time they’re asked to perform live is apparently not JYP’s concern.) “Signal” also had Sana and Tzuyu on the chorus, and sounded unpleasant, but at least there was enough going on that we could host a full-on debate. Here, what is there to talk about? Tinny and empty both; what happened to our Twice?
[2]

Camille Nibungco: Despite the hype, I couldn’t get past the disappointing Wii Channel sound.
[3]

Alfred Soto: Alcohol-free, maybe, but not sugar-free. Under control, though. The vocals hover between insistent and annoying, holding complacency at bay. 
[6]

And a way lower score!

[Video]
[1.50]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Condescending, cynical, too-stupid-to-live, toothache-inducing sloganeering, completely devoid of an ounce of self-awareness. 
[0]

Thomas Inskeep: These awful fun.-influenced bros (sure, I use the word as judgement, but they’re also brothers for real) make Jack Antonoff sound like Bob Dylan. Ironic that the song is titled “Way Less Sad,” because it makes me actively angry.
[0]

Nortey Dowuona: AJR are what people think Lin Manuel Miranda and Chance the Rapper are. The only reason Lin and Chance aren’t them is entirely down to the fact that Chance and Lin are actually good at their PBS crap. AJR are not, which is why the the limp piano and dulled to a slogging tempo bass drums engender contempt rather than hatred, since at least Chance is getting sensible reviews of him removed and Lin is backstabbing Puerto Rican students trying to protest the corruption in their government. At least they’re doing something other than their music to make us hate them. AJR aren’t threatening to kill themselves over honest reviews of their music or making inane Twitter poetry or inane public statements over a whitewashed Washington Heights; what’s their excuse for being soul-sucking vanity projects for guilty scions of wealthy families? At least Chance had the decency to make Acid Rain. Lin made In The Heights. AJR have made nothing. 
[0]

Ian Mathers: The combined stinks of unhealthy coping mechanisms and ignorance of the fact that an awful lot of people — even if they do just choose to be less mad at Twitter (…what?) — still have huge problems and stresses… it’s a bad stink. One we’ve smelled before and honestly one that’s not normally this catchy. But a stink nonetheless.
[1]

Aaron Bergstrom: As a weary world takes stock of the compounding horrors of the past year and dares to dream about what healing might even look like, it’s important to focus on what really matters, which is that three white dudes from Manhattan are “not so mad at Twitter now.” So, mission accomplished, I guess. Truly the “If Hillary Was President We’d Be At Brunch Right Now” protest sign of songs.
[1]

Juana Giaimo: This reminds me of Paramore’s After Laughter, but the thing about After Laughter is that the music is happy and upbeat, but if you listen carefully you can hear a guitar a little bit too distorted, a beat a little bit out of place and the vocals suddenly sounding a little bit too hoarse. Musically, “Way Less Sad” is just silly. The brass is loud and all over the place and the “hey hey hey!”s are simply annoying. Still, I wish more songs talked about the concept of “No, I ain’t happy yet, but I’m way less sad” because I feel it’s a lot more realistic than most encouraging messages about mental health we hear in pop culture today. 
[4]

Alfred Soto: Playing “Way Less Sad” while folding laundry in the other room, I thought I’d assigned myself a K-pop track. If only. As vaccination rates increased and I began reengaging with the world, I did quash responses to my own battle-scarred friends similar in kind to AJR’s, without (I hope) the callousness. “I been counting sheep, but the sheep all died/And I’m trying too hard but I can’t not try” is a camp classic, almost wiping the smear of those canned horns. I mean, forget the lyrics — it sounds lousy.
[3]

Katie Gill: Eventually AJR will discover the concept of moderation. There’s some potential in the lyrics here: I actually really enjoy them compared to AJR’s tendency towards this weird “who has two thumbs and sucks at adulting?” vibe that most of their songs have. Granted, this one is just “who has two thumbs and a case of mild depression?” but it doesn’t feel weirdly freshman-in-college compared to their other stuff. But good God is that arrangement the equivalent of throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks. It’s finding out that your suitcase is too small for all your clothes and trying to shove them all in there anyway. It’s a PowerPoint presentation that wants to use all the fonts. Sonically, “Way Less Sad” is loud, overbearing, over-produced, and just plain tacky. 
[3]

• Alfred Soto reviewed Garbage’s No Gods, No Masters for Pitchfork and reviewed Rufus Wainwright’s Poses on its 20th anniversary for Stereogum.
• Dorian Sinclair has started a Substack called Doric Column: read his intro post here.

Do we like everything about this kinda-disco jam?

[Video]
[6.14]

Alfred Soto: As crisp as a glass of spiked lemonade in June, “Todo de Ti” has more in common with jams released a decade ago than “Levitating.” The vocal hooks are ingratiating, and it stomps just loud enough to get abuelita tapping her foot.
[7]

Edward Okulicz: Not many songs bop so good-naturedly, so it does not matter that part of the melody makes me want to sing Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry” over it. More nostalgic for cheap but cheerful 00s blogwave than anything that has been played in any actual disco in the last 45 years, it’s still fun.
[7]

Ian Mathers: The way the title line gets repeated in isolation a few times after the chorus almost like it’s sampled from earlier in the song rather than just sung, and it actually really works for me? I wish we went back to that a few more times. It’s an indelible enough hook if some dance track did use it for a refrain I think I’d go for that too.
[7]

Mark Sinker: A slip of a thing that never really arrives.
[4]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: Alejandro lazily surfs the disco guitar wave with lyrics that purport to love all of you but really just love all of your individual parts, especially when decked out in the right brands, and nothing from the mall. I’m tired of these shopping list songs that reflect not only a lack of effort but a lack of interest in the person they’re singing to. Even without the laziness of the lyrics, the vocals feel phoned in, no match for the energy of the distinctive guitar. 
[3]

Thomas Inskeep: I’m not a fan of the Weeknd-ization of global pop, but in Alejandro’s hands it works better than usual, because he’s got personality that oozes through his vocals, and because “Todo de Ti” has a boogie component to it that keeps it from being just another ’80s synthy pastiche. This’ll sound awesome bumping out of car speakers on hot summer days.
[8]

Juana Giaimo: Maybe it’s because I haven’t listened to many songs from Latin American artists that followed the disco-trend of last year, but this track was such a nice surprise. Everything about this is smooth. Instead of a heavy drop, it relies on the funk-inspired bass and the steady beat, letting Rauw’s  voice do all the variation — going from rapping to singing, adding high-pitched AutoTuned vocals and even a vocoder effect towards the end. It’s a pity the lyrics are full of reggaeton clichés and some really weird metaphors (“Like keto diet, for you I control myself and stay still, even though I want to eat all of that”) that really don’t fit with the lightness of the song. 
[7]

Snow in summer? Why not!

[Video]
[7.83]

Leah Isobel: “Hands on my knees, shaking ass: on my thot shit” is an archetypal Megan Thee Stallion image, but it’s also one subject to any number of bad-faith readings, so each verse methodically destroys each one. Is she on her thot shit to please men? No: “I’ll be damned if he thinking he’s popping up on this pimping.” Is she on her thot shit because she doesn’t value herself? No: “Looking in the mirror like ‘Damn, I don’t brag enough.’” Is she on her thot shit because it’s all she has to offer? No: “I’m the shit, per the Recording Academy.” Of course, this would all be empty posturing if her flow wasn’t the best it’s been since… 2018, maybe? But it is, so you walk away from the song with one final, inescapable conclusion. Why is Megan on her thot shit? Because it’s fucking fun.
[9]

Alfred Soto: Body positive to the point of saturation, “Thot Shit” mentions thighs and knees, rhymes mirror/posterior, and considers the possibilities of a mouth full of VVs. A terrific performance: Cupcakke rated PG-13. 
[7]

Dede Akolo: Stallion got to the conflation of erotic attraction and repulsion within the patriarchal psyche in less than five minutes. The last shot of the film brings me the same visceral energy as hearing Kennie JD talk about the 2017 Spanish film Skins. Unlike Skins, however, Stallion knows how to make entertaining material. And if some film-bro comes at me about the deeper meaning of Skins and Samantha’s mouth, I will punt you so hard your ass’ll turn into your mouth. 
[8]

Samson Savill de Jong: Megan acting like she’s ever not on her thot shit. Thee equine rapper continues to be a good lyricist with excellent flow, dancing right up to corny bars without ever crossing the line. But the beat is limp and lifeless and dull, which makes me wonder why Lil Ju was so keen that we knew he made it that he put his tag on twice. Still, Megan’s clearly in her comfort zone, and while it’s a very profitable place for her to be at the moment and means there’s always a baseline listenability to her songs, I’d like to see what would happen if she pushed the boat out a little more.
[6]

Ian Mathers: Especially in video form, probably my favourite combo of justifiable chest-beating fire track and low-blow political catharsis since “Nobody Speak”.
[8]

Edward Okulicz: Maybe some of her tracks have gone harder or had better beats and production (though this one’s fine, don’t get me wrong). But “Thot Shit” has easily the highest ratio of killer lines that made me laugh, snort, smile or gasp to ones that didn’t. And those lines that didn’t aren’t bad, it’s just that sometimes that you need a minute or a line to regain your composure or catch your breath. This is completely imperious stuff in that it’s funny, superbly paced and deliciously smutty. All of Megan’s virtues are in perfect balance.
[9]

A team-up we’re a little lukewarm on…

[Video]
[4.17]

Juana Giaimo: Lately I feel that artists are putting the least amount of effort into their reggaeton songs: a fast beat, some autotune, repeating the pre-chorus twice, reggae piano chords, the expected lyrics about romantic encounters, and of course, saying their own names out loud at the end of the track. A few years ago, it seemed reggaeton was going to revolutionize the whole world. Now, most times it sounds plain and too comfortable — maybe because the amount of views shows that they have nothing to worry about.
[4]

Alfred Soto: Although “Don’t Turn Around” peeks around the corner and says hi, “Miénteme” has more generic scores to settle: reggaeton as spotless as a glass table awaiting coke. 
[3]

Tim de Reuse: I’d expect that a tune with this melancholy of a concept would have something melancholy in its execution to match, but its squeaky-clean instrumental doesn’t have much of a personality at all, other than the strangest snare drum I’ve ever heard in Latin American pop: a low smack on the side of a trash can, excruciatingly stereo-wide, simultaneously too dry and distractingly breathy. It has been five minutes since the last time I listened to the song, and it is the only thing I remember about it with any fidelity.
[3]

Leah Isobel: The slowed-down chorus up front that leads into the real one is a great trick, and foreshadows the rest of the song: it builds momentum through slight shifts within repetition. By the time it gets to the final verse, the stuttered “que no im-, que no im-, que no importa” feels like explosive payoff. This is more down to the song’s structure than its singers, who come off a little anonymous.
[6]

Nortey Dowuona: So usually I do my little impressionist schtick, but this is just so boring I cannot bring myself to do it. TINI has a sweet voice though.
[5]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: The melody is so repetitive and the instrumental so sparse that I found less than three minutes feeling like five. There’s clearly some charisma there, but it would’ve been served more by better music. 
[4]

This song, and this entry, are your yearly reminder that “Soak Up The Sun” by Sheryl Crow is a banger, and you shall not speak ill of it. This, we are less sure of.

[Video]
[6.06]

Alex Clifton: Naaaaaaaaaaaaa, naaaaaaa naaaaaaaaaaaa na-na-na-naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Na-na-na naaaaaaaaaaaaa! Hey, Lorde!
[5]

Jeffrey Brister: You can’t fool me, Lorde — I know this is just an “indie” version of “Soak Up the Sun.” And while I can appreciate its sophistication, restraint, and overall tastefulness, the act of listening leaves me unsatisfied. “Solar Power” is checking all the right boxes — laid-back tempo, an arrangement thick with acoustic guitars and shimmery backing vocals, the drums recorded with that perfect “summer” preset — but it’s not coming together. It’s all too safe, too afraid of embracing the goofiness of the summer.
[5]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: It’s difficult to keep track of all the pandemic walls that people have hit over the past year and a half, but it’s easy to pinpoint the worst one: the “very dark winter” in January/February when thousands of people were dying everyday, the cold felt like millions of tiny daggers dancing on your skin, and it was no longer reasonable to see anyone outside. (Starved for social interaction, at one point, I got a drink with a friend sitting around a bonfire outside a bar; it was cold her beer literally froze into a slushie.) Lorde knows this winter was rough and she’s enlisted her friends (Clairo, Phoebe Bridgers, a particularly restrained Jack Antonoff) to generate something warm and glowing and beautiful to help you move on from it. “Come on and let the bliss begin,” she sings, at her most prophetic and prescient. “Solar Power” is the sound of the world learning how to open up again, the sound of sunshine on your skin before falling asleep at the beach, the sound of safety in numbers, the sound of youth reclaiming itself with beatific abandon. 
[8]

Katie Gill: Lorde’s trolling us, right? We think she loves the beach, she’s such a damn liar, or something like that. I mean, this song is basically HAIM does “Freedom ’90.” I know the first single off an album is usually the worst, but Lorde’s kind of the exception that proves the rule. I’m fine with letting Lorde be happy — if she’s having a good mood and a good time, then why shouldn’t she celebrate it in her music? But this feels surprisingly hokey and phoned in compared to some of her previous work. I mean, it’s a jam no matter what. But it’s a jam that confuses the shit out of me.
[7]

Leah Isobel: “Artisinal ‘Chasing the Sun’” was not on my Lorde Comeback bingo card, but I’m also… not mad about it?
[7]

Gaya Sundaram: “My cheeks in high colour, overripe peaches.” It’s not entirely clear that Lorde here is referring to the cheeks on her face rather than the ones from between which the sun supposedly shines (exhibit A: the album cover). It doesn’t really matter, though, when your ears are once again being caressed by the Kiwi’s take on the bananies/avocadies accent. The way she gives out those “ch”s, clenching her jaw just the right amount so that words like “features,” “p[ea]ctures” and “peaches” retain any lushness that her rasp hasn’t already taken away. Never mind that Winter has gripped the Southern Hemisphere, Ella is living her best Hot Cult Leader Summer life and I desperately hope this album lives up to the promise of genre-based storytelling that everyone is convinced she is aiming for. At the very least, I want to know what horrors she has in place for her culturally diverse yet uniformly skin-toned followers.
[6]

Alfred Soto: I suppose someone had to write the quietest summer song in pop history, and before hearing “Solar Power” I would’ve said Lorde could pull it off. The comparisons to “Freedom ’90” freaked me out, first because “Freedom ’90” is one of the most buoyant songs ever written; secondly because “Freedom ’90” has a hook, pulse, and buoyancy. “Solar Power” is so bland I couldn’t hear the resemblances: I hear a textural wash, like one of the filler tracks on the last Vampire Weekend album. It postures gleefully when I hear no audible glee (the self-harmonizing over the outro is unearned). 
[4]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: Lorde hits the exact vibe of the upcoming northern hemisphere summer just in time for winter in Aotearoa/NZ. The palm-muted guitar strings, so often ill-used of late, work with Lorde’s whispery vocals to create a delectable tension that explodes into the repeated refrain that ends the song. It’s all bolstered by a playfully chorused bass and perfectly restrained drums. “Solar Power” has not left my mind since its release, and is truly a delight. 
[9]

John Pinto: Made my cells think they have walls and chloroplasts.
[7]

Dede Akolo: I for one, have decided that this summer I will do nothing besides be hot. The song’s “drop,” while lackluster, signifies a good separation of the two moods within the song. The cheekiness of the beginning entertains me to no end; I’d like to think that Jesus would be a handsome dude. The second half, jam band, is very beige to be quite honest. The best critique I heard about the song however came from my friend who said that this song “is only suitable in the summer and therefore is useless to me for the rest of the year.” Note that this friend epitomizes this tweet. 
[7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: A work so flavorless that it’s compelled me to draft an eight part essay on the limitations of the Antonoffian approach to pop. The melody here is fun enough, the lyrics clever in the same rough-drafty way that Melodrama did better, but there’s nothing at the center of “Solar Power,” a pop song lacuna that makes me more perplexed every time I listen to it. I started this review off at [6] and every time I come back to it I drop the score another point. Let’s stop here.
[4]

Rose Stuart: I finally came around to Lorde with “Green Light,” enough so that I was excited for her new record. And it’s a fine, albeit bland, song. A fine, bland, Jack Antonoff song. I’ve heard plenty of complaints that Antonoff turns all the singers he works with into one uniform sound, but I didn’t believe it until I heard Lorde sounding indistinguishable from Lana Del Rey. Nay, this is Lana Del Rey. It must be. The word salad lyrics (just with “boy” replacing “baby”), the light, breathy voice, the religious references — oh god, did she just do Lana’s talk-rap? Lorde, sweetie, what did they do to you? 
[4]

Katherine St Asaph: Bleh. I could blame Jack Antonoff for doing whatever it is wrong that he does — for someone whose signature sound is supposedly ruining pop music, no one has convincingly defined what it is, and the best attempts are so broad they could describe three separate people. I could blame the Jason Mrazziness of this, or its suffocating smugness, or the even more suffocating smugness of the people who hate it, or the press release (“There’s someone I want you to meet. Her feet are bare at all times. She’s sexy, playful, feral, and free.”) that sounds like girlboss ad copy for an $15 spiked seltzer. (I have no thoughts or blame about the album cover.) But really, all of this is my scrambling to find some other justification for simple, subjective reality: this song just isn’t for me.
[4]

Oliver Maier: I think Lorde’s songs have worked best, historically, when they’ve been pleas for transcendence: the giddy throb of “Ribs” or her voice writhing against the beat on “Perfect Places,” songs for the feeling of watching cigarette smoke disappear from the balcony of a flat you’ll never find yourself at again, wishing you could follow it up into the night sky. So here’s “Solar Power”, where she’s finally in her perfect place, and it turns out that that is not a very exciting place to be. The first two minutes are coy and cute, maybe a little annoying, laced with flirty psych gestures and breezy jokes but not really justifying their stay. The outro is refreshingly full-bodied — think “Watermelon Sugar” by way of Primal Scream — but also far too little too late, a coda that should have been a chorus. It’s not that I think Lorde should have to be wracked with teenage discontent to make worthwhile music; good vibes are always needed, and besides there’s doubtless plenty of gloom yet to come from her. Still, whether by design or not “Solar Power” is musically half-full and lyrically tepid. Either it’s woefully basic satire or it’s earnest background music, and I’m not that compelled either way.
[4]

Vikram Joseph: Well, this took a bit of getting used to. There’s always been a sense of humour and playfulness in Lorde’s music, no matter how emotionally eviscerating her songs could be, but on “Solar Power” it’s front and centre, and she sounds at peace with the world in a way that’s so unexpected as to be slightly alarming: has she been kidnapped? Is this a coded plea for rescue? Perhaps the pandemic has prompted a reset of sorts. Everyone’s had their thoughts on the myriad songs that “Solar Power” sounds like; for me, “Faith”, “Wishing I Was There”, Sheryl Crow, TLC and Robbie Williams (and not just in “Can I kick it?”) all drift to the surface. It’s a little bit lightweight, but it’s fun and she fully inhabits it, ad-libs and all; now that I’ve had a few days to come round to the idea of Lorde being anything other than 19 and on fire, it doesn’t seem such a bad thing.
[7]

Nortey Dowuona: Lorde’s at her I Am moment!?? WHAT IS HAPPENING!??!
[9]

Feels so close to acceptable, we guess.

[Video]
[4.12]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Amazingly, “By Your Side” finds a halfway point between the early 2010s rote EDM Calvin Harris and the late 2010s funk-influenced Calvin Harris. It’s massive without feeling pontificating, commercial without feeling too generic, and warm without feeling too cheesy — an innocuous summer bop I won’t be bothered to hear overplayed. 
[6]

Will Adams: I feel so… middle distant to you right now.
[5]

Samson Savill de Jong: I really struggle to listen to this all the way through. It’s so .. empty, there’s nothing to this. EDM is capable of conveying emotion, creating a feeling rather than telling a story. But if Calvin Harris ever could do that, he certainly hasn’t here. I feel like I hate this more than is truly warranted, because this is pretty much what you’d expect from a Calvin Harris song, but I find it so aggravatingly devoid of anything that I could latch on to and enjoy. The drop is shit as well, individual notes being played up and down a scale, so it doesn’t even sound fun or catchy. This is why we left the music of 2011 behind.
[0]

Jeffrey Brister: “We Found Love,” photocopied until the details have been nearly lost, giving only the barest impression of what the original might have looked like.
[1]

Oliver Maier: Crisp and perfectly saturated, but “By Your Side” would improve if the verses or bridge felt developed. As is, they’re not much more than serviceable, “Wake Me Up”-flavoured links between Harris’ delirious drops.
[7]

Alfred Soto: Far be it from me to despoil a review by preferring the guitars over the electronics on this theoretical dance track, but facts are facts. 
[4]

Scott Mildenhall: Does this track date back to 2014 or 2009? Either way, it is rote to an exceptional degree; as transparent as a Movementarian in full flight, and autopiloting its way to errors. Calvin Harris may not be new to an ill-suited vocal, but rarely has it been someone else’s. If you want sunshine and lollipops, why stock up on gravel? And if you’ve got gravel, why not cook up something sturdier? Co-writer John Newman would have made a better fist of this agreeable demo, but only after spending more time on it first.
[6]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: Where’s Funk Wav Bounces, Vol. 2?
[4]

Wikipedia: She likes shopping and she is a showboat. Daisy Duck is popular among women though she has made relatively few appearances in media compared to Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck.

[Video]
[4.67]

Mark Sinker: A decade and a half ago, round the time the too-wised-up were trying to argue that in gangsta-bling message and also in form, hiphop had irrecoverably become the universal go-to vector for capitalism triumphant, one key proof of concept was apparently that its rhythms and techniques were just, well, everywhere. But the problem with “everywhere” as a QED was that this included regions whose easy-read symbolic status at a distance too often erased the facts of local cultural-political disputes (a couple of manifestations at the time being Iranian and Polish rap — what did they “mean”? Only a fool would want to generalise: no dumb guessing till you speak Farsi or Polish or better still both…). On one hand this tendency is clearly today exacerbated: like reggae before it, the rhythms of rap present themselves as the global lingua franca, the dimming dream of the one-love utopia delivered via a proto-tongue everywhere (“everywhere”) turned gutterally anti-respectable and cosplay refusenik. And these are archetypes that power will exploit. On the other, the proto-tongue is just so cheekily and blatantly trashy now sometimes (as here: break-out blonde YouTube minx leans into every cliche that jumps a language barrier) that something else is probably at work. Yes: transgressive identity-embrace and problematic horny self-permission (“Ich Dar Das“), yes handwavy, unasked-for and potentially intrusive allyship; but also yes absolutely unapologetic low-bar pulp silliness, forever the aqua regia of pop. Only a fool would want to overthink this…
[5]

Natasha Genet Avery: With its chanted, sassy chorus and an infectious, minimalistic beat, “Ich darf das” is a solid entry in the Bad Bitches Getting Ready to Rage songbook. Most of this score is for “Ass out, Daisy Duck,” which is a line (and caption) for the ages. 
[7]

Samson Savill de Jong: Don’t think you can slip an insipid “I’m sexy and a woman isn’t that radical” song by me just because it’s (mostly) in German — aside, remember when these songs were actually shocking and anthemic and provocative?
[2]

Katherine St Asaph: I’m still adjusting to the fact that it isn’t March 2020 anymore. I’m not ready for it to be 2015 with Iggy Azalea on the charts (and for those charts to be in Germany).
[4]

Austin Nguyen: It’s nice to know that other countries have their “Lip Gloss,” even if it only lasts for a few choruses, the bleacher stomps reduced to lightweight hops, the braggadocio thinned out to a single fallen strand from a cheerleader’s pom pom. Or, perhaps more aptly, a lone tail feather shed from Daisy Duck — which seems ridiculous at first glance, but does Shirin David not have a point? Is Daisy Duck not the Disney Dumptruck Blueprint? +1 for (possibly) enlightening the public.
[4]

Juana Giaimo: I really like Shirin David’s whispery but still fierce flow, but I wish the track was also at her same level. 
[6]