Facebook: “A sinister and evil cult which lures young people into drug-taking,” which, arguable…
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Alfred Soto: “All hail the arrival of another odd-pop export from New Zealand,” crows the SPIN article (ten years ago it would have said “odd girl export,” so I guess that’s progress). I don’t hear the oddness at all so much as singers doing what they do best: luxuriating in self-provoked noises. For all that, though, there’s not much else.
[5]
Scott Mildenhall: “Doprah began under the name Doprah Winfrey,” and there’s still time to further change it. Still, it is at least memorable, and that does at least allow a segue into how unmemorable this song is, so much a series of reference points that it’s a scattergraph. The lyrics seem best lost in the haze, but what can you latch onto of a haze?
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Patrick St. Michel: It’s creepy, I get it.
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Juana Giaimo: The main flaw of this song is how it was turned into a mess in order to seem eerie. The childish vocals and the violins are a perfect combination for a horror movie, but it’s still the desynchronized beat that we first notice. The prechorus comes in too soon, when we are still puzzled about what’s going on, and the chorus is disorganized, both vocalists competing for the listeners’ attention without caring to complement each other.
[5]
Megan Harrington: The trick of burying the vocals under shimmering piles of noise and a clacking beat is probably meant to situate the listener in an aviary or space station, but it’s the sonic equivalent of a bad haircut. My only instinct is to sweep their messy bangs back so I can see their faces.
[5]
Anthony Easton: I like the perversity of hiding most of the vocals of a singer you are trying to make a case for. When the vocals pop through a jangle of noise, I am profoundly bored, which means the strategy must succeed somewhat.
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Brad Shoup: This is what a Lana Del Rey song sounds like to people about to hurl.
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