But how do you really feel about electro-swing?
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Alfred Soto: Charli XCX did this Swedish duo a favor: by blasting an arena pop chorus over a dance beat she obscured the lameness of the beat. On “Emergency” a sad horn bleats over a house piano preset.
[3]
Scott Mildenhall: “Electro Velvet EP Indefinitely Delayed – PledgeMusic Campaign Cancelled”, read the solemn headline, and the San Marinese jurors responsible for three of the UK’s five points at this year’s Eurovision did weep. However, never fear, for the group’s second single appears to have fallen into eminently capable hands. Icona Pop have always been at their best when doing something outside of the box (and not derivative of themselves), and Ricky Reed has made many hits without any knowledge of where that box is. It’s a perfect match, but every time that piano fails to break into “Runaway”, and instead goes on and on and on, “Emergency”‘s shelf life diminishes. Catchiness can be a double-edged sword.
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Patrick St. Michel: Nothing makes me sadder than a saxophone that sounds sad to be present.
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Will Adams: After being consistently overlooked post-“I Love It” — from their excellent debut This Is… to the anthemic follow-up single “Get Lost” — I can’t really blame Icona Pop for shifting their course. But “Emergency” is the the wrong route on all counts. Tuneless, incoherent, and all undergirded by hideous electro-swing, there’s no way this can be any good for Aino and Caroline.
[2]
Katherine St Asaph: I’ll always root for Icona Pop, who were robbed of critical consideration. And I get that investing in Swedish synthpop in 2015 is like investing in tulips in 1637. But choosing saxobeat is admitting defeat, and Ace Wilder sounds different in a post-Andy Grammer world.
[2]
Micha Cavaseno: It sounds like one of those Fatboy Slim songs that nobody listened to outside of the occasional times they were used in HBO series. The ladies of Icona Pop yet again lack any sort of presence on their records — even their biggest hit was just Charli XCX being the rocket engine beneath their hollow shell. There’s barely a song, barely a groove, barely a reason to stick around.
[1]
Mo Kim: This is not the Icona Pop of yore, who gleefully threw your shit down the stairs before crashing into the Top 40 solely on the strength of sheer brattiness: an explosive debut for sure, but you can’t run a carnival on fireworks alone. Here, blunt-force EDM pyrotechnics have been replaced with a ghostly piano motif and a saxophone riff pulled from a late-night rerun of Pink Panther. The only constant is that four-on-the-floor beat, and here it ticks, filling the space between new sounds with a quiet, moving urgency.
[7]
Ramzi Awn: Whenever the beginning of a song sounds like a YouTube ad, you know you’re in for a treat. Unfortunately for Icona Pop, the revivalist dancehall look is not so much on trend as it is on trial. And the jury’s out.
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Thomas Inskeep: Weaksauce continental Eurodance shit, mashing together elements from at least three or four better singles, for worse.
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Brad Shoup: Normally you record songs like “Nights Like This” so you don’t have to make anonymous hot-jazz Eurodance.
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Iain Mew: There’s an awkward disconnect between the shouting-over-Avicii sections that actually feature Icona Pop and everything else, enough so that it feels like two different songs competing for space. Thing is, I hope they both lose.
[2]
Josh Winters: You know, I really try to advocate for the idea that all genres aren’t inherently bad. But I find it difficult to muster up enthusiasm for electro-swing, the millennial generation’s penchant for refurbished antiques scraped from the bottle of the barrel and set at full volume like 4,000 air-raid sirens going off at the same time. I don’t care; I hate it.
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Cédric Le Merrer: I don’t know if this Caravan Palace-style electro swing has been as ubiquitous in semi-bourgeois bistrots and bobo house parties’ playlists outside of France, but I can’t help mentally associating it with my most boring acquaintances. Icona Pop’s bratty shouts bring a little life to the proceedings, thankfully, but hearing this makes me want to raid the buffet for cheese canapés and champagne before leaving as soon as it’s polite to do so.
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Rebecca A. Gowns: Damn electro swing. Damn it all to hell.
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