Similarly – this feller’s had three hits now. How?…
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[4.75]
Rodney J. Greene: Stop singing through your damn nose.
[3]
Jessica Popper: So far all of Jason Derulo’s hits have been thanks to female singers. It was the hook, sampling Imogen Heap, in “Whatcha Say” which got it to no.1 in America. It was the familiarity of “In My Head” (which was undeniably extremely similar to Lady GaGa’s “Just Dance”) which gave Jason his first UK no.1. Now he’s releasing a song which, as far as I know, is not based on any superior female artist’s work. “Ridin’ Solo” is actually a really pleasant, catchy pop song, but it would be so much better if he didn’t sing everything through a vocoder. You have to wonder if he can even sing without it. Who knows if he’s even human?
[7]
Martin Skidmore: For me, he needs to be writing and producing for others — this is a strong song, and the clicks and washes of sound are excellent, but his voice, autotuned most of the way, is weak and unpleasantly awkward on some of the big moments — the way he sings “solo” is positively weird.
[7]
Katherine St Asaph: Things Auto-Tune is not to be used for: false falsetto, making stutters during spell-alongs so “solo” becomes “ssoloo”, smearing across the entire vocal like margarine, continuing Jason Derulo’s career.
[3]
Alfred Soto: Derulo imitates a kazoo, organ keeps a discreet distance, he still ridin’ solo.
[3]
Chuck Eddy: So if Ciara’s (still unsexy) “Ride” is a sex song, as several in these parts have claimed, what does that make this one? Jason’s turning Japanese, I really think so. Pumping his way into his hat. Can’t stop messin’ with the danger zone — oop, she bop. He admits it, too: “Loving myself makes me wanna sing.” Somebody better contact Dave Marsh to find out whether this qualifies for the next volume of Onan’s Greatest Hits.
[6]
John Seroff: This guy appears to have only one song but hey; at least he sings it at slightly different tempos, right? “Ridin’ Solo” is Derulo in vapid optimist mode: on cloud nine, making it through the weather, getting his sh- together, never knowing single could feel this good. Good for him, but I bet his ex is still thanking god she doesn’t have to listen to this pablum anymore.
[3]
Jonathan Bogart: Tipping over into six for the sudden emergence of an electro-falsetto far too late in the song to rescue it. If he’d had the balls to sing the whole thing in that girl-chipmunk voice, it might have been a 10; as it is, it’s exactly the sort of bland, undistinguished pop single which twenty years from now will find a new lease on life as nostalgically redolent of its era.
[6]