Final tally comes out to Yah: 6 Nah: 1
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[7.43]
Megan Harrington: There’s not a dud bar in “Nah.” No expense is spared and yet it’s never gratuitous. Best of all, it’s the most definitive argument ever made for Cam’s irrelevance.
[10]
Dan MacRae: This is the sound of an artist effortlessly obliterating everything in their path. It’s like watching a video game prodigy murder your favourite title while you wonder if they’ve switched the difficulty settings or got sneaky with a Game Genie or something. If .gif sets of Junglepussy aren’t clogging up your Tumblr feed already, they will be by the holidays.
[9]
Josh Winters: I can’t enjoy a 20-piece box of midnight McNuggets anymore without wondering how exactly Junglepussy would punish me for indulging my sinful desires. It would be harsh but we both know it’d only be for my personal well-being. It’s that kind of tough yet nurturing love combined with her vast widsom that makes her a modern-day prophet, and “Nah” is one of the many self-love/self-care manifestos that make up the scripture that is Satisfaction Guaranteed. She leads by example, demonstrating her ways of playing with lustful fuckboys while properly nourishing the mind and body with unbreakable poise. She makes it all look so easy but she never ceases to help you get to her level, which is why I constantly look to her for guidance.
[9]
Anthony Easton: I bought cheap wine and pumpkin spice Pop Tarts at Trader Joe’s this week. It didn’t strike me as that healthy — unless healthy at Trader Joe’s is some kind of cunnilingus euphemism?
[7]
Micha Cavaseno: I’ve routinely avoided the music of Junglepussy like a plague, because her domain is a scene I don’t love to put it intensely light; an artisan class of rappers who sell a “fashion-conscious” a.k.a. often generic form of palatable urban entertainment for an audience who doesn’t want to be seen associating with the vulgarities of the plebs. It’s a world where Mykki Blanco can turn the identities of urban teenage girls into a costume, but it’s cool, because “ARTE,” “TRANSGRESSION.” It’s a world that spreads itself toxically into the media cultures of fashion, journalism and entertainment so viciously that you have human rappers like Sasha Go Hard being sucked in and spat out over generic beats by producers whose only filter through rap is the download section of Dat Piff and YouTube. So I won’t lie when I say that no matter how engaging a personality, how fun and witty Junglepussy might be, I think her fanbase are sick deviant culture vultures or misguided adapters of urban signifiers through an “intelligent” filter to avoid the embarrassment of associating with anything too ghetto. But I also wasn’t expecting some generic Statik Selektah boom-bap and corny Redman circa ’92 flows, so now I’m MORE upset at her terrible fake trap-club music.
[1]
Will Adams: With each consecutive line from Junglepussy — each one killer, cutting you down in every imaginable way from your sexual aptitude to your grocery preferences — the languid beat becomes more of a hindrance. “Nah” is in and out in under two and a half minutes, for better or for worse.
[7]
Brad Shoup: Shy Guy coaxes irony and poignance from different parts of the same heavy-folk composition; the one-note organ gets things particularly blunted. It’s pretty; it’s also a pie in the face. Junglepussy comes out clean though, with the finesse wordplay and the perfect comic timing and the ace syntactical choices. She’s casually cold; the result is a drive-by committed in a gondola.
[9]