It took more than five minutes of searching to find her full name so I gave up.
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[4.60]
Katherine St Asaph: “My Name Is Kay” is everything wrong with music in 2011, and I love it. Kay(-ella-ella-eh-eh-eh) obviously knows her Ke$ha, but she knows her Missy, her Ting Tings and her timeworn book of middle-school cheerleading chants just as well. She knows who not to know; I choose to hear “asking stupid questions like ‘who’s that chick'” as a David Guetta diss, and nobody shall tell me otherwise. And the twister of vaguely funky bass twitches, atonal piano, handclaps and silence here is the exact bizarro track Cher Lloyd should comatize someone for. Kay either isn’t trying at all or straining to produce even this much, and you could contort your rhetoric and prose for weeks turning this into pop’s future or downfall. But fear not; she’s been handed to Ryan Tedder.
[7]
Brad Shoup: This track’s wearing its sources like merit badges, which makes the thoughtless patois, osmium-dense couplets, irony-free proclamations of G-hood and bland slap-bass line go down just a bit smoother. She can’t even get a good chorus out without a heap of tonedeaf branding. My favorite part? Probably the facepalm-worthy coma line. Second would be the quick summary of the first verse’s relevant phrases (“on the interstate… crumpets and lemonade”) like she’s trying to summarize a class PowerPoint presentation. Looks like the most famous K comin’ outta Cape Breton is gonna remain Ms. Beaton.
[2]
Edward Okulicz: I hate to say it, but as far as dorky-girl-rap goes, this is twice the song Robyn’s “Konichiwa Bitches” or “Fembot” ever were. Even the fact that months before it became a hit it was bigged-up by Perez Hilton can’t make me hate it.
[7]
Pete Baran: It skirts dangerously close to the Ting Tings whenever the subject of her name comes up, and as it’s called “My Name Is Kay,” it comes up a lot. There is nothing wrong with two songs discussing the common memory problem of not being able remember someone’s name, but in such a similar way means Kay is on the back foot. If this had turned up before “That’s Not My Name” it probably would have stopped the Ting Tings ever happening. As it is, its a fun and oddly funky bit of pop rap that does make you wonder if Kay’s real name is Mary, Jo or Lisa.
[6]
Michelle Myers: A Canadian self-described “OG” reps mad “crumpets and marmalade.” You know, I went an expensive prep school, and there were a lot of assholes there. I’m talking about kids in popped-collar Lacoste shirts beat boxing in the hallways, manicured Evian-drinkers flashing gangs signs in their facebook profile pics, and 16-year-olds hot-boxing in their brand new Escalades. This one kid, a doctor’s son, got expelled for having an unloaded pistol in his BMW. Anyway, those people were awful and so is this song.
[0]
Jer Fairall: I like the idea of commercial pop taking on Spectorian beats about as much as I dislike the idea of a Canadian Ke$ha, but the whole production on this is such a joy, right down to the gospel “oooh”s on the chorus Bootsy-esque funk licks, that I’m nearly willing to dig this despite the onslaught of exhausted party-girl cliches. Nearly.
[6]
Josh Love: I couldn’t stop thinking of Natalie Portman’s Saturday Night Live rap while watching the similarly black-and-white clip for this one (Kay even resembles Portman a bit). Unfortunately, I think Natalie’s the better rapper. And sorry, but “Gucci Gucci” pretty much obliterated the ceiling for mediocre white female emcees in 2011.
[5]
Alfred Soto: Wearing her Hollaback Girl Badge with pride, she had me at “crumpets and marmalade.” The Lily Allen meets M.I.A. shtick, adorned by woos, slap bass solo, and handclaps, is most fetching. From the comments I’ve read on YouTube, this track will inspire a lot of absurd sniping about prep school values. Hey, I went to prep school, and if it did anything right it was to show us how to boast with panache and wit.
[7]
Anthony Easton: I feel like we review the worst of Canadian music, and I feel like I need to apologise for that. This is just absurd and derivative and badly written and silly and so not the Halifax I know and love. I’m so sorry.
[4]
Sally O’Rourke: Are you Mary Kay? Are you Sir Kay? Are you Stubby Kaye? Who wants to know? Who wants to know?
[2]