But does he pull up his pants and do the rockaway?
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[4.38]
Alfred Soto: Boring feet have no rhythm.
[2]
Thomas Inskeep: Generically soft-rock-country, “I Don’t Dance” could’ve been a Paul Davis single in 1982 that only charted at Adult Contemporary. Nothing about this is notably country at all. Actually, nothing about this is notable at all.
[4]
Mallory O’Donnell: “I Don’t Dance” is a good theme for a country song, but it’s not this one. Bro-dudes seem to think that if you stir the musical pot slowly enough and struggle to get words out it constitutes “emoting,” but real emotion and actual, physical dancing have nothing to do with this dour, hesitant bedroom stroke. If it did then the erstwhile theme might consist of something more tangible than “I’m a dude, so I don’t dance.”
[3]
Katherine St Asaph: Cool, I don’t dance either! I also don’t do sap. Leave me with my chair, the quiet clock, and the hazy instrumental while you proclaim your loviness to anyone else.
[5]
Patrick St. Michel: The central metaphor is sorta sloppy: does he not like dancing, or is he just bad at it? Or does the second part explain the first? But this is otherwise a sweet bit of wedding-day country that is at its best when the guitar twang sounds like its coming from far off in the distance.
[5]
Brad Shoup: Someone give this dude a medal, right?! Lee sounds like he’s gonna bawl, and I just can’t tell whether it’s from love or embarrassment. Timpanis explode and pianos pound; good luck cutting loose to this.
[3]
Anthony Easton: Brice is solid B-list: standing outside the barbarians at the gate, not making a fuss of it, like Church. He also is not afraid of being sentimental. This soft, tempered ballad is a brilliant example of how patient he is. It’s terribly simple, but its plainness is joyous, moving, and has a solidity that doesn’t need the show. It is a ten for the “oooh”s, and for how he sings “girls,” and for that damper on the guitar, and for how the chorus spins.
[10]
Jonathan Bradley: Lee Brice’s moan shares its grating nasal quality with a breed of particularly pissy pop-punk vocalist. The punk kid, however, would at least have the decency to finish a chore like “I Don’t Dance” at double speed.
[3]