Schaffely! (Not Schlafly.)
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[6.62]
Brad Shoup: I was keeping a Glitterbeat list for awhile; I’m sure I’ve got it in Google Docs somewhere. Maybe this is more of a Goldfrappbeat, I dunno. Anyway, Haines ticks shit off her bucket list behind some poor church; the firemen show up and everyone does riddles to the sick groove. It’s more louche than something that namechecks Rubber Soul has a right to be.
[7]
Iain Mew: A glam-dance stomp which reminds me of Muse’s lead-off single formula, done with less flair. I could imagine them playing Double Dutch with a hand grenade too, although they would actually make it sound like a matter of life and death. The annoying noise throughout the song that sits at the midpoint of kettle whistle and dial-up modem is just there to try to distract from how little else is going on, right?
[3]
Katherine St Asaph: I love slinky nihilism! It could be one of my iTunes genres. I love Emily Haines’ voice, too, particularly when slicked with arsenic. It’s like this is deliberate bait.
[8]
Alfred Soto: Like Tanya Donnelly hiring Glyn Johns and rocking out in 4/4 time on King, Emily Haines seizes the song by the lapels and gives it a good shaking. Since I know little to nothing about Metric besides what I’ve heard and forgotten a couple years ago, the swagger on evidence here impresses. It’s as if the title alluded to a situation she recognizes: she’s so much older when she’s writing about a youth she missed.
[7]
Jamieson Cox: Metric have been superstars in their native Canada since 2005’s Live it Out, pulling off the difficult balancing act of releasing platinum records and earning plenty of airtime while still maintaining a sense of indie cachet, courtesy of the band’s Broken Social Scene connections and stylish alternative vibe. “Youth Without Youth” is the next entry in a long line of glammy, vaguely astral singles — their last record, Fantasies, had three or four such tracks — but there isn’t anything here that makes the song pop or stand out from its predecessors. The band is successful and tenured enough to allow me to call this “Metric by numbers.” Of course, I’ll be hearing it from nearby cars and bars all summer anyway.
[5]
Jer Fairall: The best thing Metric ever did was to drop the coy indie-pop act and go full-out rawk on Fantasies, finally delivering the 21st century’s answer to Veruca Salt that we didn’t know we needed until we had it. “Youth Without Youth” represents far more suit-following than progress — stomping and monolithic yet eerie and sinister, with Haines’ vocal buzz-sawing its way through a convoluted lyric that conflates some bizarre strain of violent menace with the band’s loving tradition of pop reverence — but it feels like exactly where they should be. I would have liked a chorus, though.
[7]
Anthony Easton: There is something delightful about Emily Haines’ efforts at making childhood games into full adult menace — backed up by guitars that grind like thumbscrews into flesh. The instrumental coda at the end makes everything paranoid for its own sake.
[9]
Jonathan Bogart: I had begun to assume that the reason Metric is widely beloved of a certain stripe of music fan is that they were one of the few new-wave revivalists maintaining a baseline of pop competence, just Real Music enough for those who grow faint at the vulgarity of the charts, just melodic enough for those who get pissy about indie’s muffled obscurantism. But hey, swinging shall set you free.
[7]