What do you mean, there’s no “Z” in “Philippines?
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[6.30]
Patrick St. Michel: The concept behind “Me & You” seems to be “hey, let’s make a Zedd-sounding song.” Instead of simply copying “Clarity,” Nadine Lustre and company have instead decided to take as many ideas from Zedd as possible and stuff them into one song. The predictable build and escapist chorus emerges, but so too does a bass wub-out and a bridge recalling that time Zedd brought the sounds of 2006 Yasutaka Nakata to American shores. It’s a scatterbrained approach that is more interesting than trying to be “I Want You To Know, Again” though the best detail comes from something that’s all its — those synth droplets dripping onto the song, adding more emotion here than the predictable build-drop structure.
[6]
Brad Shoup: Everything in modulation, from a Zedd-style piano line to a dreamy synth twinkle to a kind of dubstep/filter house breakdown. In total, it’s like an extended internal conversation — there’s a temperance to Lustre’s vocal approach, a four-minute ponder.
[8]
Micha Cavaseno: Admittedly, dubstep-infused pop pisses me off less for my dubstep purism and that now it seems very old hat for pop. Which is a shame because “Me & You” earnestly sells a sweetly heroic view of love, armed with some really great transitions and a song that doesn’t feel forced to live in the joy-overkill baby EDM elements. Such a record might be out of step/touch with the times and will more than likely fall through the cracks, but I must say its a lovely little stumble.
[7]
Will Adams: Nadine Lustre proves an engaging performer in the first verse, until she’s swallowed by the buzzy electro track. Which wouldn’t be so egregious were said track not a tribute-quality recreation of Zedd’s “Spectrum.”
[5]
Thomas Inskeep: Pretty electro-pop with a dubstep breakdown that actually works. And then it gets all video game-y on its bridge, and all glorious hell breaks loose.
[6]
Edward Okulicz: For three-quarters of its running time, “Me & You” is paint by numbers, perfectly aligned and calibrated so that the yearning of the melody rises into euphoria just in time for the chorus, where it’s met by some mini-drops. Some people in the club will get all misty under the lights, and some people will roll their eyes at its obviousness. Then there’s a glorious bit — the previously-middling “you-ooh!” hook gets julienned in a mix that sounds creditably like Yasutaka Nakata. The difference between the stealing of a hack and that of a genius is sometimes just the number of sources.
[9]
Katherine St Asaph: Pleading and sugar poured over beats. It works better if you hear the treacly lyric as a genre trope.
[6]
Ramzi Awn: Clean up your vocals. Write a better melody. Play the synths better. But thanks so much for your time — we’ll get back to you.
[3]
Alfred Soto: The looped monosyllabic hook that is Kylie and Robyn’s gift to modern electropop gets an agreeable airing on this Filipino performer’s single. The verses and chorus just sit there though.
[4]
Iain Mew: It starts out small, Nadine capturing nervous uncertainty and the song forming as a wisp barely enough to support her. “I haven’t seen you in a while”, but “don’t you think we deserve another try?”. Then the beats bubble up for the first chorus, and as she makes her way to certainty (“I always knew that we would be”) the song turns into a matching progression into happiness. She and producer Bojam de Belen match the deft light touch of the vocals to electronic tropes just as sparing and effective, before it’s topped off by a stuttering, synth cut-up breakdown that bursts like so many heart-shaped fireworks.
[9]