In a red solo cup, perhaps?
Ian Mathers: Barring a couple of minor signifiers this does not sound like country music; it sounds like the theme music for the most excruciatingly boring sitcom the “golden age” of ad-supported network TV ever produced.
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Taylor Alatorre: I don’t know why Post would risk nationwide schadenfreude by carping about a close Cowboys loss, only to forgo regional specificity in the very next line by mentioning I-65 instead of I-45. I guess the thinking is that Texas pride doesn’t sell as well as a denuded Southern or heartland identity — except that Beyoncé and Miranda Lambert exist, and Twisters managed to spin box office gold out of its Oklahoma mythmaking. I stand by my prediction that F-1 Trillion was not going to be a Kid Rock re-enactment, because Kid, like him or not, never laid himself under the Nashville hydraulic press to this extent. In his heart, Post has to know that this isn’t the only way, that real country boys are out here doing collabs not only with out-the-mud rappers, but with Underoath and A Day to Remember and the meme dude from Attack Attack!, that the stars were aligned for this project to be something other than replacement-level. His overriding desire to Become Product leaves all such options greyed out, which, under a more generous light, could be viewed as the self-sublimating act of a humble pre-Renaissance artisan. Ego death in the service of the ultimate tailgate, sponsored by Raising Cane’s.
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Will Adams: If the prominent Bud Light placement in the video isn’t evidence enough of this song’s hollow center, consider how the cynicism in both Post’s and Blake’s performances is already apparent even before the dozens of bowl halftime shows they will undoubtedly be booked to play this at.
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Al Varela: Guess I should have expected that Post Malone’s foray into country music would just be a trojan horse for Nashville to pitch their usual fare to a mainstream audience. I’d be more irritated if I didn’t begrudgingly really like this. A lively fiddle and sweeping organ alongside Post Malone’s expert chorus craftsmanship is an easy way to win me over with even the most generic country radio slop. Blake Shelton and Post Malone have like, no chemistry together but you know what they sound good on the hook so I wouldn’t turn down that drink from either of them.
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Nortey Dowuona: It’s good to see some, just, well, know their place. On an unrelated note, where is my cranberry canape?
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Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: To my great regret, I must note that I was unfair to Morgan Wallen a few months ago. As I heard it — nearly every time I went outside this summer, all up and down the west coast — “I Had Some Help” grew on me, an unwanted song of the summer affixing itself like a parasite to the various systems of my mind. I cannot be quite convinced that it’s good but I likewise cannot be made to hate it; the strange chemistry between Post’s reedy, saintly fuck-up and Wallen’s honking misanthrope turns the song into a diptych far more compelling than originally intended. Case in point: Blake Shelton absolutely does not have the juice here, sounding for all the world like someone’s uncle doing karaoke to a Blake Shelton song. Without an interesting foil, the entire Post Malone country enterprise capsizes; the guy seems pleasant enough but as he ambles through these verses my patience for his schtick erodes quickly.
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Alfred Soto: When Miranda Lambert made the grisly mistake of thinking she could spend her life with Blake Shelton, his glass-eyed mien gave the game away. She had married a streetlight that would never know the pleasure of a dog pissing on him. In this standard it’s-5 o’clock-somewhere thumper he makes Post Malone sound like George Jones.
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Jel Bugle: A straightforward country song about typical country music things — drinking and travelling about, drinking too much, and the need for another drink. A kind of escapism.
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Katherine St. Asaph: I cannot imagine this playing anywhere that alcohol is served.
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