The stunna shades backlash finally hits…
[Video]
[4.62]
Hazel Robinson: Oh joy, a diss song about a girl who’s made of plastic from some young men aiming for that envious market position of post-Owl-City-Perez-Hilton-neg-pop. I’ve finished re-hinging my jaw after the enormous yawn I just unleashed and yet this song is still going on, which has knocked it down several more points.
[1]
Anthony Easton: I find the message so odious, and so boring, that I feel guilty for enjoying the chorus as much as I do. All of that contempt bubbles and overflows — like swamp gas in a tar pit.
[5]
W.B. Swygart: Yes, it’s the EDM “Mr Writer” you always knew you didn’t need!
[1]
Dan MacRae: Things get a touch MC Miker G & DJ Sven in parts, eh? “Cheap Sunglasses” smacks me as something you’d find in the foam of a Foster The People jingle crafting session.
[5]
Patrick St. Michel: Soda-store electronics and ah. Only ah.
[2]
Alfred Soto: That “ah” appended to the ends of verses pissed me off; it supports my suspicion that from the “you’re so radical” line to the synth strings swelling in the wrong places this is an example of mannered, fussed-over, would-be pop.
[5]
David Sheffieck: The production’s light enough to float away, which wouldn’t be a problem if Koma’s vocal could ground it in anything approaching relatable emotion. The most interesting thing here is that while the titular metaphor seems a bit labored, the metonomy in the song’s repeated use of “ah” works perfectly. It’s the only time I feel like I know what Koma’s talking about, so it’s lucky that it makes up approximately half of the poor man’s “Rich Girl” lyric.
[5]
Katherine St Asaph: In 2016 there will be songs repurposing every component of a college girl’s wardrobe to call her fake. This would be somewhat rich coming from anyone, but Matthew Koma? In the hypothetical blue book of vocalists’ market value, Mike Posner is cheap sunglasses. Matthew Koma is like dangling a six-pack ring off your eyes.
[4]
Ashley Ellerson: “You’re tacky and I hate you” — that’s what I got out of this song, in addition to karma making its rounds. Such a catchy song to poke fun at someone’s (deserved) misfortune. The lyrics are cliché, but calling someone “cheap sunglasses” is a new insult that I’m not against using. I’m a little irritated with the fact that “ah” is a legit line-ender in this song, but maybe we should pretend this is a way to censor harsher words that could be said? In the end, Koma’s voice and attractiveness make the insults of “Cheap Sunglasses” more than forgivable.
[8]
Jonathan Bradley: Over a chintzy burble about as tropical as a plastic flamingo, Matthew Koma chirrups sour thoughts about someone whose shit is way hotter than his own. Haters need anthems too, and this one is thankfully more peppy than it is petulant. The sparkling rush of schadenfreude in “your limousines get stuck in traffic” — rush hour, the great leveller! — distracts from the conceptually shaky title. “Your cheap sunglasses” — is the thought left unfinished? “You’re cheap sunglasses” — is it an awkwardly truncated metaphor, and if so, can’t even the most expensive sunglasses be seen through?
[8]
Brad Shoup: I never got off the throne of skulls I timeshare with Pitbull long enough to suggest we cover Tiësto/Koma’s “Wasted” — it’s too late and just as well, since my cultural pleasures tend to be silly and solitary. Koma distinguished himself by becoming a multitude, a bunch of hysteric voices bobbing over the bosh. Faced with what sounds like a rejected Van She remix, he can’t be bothered to get off his stool.
[4]
Will Adams: After spending years as a remixer-for-hire, RAC began releasing original songs that featured past collaborators providing their familiar vocals with his signature sound. The sonic consistency was there: mid-tempo pop songs that sparkled with clean drum kits and simple guitar riffs. But what of thematic consistency? It’s there, too, it turns out. “Cheap Sunglasses” sounds like the sequel of “Hollywood,” which saw Penguin Prison calling out an antagonist who’d submitted to the superficiality of that city. Now, we’ve got Matthew Koma’s sandpaper voice, placing his own antagonist as the title metaphor. It easily recalls my embittered youth, when it seemed that all I saw around me was fake, and that only I maintained some authenticity. For a producer who relies so much on other musicians for vocals and lyrics, Andre Allen Anjos has been able to carve out his own artistic voice, all the while creating some of the catchiest summer tunes on the market.
[9]
Alex Ostroff: How on earth did Matthew Koma co-write half of 2012’s best pop album? I can hear touches of “This Kiss” and “I Know You Have a Girlfriend” here, but it’s so anemic and (sorry) cheap in comparison to Carly’s full sonics and disco bounce. It doesn’t help that while CRJ’s delivery manages to imbue with sweetness even songs where she’s straight-up stealing someone else’s boyfriend, this guy just drips contempt that can barely be disguised through even the peppiest bits of this shlock. The affected obnoxious “ah“s and sharp intakes of breath grate too. We see right through you, bro.
[3]