Because this is…

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Edward Okulicz: If I learned one thing from 90s chilled ska nightmares, it’s that life really is too short so love the one you got. The best way to do this is to never, ever, ever listen to any music that sounds like this. I guess if you wanted something equidistant between Sublime and Jack Johnson, you might like this, but.. really?
[0]

Al Shipley: Loathsome faux-Sublime with Sublime’s own new Ripper Owens, this is being denied its rightful place as the worst cod raggae on the charts this summer only because of that Travie McCoy song.
[3]

Mallory O’Donnell: Imagine my chagrin when I discovered that these clowns are actually affiliated with Sublime. What could I possibly come up with that would be more damning than that?
[3]

David Raposa: Dude, like of course these chillax’d skunky brahs are from Southern Cali. No doubt Bradley Nowell has some beyond-the-grave santeria in store for their collective punk-ass.
[3]

Chuck Eddy: Okay, I admit it — I am starting to feel ashamed that I ever wrote anything good about Sublime. Never wrote anything good about the Chili Peppers, either — does that make things better? Anyway, this is a fugitive tale with lovers hiding from sheriffs in cantinas, kind of like Billy Joe and Bobbie Sue in Steve Miller’s “Take The Money And Run”, so I approve in theory. Maybe some country band with musical skills will cover it sometime.
[2]

Alfred Soto: One of the most rebarbative aspects of aging is reliving what I thought had died ignominiously years ago, and having to kill it all over again with limited resources and attention span. So let’s try again: I blame neither Bradley Nowell nor white people afflicted with rhythm envy for this ska nonsense — I blame bars and restaurants for booking them in the first place. Gravedigger, take thy shovel.
[0]

Martin Skidmore: American alternative reggae rock, and if that doesn’t make your spirits sink you have a stronger stomach than I do. It’s kind of acoustic campfire strumming, and to be fair some of the singing is smooth and pleasant enough, and there is a bit of a tune. If you heard some dudes singing it on a beach at night you’d be impressed, but I can’t say it would occur to me to think they needed a recording deal.
[3]

Jonathan Bogart: I tried to imagine my way into liking this song, being the kind of person who would find it charming or soulful or cinematic, and ended up shivering uncontrollably in the midday heat. Fuck all Orange County bands, just on principle.
[2]