Reader Ian takes us into less controversial territory.
[Video][Website]
[7.62]
Ian Lefkowitz: Of all the feelings kicked up by 2017 — anger, resistance– among the most profound for me is that of disillusionment. The insidious thing about disillusionment is how it rewards your most cynical internal voice, preying upon your memories to make you feel foolish and privileged for ever having had hope in the first place. I don’t recommend staying in this headspace long, but if you need it to be soundtracked, I recommend Thea Raknes’ lonely indie-disco single about a relationship that may have been lost, or may have never really existed in the first place. “City of Gold” isn’t as relentless as some of Thea’s other singles, but she always has a propulsive energy to her work, deftly reaching into her yearning head voice with restraint. It’s a song built for twilights, when you can best pair the city of gold with a sky of vermillion.
[9]
Alfred Soto: Haim-like in its electronic gloss, the steadiness of its pulse, and the commitment to beguiling surfaces, “City of Gold” begins as relationship trauma and ends as a sigh — the world’s fucked up and it ain’t getting better, but at least we have our machines.
[7]
Iain Mew: The moody setup and impeccable production are a fine start, but the song leaves me unsatisfied in the end. It’s something about how tamely it progresses; there is never enough of a sense of any kind of wonder, glimpsed and lost or otherwise.
[5]
Tim de Reuse: Clunky, dreamy ear candy; gorgeous to half-listen to, but when you pay too much attention you might start getting irritated at the sheer weight of the formless, downy fluff that comes to rest on top of the big finale like a snow bank.
[7]
Claire Biddles: With shades of MUNA and Solange’s “Losing You,” “City of Gold” is an 80s-influenced track that has the melodic charm and intensity of feeling to elevate it past genre pastiche and towards the stars. There’s something magical about the emotional complexity that is deftly wrung from such a deceptively simple hook.
[9]
Olivia Rafferty: So endearing is that climb up and down melodic hillsides with a steady, unrelenting pace. These fuzzy synths and hopeful vocals just beg for a sheer blouse and a moonlit night. “City of Gold” is real dancing-on-my-own pop music, for sure.
[8]
Julian Baldsing: “City of Gold” is essentially a song about torment — how a person can find themselves trapped in a cycle of revisiting past memories, rekindling old emotions, constantly wishing to rewrite history until every cliff-hanger is turned into a happy ending. It’s also a song about transition, and how that can be a special kind of torment on its own — being not quite far enough along to find fresh happiness in the new, but too far removed to find any comfort in the old.
[8]
Joshua Minsoo Kim: The title leads me to believe that what we’re hearing in the intro is the sound of people digging for gold (and specifically, it sounds like something that could have soundtracked Bill Morrison’s Dawson City: Frozen Time). As it fades into the actual instrumentation, the snares clang like pickaxes: a cruel reminder of all the hope and excitement and work that defined this relationship. Thea Raknes is left grieving, in disbelief of how something — someone — could leave her like this. The instrumentation is appropriately repetitive, creating a space in which she can reside. As she reflects and processes, the warmth of these synths embrace her like a close friend. Even the shaker, placed rather forward in the mix, acts as a source of appreciated support; its sense of constant movement is vital for someone who feels so paralyzed. Those spurts of guitar in the second verse are like a sudden burst into tears, but it’s Raknes’s warbling cries in the outro that truly help us understand that she’s not just hurting, but healing.
[8]