In which “Auto-Tune” comes up a lot.

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[4.44]

Megan Harrington: Stop looking because that girl doesn’t exist. Many of her qualities are improbable (she’d lay claim to Alabama, south Georgia, Mississippi, and Louisiana — but not Kentucky or Tennessee), some undefinable (“she’s a sugar sweet drive by”), and one is impossible. The honeycomb body. This is what honeycomb looks like. The corn hair means she’s blond, the country song smile means she’s familiar, the honeycomb body means she’s…a hexagon? I almost never object to Auto-tune, but Tim McGraw built a career without it and it doesn’t seem to serve a musical purpose here, other than the obvious one of capitalizing on a current country music fad. Much like the search for “that girl,” McGraw would probably be happy with just a couple of her better qualities. No need to douse songs in decorative sound effects.
[3]

Anthony Easton: McGraw combines a kind of scopophilic depiction of middle-age ennui with a bro-country aesthetic that exceeds or expands any formal experimentation of his much younger comrades. The guitars in this are shredded, the production shines, and this is a million miles away from both Nashville and his previous hits, like “Drugs or Jesus.” He was so prophetic when he sang “Over and Over” with Nelly, and his career since has been watching people pass him when he struggled to catch up. I hope, listening to this, that he might take the gauntlet thrown down and record work that extends both pop and country ruthlessly — almost as ruthlessly as the (dated) Auto-tune complicates his worn-out voice. 
[7]

Alfred Soto: OK, OK, I get it. Accustoming myself to the horror of imagining McGraw on stage pointing at three different but equally terrorstruck women in his audience while shouting the chorus, I turned to “smile like a country song,” which at least is incoherent; if he’d said “sing like a country singer” he would’ve been in trouble, for McGraw’s still usin’ the Auto-Tune that former collaborator Ne-Yo left on his bar.
[1]

Katherine St Asaph: Right, so you like blonde sorority girls. So does your entire industry, en excruciating masse. You are also 46. Auto-Tune won’t get you carded anymore, and you can stop rolling up to every party; we’re all a little creeped out by you and your “hold my dreams in your blue jeans.”
[2]

Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: The momentary Auto-tune pink-plonk overtaking of bro-country is endlessly fascinating – it’s beginning to feel as though everything and nothing is country. McGraw could probably do a song with Dimmu Borgir and we would still find a way to call it C&W over the guttural roars. As for now, McGraw is going to get as much mileage as he can out of sunset-postcard sweet robo-nothings, like the corny salesman he is.
[4]

David Sheffieck: Tim McGraw should be a little too old to pull a Miley, but here he is, dropping “funky cold medina” into the second line like the the taxi man turned on the radio and he put his hands up, they’re playin’ his song.
[3]

Patrick St. Michel: This song sucks, but I’m inflating my score after reading the YouTube comments (I know, I know) and seeing nothing but whiny “gahhhhh Auto-tune, why Tim why???” junk. The Auto-Tune is the only good part of this song, adding a weird robo-sheen to a boring hook and dumb lyrics (Louisiana lipstick does not sound enjoyable). Keep pissing them off, Tim.
[5]

Sabina Tang: The Auto-Tune and drum machine are an irritant that neither transforms nor disguises McGraw’s upfront virtues — or the tune’s, for that matter (yeah, yeah, I liked Taylor Swift better before she went electronic, too). Here be Pop Radio Signifier, I suppose, though the lyrical construction isn’t urban-remix-ready so much as it’s urban-cover-ready. G-Side would do wonders. Initially I assumed my reading of the lyrical content was influenced by the Thomas Harris novels I’ve been mainlining, but the serial killer vibe really is ratcheted up to eleven. Still, I find it catchy; I’ve also got a serious hankering for liver and fava beans.
[7]

Brad Shoup: It’s Tims a-plenty! Here’s R&B Tim, disguising hip-hop hooks as a country-style catalog. There’s Highways-of-the-Mind Tim, pushing into the night. Now it’s Ardent Tim, as obsessed as he was on “Something Like That”, but without the happy ending. Every Tim is grateful for pitch correction software, and has been for some time. The annoyed guitar stings help too. A fine companion for the mood of “The One That Got Away.”
[8]