Ruth B
“Lost Boy”
#75
I have a hard time understanding the hatred directed toward “Lost Boy”. Yes, it’s the worst sort of high-school sophomore poetry, self-congratulatory and self-pitying at the same time, and yes, the performance is bland. But those two things describe so much pop music they’re barely worth mentioning. I give “Lost Boy” credit for is it’s simplicity: a simple melody, a simple arrangement, nothing garish or self-aggrandizing—listen to that other Vine phenom, Shawn Mendes, and consider the difference. As for the Vine business itself: no, I’ve never heard an internet sensation that was any good, either, but that doesn’t automatically make anything from there repugnant, and some people seem to have written this off based on it’s source alone. Sometimes a record is just bad, regardless of the circumstances of it’s creation. This is, or at least should be, one of those.
Dustin Lynch
“Mind Reader”
#85
Lynch calls his girlfriend a mind reader because she knows exactly what to do to turn him on. In which case, most women, and even most men, have achieved the same level of clairvoyance. Doesn’t make her sound very distinctive. Maybe Lynch is trying to build a career on being obtuse. I don’t think that will take him very far. Or do much to turn her on, either.
Migos
“Look At My Dab”
#87
The monomaniacal repetition of “Look at my dab!” is the most irritating thing about this record, but it’s also one of the two things that makes it worth listening to. The other is when a member of the group declares that dab isn’t just a dance, it’s a way of fashion. Way of life, I think he means, or way of culture, and if that message came across more strongly I might like this record a lot more. Right now I like it a little, but only when I have the patience to look at all those dabs.
Disturbed
“The Sound Of Silence”
#88
Replacing the condescending self-superiority of the original with a more studied anger is, on the surface, a good idea. But to pull it off you need to have a singer who sounds a lot less studied than David Draiman. You also need an arrangement that doesn’t emphasize every line like it was the word of God. A minute-twenty thrash version might work, but I bet there’s already one out there and I bet it sucks. Not as much as this, though.
Alessia Cara
“Wild Things”
#91
The words cascade as deftly as they did on “Here”, but to less effect, largely because on “Wild Things” Cara is more concerned with making a statement than setting a scene. The generalizations plod more than they inspire, and hide most of the personality that made “Here” work.
Ty Dolla $ign Featuring E-40
“Saved”
#93
Exactly what “saved” means on this track is hard to say, but it’s obvious what it means to Ty Dolla $ign and E-40: it means that bitch wants their money. They’re on to her wiles, though—dressing up nice and acting sexy and all that—and they’re not falling for it. E-40 offers to become her pimp, but that’s as far they’re willing to go. The music is above average, though, and E-40 is impossible not to enjoy. Should I just ignore the words, then? I wish I could.
O.T. Genasis Featuring Young Dolph
“Cut It”
#94
In which your friendly neighborhood baking-soda dealer advises his apprentice to lower his prices, and maybe the quality of his merchandise. I appreciate the single-mindedness of the hook, and there’s something about Genasis’s voice that draws you in, but there’s not much to the track overall.
Desiigner
“Panda”
#96
The complaints about Desiigner sounding like Future are silly: for one thing, everybody has been copying Future the last couple of years. For another, Desiigner sounds better than Future right now, more streamlined and focused, though he doesn’t have any more to say. And, finally, a lot of the complaints are based on the regional squabbling that has long been the rap equivalent of the “authenticity” wars in pop and Americana (only with the occasional murder). I really thought hip-hop was over that sort of shit. But then, I thought America was over fascism, too.
Belly Featuring The Weeknd
“Might Not”
#100
Once again, a rapper finds himself disappearing in the wake of his guest. So much so that I don’t even know if Belly’s vanishing act is a negative or a positive. As for The Weeknd, stripped of his usual studio murk and inspired to enunciate for some reason, he sounds like an untroubled Michael Jackson even as he sings about his drug-induced paranoia. To put it simply, he has half the voice of Michael, and all the depth of Tito. Which is probably being unfair to Tito.
