Dreezy ft. T-Pain – Close to You

http://www.thesinglesjukebox.com/?p=22634

Closing out Readers’ Week, Sam picked a sexy, throwback slow jam.


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[7.00]
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Will Rivitz: You know that attitude which stipulates that the sweet spot for nostalgia is between the ’50s and the ’70s, that assumes that any pop music that comes out of the sounds of those times is automatically worth praising? You know, the kind of attitude that allows for atrocities like “Marvin Gaye” to grace the airwaves? “Close to You” is kind of like that, except it’s, well, good? It evokes the same slinky-noir mid-century images of evening gowns and the NYC skyline, but instead of sounding tacky or dated it nails the timelessness it’s going after. It’s not quite clear why this is the one that does it, but its anachronisms might help: a beat fusing classic R&B with electronic suaveness, a vocal breathiness straight out of the late ’90s, a T-Pain bridge ripped straight from the mid-’00s. It’s vintage, but it achieves that effect with modern techniques, so that it’s actually exciting and new. Of course, it helps that the King of Auto-Tune delivers the most physically forceful verse he’s put out in quite some time.
[8]

Ryo Miyauchi: From her playing the jack of all trades to her strong sense of melody that complements the silky beat, “Close to You” is a fine introduction to Dreezy for the uninitiated. But it’s also an incomplete one. I keep thinking back to Crystal Leww’s blurb on “Body”: “Dreezy’s singing voice is fine, but what made her stand out was always her ability to outrap the boys.” And in No Hard Feelings, she outsings them too. “Close to You” may be her moment in her album to finally wind down from her dudes’ wrongdoings. Isolated, it’s politely pleasant and Dreezy got more to show than that.
[6]

Iain Mew: “Trying to get close to you,” they sing, and after a carefully moody five minutes on both sides, achieving it still feels like something just out of reach. Its pleasures are slow and sparing, but it gives a feeling of making the imperfect good enough for now.
[6]

Jonathan Bogart: Lovely, pillowy, smoldering… and dull. Dreezy’s best when she’s snapping some schmuck’s head off, and T-Pain’s best when he can inject just a little sleaze into his buttery robo-romanticism. “Close to You” is so throwback classy T-Pain’s role could be played by Peabo Bryson. Nice enough for nostalgists, but it amounts to a refusal to look 2016 in the eye.
[6]

Ramzi Awn: Bedroom jams never sounded like this. The pan of synths pulse with bated breath on “Close to You,” an invitation waiting to be opened. Dreezy rides the rhythm with no loss for ideas, and when it kicks in, the title hook is nothing short of perfection.
[8]

Alfred Soto: Using Auto Tune as a performance enhancing drug, T-Pain has performed on a number of stellar tracks over the years, most recently writing and producing a stellar opener for K Michelle. Often, though, the Auto Tune is more like Astroglide. Dreezy’s tact forces him into a response, though, resulting in a rare modern R&B duet with frisson.
[7]

Thomas Inskeep: Normally known for spitting fire (she’s one of the current queens of Chicago hip-hop), Dreezy changes it up and goes all sultry on this woozy R&B slow jam with assistance from T-Pain. This has got a 3 a.m.-at-the-house-party vibe, sexy as fuck without even trying. 
[8]

Swet Shop Boys – T5

http://www.thesinglesjukebox.com/?p=22630

Ada brings us the woes of being a brown person in airport security.


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[7.14]
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Thomas Inskeep: On “T5,” producer Redinho does one of the best jobs marrying South Indian and Western influences that I’ve heard since the work Diplo did on M.I.A.’s first album, and Heems and Riz MC are both nimble rappers and clever lyricists. Their subject matter — the problems Western Muslims face when flying (“T5” refers to “terminal 5”) — couldn’t be more important or vital at this moment, which makes this a must-listen. Fortunately, it’s also a great record on its own merits. Alongside albums by A Tribe Called Quest and A Tribe Called Red, this is the political music we so desperately need right now.
[10]

Ryo Miyauchi: Clunky hook, but the message is clear: Heems and Riz fly out as stars but return as suspected criminals. While I appreciate Riz’s spiel calling out hypocrisy by citing history texts, Heems’ one-liner about his dad on the nation’s hitlist delivers it home for me.
[5]

Alfred Soto: Shenai, programmed plonks, and Heems channeling the Beastie Boys intonations because the TSA wants to burst his bubble. “I’m so fly, bitch/But I’m on a no fly list” is a corny-ass complaint because it’s true and untrue. Heems and Riz MC think they’re so fly that they can make the dollar and a half production sound like six figures.
[6]

Anthony Easton: This is so fucking smart, so dense, so wise, and often very very funny. The double language puns have a cosmopolitan anger–but an anger that is wryly effective–add the muezzin sounds, and it becomes both a reclaiming of orientalism and a satire of western hipness, which still doesn’t understand the thousand year history of Islamic movement. 
[10]

Ramzi Awn: It’s not seamless but it’s not ordinary either, and that’s a good thing. Still, the spit borders on contrived. 
[5]

Iain Mew: Riz Ahmed’s essay on airport security, acting and racist stereotyping is one of the highlights of the all-around excellent collection The Good Immigrant. “T5” can’t cover anything like the same amount of ground even when he and Heems stay on topic, but they’re funny and pointed either way, and its Shampoo interpolation certainly gets to the same crux of absurdity and constriction melting into each other.
[7]

Brad Shoup: Riz does his best Kendrick, both men do their best Shampoo, and a sharp tongue-flick of an album opener — slow strut on an aerophonic signal — takes on new meaning now that America’s president-elect is even more of a white supremacist than is usually entrenched. Here’s hoping they stunt on his grave.
[7]

Japanese Breakfast – Everybody Wants to Love You

http://www.thesinglesjukebox.com/?p=22627

From Tommy, it’s natto! It’s miso soup! It’s… jangly, power poppy shoegaze!


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[6.50]
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Katie Gill: Overly cutesy female vocals are hit or miss for me to begin with, so that was already a point notched off of this song. But then again, I adore that synth riff before the second chorus started up. But is one beautiful synth glissando enough to rate a song highly? But then, that guitar break happens and okay, that’s actually pretty good, certainly better than the vocals that are so deliberately muddled at points I totally mishear things. And so by the time I’m finished thinking about my feelings of the song, it’s already over, finishing out at pretty much two minutes on the nose. I’ll just split the difference and give it a five.
[5]

Alfred Soto: A light swirl of a song in which Michelle Zauner picks at the most surefire of guitar lines hoping to be ingratiating and succeeding. Imagine Wild Animals with lo-fi instincts. The excellently named Sam Cook-Parrott should be louder.
[7]

Tim de Reuse: The pentatonic guitar solo and washed-out synth twinkling are pleasantly airy, but there’s a definite crunch to the guitars and an impulsive lilt to the lyrics (“When you wake up in the morning / Will you give me lots of head?”). The chorus is given an equally ambiguous mood, delivered in a rolling howl somewhere south of joy but north of melancholy. The total effect is of something all properly sunny, singalong-friendly and monstrously catchy, but not overbearingly sweet — in the little details there’s a whole lot of flavor to dig into.
[9]

Leonel Manzanares: I like my guitar-based pop songs short and sweet. I also like them with some power, but this one does very little to escape that haze of synths. And the drums seem to be in a hurry, though it’s never clear where they — or the entire song, for that matter — want to go. 
[6]

Joshua Copperman: Sounds like they’re trying to recreate a Phil Spector production in GarageBand. In fact, the chorus is especially guilty of this, the moment the lo-fi sound feels more like a misguided aesthetic choice rather than a necessity. Like, I hear those synths! I hear that percussion! I’ve heard some other songs on this album! You’re not actually in mono, or on GarageBand! The song gets more annoying the more I hear it, not because of the content, but because of how easily it can be improved: Record some stereo gang vocals! Make some sort of dynamic change! Just mix the other guy higher! Anything! I really do want to love this song, but it’s ultimately too muddy and too short, with too many apparently self-imposed limits, to really make an impact.
[5]

Ramzi Awn: A near-perfect California beach joint from an episode of the “Beverly Hills, 90210” reboot. A little less would do a lot more. 
[7]

Katie Gately – Tuck

http://www.thesinglesjukebox.com/?p=22624

Tomas advised us that “Björk stans her” which was more than enough for us.


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[6.50]
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Juana Giaimo: Long and unstructured songs like “Tuck” remind me of my old musical taste, when I would dive through endless seconds of dreaminess. They also make me wonder when I started denying songs with too many seconds. But Katie Gately doesn’t seem to worry a lot about that: she tries different tools, adds new sounds and isn’t looking for a solid structure. It’s too eerie and slightly violent to get lost in it, but its lingering nature stops “Tuck” from being an instant and effective shock. 
[5]

Iain Mew: Glasser, glassier; glister, glitter.
[8]

Alfred Soto: Like being dropped into a terrarium, “Tuck” sports claps, tablas, gurgles, and other unidentified sound effects. Imagine a more playful Susanne Sundfør. 
[7]

Ramzi Awn: The horns only add to the fanfare on this unafraid single, a dark and stormy pop opus.  
[7]

Megan Harrington: Weird and wonderful, “Tuck” promises an escape from the ordinary that is usually reserved for children. This is without the overt symbolism of arch fantasies like Game of Thrones or The Avengers, purging the lectures and lessons and leaving only color and texture. It’s a mess of sound and you’re free to imagine it taking any shape you choose. 
[9]

Thomas Inskeep: Loud, unpleasantly cluttered, clattering, and unfocused: she could use a good editor.
[3]

Edward Okulicz: I’m not normally one to complain about a wacky bit of fanfare but I’m not into the one on this especially. It takes a song that was deliciously off-kilter and throws it out the window, and not in a good way. There might be such a thing as too many layers! Underneath some of them there’s a really nice, skewed melody delivered hypnotically, the beats pressing themselves onto my skull. Gately’s voice in places reminds me a bit of Bertine Zetlitz if she went some way beyond her weirdest point which I like too. It’s maybe one track too many, or one trick too many, to be the [8] I want this to be.
[7]

Brad Shoup: She’s riffing on Lady Gaga’s pop-ringmaster persona, but maybe also something older. Perhaps the more eldritch hits of Cab Calloway. The garbled horns play a warped reveille; frogs chirp; she asks what we hear and I’m not entirely sure. A light threatens to break through a couple times in the middle, but there’s so much creeping left to do.
[6]

Hana – Underwater

http://www.thesinglesjukebox.com/?p=22625

And Kathleen recommends this: any friend of Grimes is a friend of ours!


[Video][Website]
[5.43]
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Iain Mew: youarenoamiareyou
[4]

Anthony Easton: That space where efforts to sound ethereal sound laboured, but not laboured enough for the pretension to suggest a curious overreaching. 
[4]

Alfred Soto: Hana’s, ah, immersion in the subject is impressive and frightening. “Like my father and my mother, I will love you for forever,” she repeats. Does she mean she’ll love him/her as much as her parents or she’ll love him/her as much as her parents love her? The immaculateness of the electronic arrangement is a force field.
[5]

Ramzi Awn: Hana has a good voice. Well read and boring, it complements the plodding chore of a song nicely.
[4]

Joshua Copperman: It seems as if all songs with “Underwater” in the title sound like they are, in fact, underwater. I don’t even need to name any specifics — just type the word into Spotify and the first few songs all have bubbly electronics and endless amounts of reverb. This is an example, but it fits that example really well. Hana singlehandedly guides the slow-burner until subtle guitar strokes open up the song enough to make room for hints of desperation amidst the… underwateriness. Even if Hana does sound similar to acts like London Grammar, Florence, as well as most songs with that title (but strangely enough not Grimes), there is more than enough detail and nuance here to justify this one’s existence. “Underwater” stands out, no matter its name-mates or soundalikes.
[7]

Brad Shoup: On the right soundtrack, the immediacy of the sentiment could pop off. Here, though, I’m not sure if the connection holds once the pitch veers. The stuttering slow lasers that strafe the refrain are always welcome; I was rooting for them to take out the phrase “for forever.”
[5]

Madeleine Lee: The lyrics are beautiful and encouraging, but the wraparound production, with its distant, hollow percussion, makes them a little haunting, too. Hana could just as easily be a siren trying to take you into the sea.
[9]

Raveena – Johnny It’s the Last Time

http://www.thesinglesjukebox.com/?p=22623

Via Mads, we find an imperfect relationship within jazzy pop. Or is that the other way around?


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[6.30]
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Mads de Wolff: When working and writing, I have a preference for breezy, non-demonstrative R&B. As much as I love my Mariahs and my Arianas, during work hours I much prefer the subtle vocal work of singers like Corinne Bailey Rae. Raveena has a similar airiness to her voice, here perfectly balanced by the smooth production and, not least, the excellent backing work on horns and violin. Aside from the song’s easy-listening qualities, what makes the song really work for me is the interplay between the sonic lightness and heavier lyrical themes. The song revolves around an abusive relationship but, intriguingly, young Raveena does not play the role of a victim; she, too relies on “schemes and plots” to fuel their shared desire for “keeping it risky.” But how sincere is she? Is she (finally) leaving Johnny? Rewardingly, there are few easy answers here.
[8]

Katie Gill: I’m always a sucker for a good horn section and this song deploys it perfectly. The light, breezy, sort of jazzy soul stylings deliberately mask the unstable relationship that the lyrics deliberately try to mask as well. “So we got a little careless,” Raveena blithely sings as if it’s no big deal, ignoring the warning signs that permeate the rest of the lyrics. The entire song’s a beautiful piece of deliberate underplaying that I downright adore.
[7]

Ramzi Awn: It takes about a minute and twenty seconds to get to the only hook that matters in Raveena’s Starbucks commercial. Not a bad hook either. 
[5]

Alfred Soto: I wouldn’t have expected such a la-di-da vocal decorating a Midnight Marauders-era Tribe Called Quest backing track: the electric piano hook and horns do the heavy lifting while Raveena offers veiled imprecations.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: The idea of painting the recurring stories of a relationship that’s ugly on the inside as it appears breezy on the outside is interesting even as it could be a trigger or a worry for some others. But this one hits me with its head-nodding bass and array of funky jazz adornments — if it’s supposed to be a drama, I don’t hear it in her voice, and I don’t get the idea this is intended as background music for cafes. It’s too bright to hit its narrative target, but it’s pleasant.
[6]

Iain Mew: A nice variation on the set of superficially romantic songs which hint that things are not all well — in this case the surface is that things are bad and the subtext is that they’re worse. The sunny shrug of a tune complicates and engages further.
[7]

Thomas Inskeep: This is a little unnerving: a sexy-sounding little jazzy R&B number with a prominent horn section, about a couple who can’t stay apart but can’t stop hurting each other, literally. So while I can recognize how good this is (Raveena’s got a lovely voice, too), I don’t necessarily want to hear it more. It’s quality, though.
[7]

Megan Harrington: At best, it’s a baffling choice to frame the cycle of domestic violence as smoothed out Gainsbourg/Birkin for those comp CDs they no longer include with orders from Delias. At worst, it’s sitting dead on the nexus of unsettling and cynical. 
[4]

Brad Shoup: I heard the melodic lilts lifted from an Avalanches-beloved Osmonds tune, but I whiffed on the violence in the text. For all I know, the title’s the final thing he hears before biting the big one. Her arrangement is cracking, signifying cool-jazz confession without rote re-formation. Also, she puts a bridge in the first half of the tune; perhaps it’s a power tactic.
[8]

Anthony Easton: I love how casually she throws off important information, sort of a deliberately accidental recital. The horns in the last part of the song have the same energy, and she can sing the doo-wop syllables well.  
[6]

Espinoza Paz – Que Mal Te Ves Sin Mí

http://www.thesinglesjukebox.com/?p=22621

And via Eric, a Mexican norteño-pop artist (with zero connections whatsoever to Nirvana).


[Video][Website]
[6.33]
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Jonathan Bogart: I first encountered Sr. Paz as a performer, not (as he’s best known today) a songwriter, as the swaying r&bolero “Lo Intentamos” was all over the local Latin stations when I first started tuning into them; I was always a little disappointed that he didn’t keep showing up there. “Que Mal Te Ves Sin Mí” is a more traditional mariachi, and Paz’s voice, with its gruff, limited range, isn’t nearly as well suited for it (the song, and that plush arrangement, begs for a bel canto belter), but he’s a consummate craftsman, and the protesting-too-much lyric of romantic non-regret is a sly masterpiece.
[7]

Thomas Inskeep: A beautiful, simple norteño heartbreak ballad, loosely translated as “how awful you look without me.” The (gut) punchline which really gives this emotional resonance is the last one: “and I also look awful without you.” Oof.
[8]

Madeleine Lee: A really long-winded way (“You look so terrible since we broke up…”) to an unsurprising punchline (“…and so do I”), but a pleasant one, at least.
[5]

Ramzi Awn: The easy candor on “Que Mal Te Ves Sin Mí” splices its poignant sadness with some hope.
[7]

Will Adams: The gentle lilt reminds me of Louis Armstrong’s recording of “La Vie en Rose”; it’s a repose that could have gelled with the heartbreak narrative, but Espinoza Paz leans too much into the ache instead of the bittersweet.
[5]

Alfred Soto: The trumpet expresses the heartache that Espinoza Paz’s hit-the-road-jack lyric and strums won’t allow themselves. Wry, rueful, and the right length.
[6]

Simone – Heart Shaped Hole

http://www.thesinglesjukebox.com/?p=22620

Third place in the Dansk Melodi Grand Prix, and… Nirvana?!


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[4.80]
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Edward Okulicz: The Dansk Melodi Grand Prix is generally one of the lowlights of the pre-Eurovision calendar; it’s usually one atrocious song after another, culminating in an atrocious song bombing out in the Eurovision semi-finals. “Heart Shaped Hole,” which lost out to what I assumed was a Christian rock boy band, seemed almost brilliant in its company, and I like its chilly, rumbling opening, childish but evocative chorus, and thundering melody. If anything, it’s stuck between its throbbing intrigue and its power-ballad bombast and should have gone with one or the other. But there’s a sturdy construction underneath that keeps me coming back. As ever, this year the Swedes pulled this moody trick off better in their selection extravaganza.
[7]

Katherine St Asaph: Slight problem: There’s already a song called “Heart-Shaped Box,” and it refers to something fairly specific (as well as Hole), and no matter how many rallying strings and Margaret Berger quavers you put in that association is going to ruin things. Also, needs 50% more chorus.
[3]

Will Adams: The first forty-five seconds or so were actually promising, with skitters crawling over the foreboding throb and Simone striking a balance between approachable and mysterious. But then the giant drums and showboat melody barged in, opening the floodgates of cheese.
[4]

Katie Gill: Things like “dynamics” aren’t really Simone’s strongest points — that chorus slams into you like a freight train, those vocals and instruments at top speed as Simone wails the chorus as hard as she can, only to become oddly soft when she hits those high notes. Add the vaguely S&M undertones and James Bond theme stylings in the prechorus, and you end up with something I’m not sure how to describe but want to listen to again.
[7]

Alfred Soto: Prowess isn’t the question — prowess is the problem. Simone combines the conversational, faintly pinched timbre of Ellie Goulding and Adele’s indifference to restraining forces, exposing the hole-shaped heart of a tune.
[4]

Megan Harrington: Brutally gruesome imagery paired with ice cave synths — doesn’t sound refreshing, but it definitely stirred me from an extended period of nothingness. 
[9]

Joshua Copperman: I actually love most of the lyrics — the idea that she cut him out of her life but still feels his absence is specific but relatable. I’m not a fan of the rest, though, especially the phrasing and arrangement; the “I cut you out of me-eeee” build to the chorus doesn’t work, and in that chorus, the drums borrow too heavily from “Love Me Like You Do” and obscure the sentiment. Elsewhere, the production and Simone both try really really hard to make this sound “big,” but nothing approaches the “holy shit” factor of ballads like “Love Me Like You Do” and “Impossible.” Only the bridge manages to break through the production, with that weird hopping melody. It makes me wonder how the song would sound with a sparser backing — maybe something resembling its graphic cardiovascular-related antecedent “Bleeding Love.” It wouldn’t make the instrumental less derivative, but it would make it easier for Simone to stand out.
[5]

Ramzi Awn: Leona Lewis had the last word when it comes to cutting love out of the picture, and “heart-shaped hole” is beyond trite. It’s difficult to get to the good parts in this globular-shaped mess.  
[3]

Iain Mew: The vocals range from too much to way, way too much. The lyrics range from ridiculous to nonsensical. It sounds just like a song which didn’t quite make it to Eurovision, to be honest. It does, at least, feature an unexpectedly gorgeous bridge which sounds like the basis for a much better song.
[4]

Thomas Inskeep: It’s “empowering.” It’s got Katy Perry sonics. It’s midtempo. It’s overblown. It’s boring. 
[2]

Busu – 116 RIP

http://www.thesinglesjukebox.com/?p=22619

Via Marcus, a Swedish hip-hop/grunge act, and, uh, NIRVANA??


[Video][Website]
[5.43]
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Thomas Inskeep: Dreary hip-hop from Sweden with a faux-grunge guitar backing. This almost — almost — makes G-Eazy sound good.
[2]

Alfred Soto: Essaying the same strummed intensity of Kaleidoscope Dream-era Miguel, “116 RIP” lives or dies by your response to Busu’s quavering singing. Pretending to be amateurish is one thing; being amateurish is another.
[4]

Iain Mew: As this type of sung hip-hop gets increasingly successful it makes sense to take on different singing styles. Busu’s grunge snarl at himself fits the despair of his words, and with not much else to dilute it but the slightest (and beepiest) of hope, “116 RIP” is an uncomfortable but compelling listen.
[6]

Ramzi Awn: Autotune gets in the way of a good riff, and Busu’s voice would be better off without it. The blips and bleeps don’t help much.     
[5]

Anthony Easton: Swedish hip hop sort of sounding like Chicago: spare to the point of a little boring, but matches the ennui. Sort of sounds like Green Day circa 1996, too — which is a combo which you would not think functions well, but is kind of super-appropriate. 
[6]

Megan Harrington: I’ve started watching this Norwegian teen drama called SKAM and I just feel very in touch with what the Scandinavian youth are up to and, like, what they might want to hear at the skate park. And it’s Busu. This is a song for when you get too drunk at a party and you cheat on your girlfriend and you throw up on the stairs and you wake up and smoke a joint and it’s just too fucking quiet, you need some music. “116 RIP” is the song you play. Or, it could be the song they play if such a scene takes place on SKAM
[7]

Madeleine Lee: How can a song so low-key feel so anthemic? It doesn’t even matter that half the lyrics don’t make sense next to each other and that Fanta and rosé sounds dreadful, because I know what it means when he wails “I missed it all / You’re better off without me.” Just like that self-pitying hyperbole, this song makes a big deal out of next to nothing, and it feels good.
[8]

Mister Wallace – It Girl

http://www.thesinglesjukebox.com/?p=22614

Seems the readers know what we like (thanks, Kevin!)…


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[7.11]
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Thomas Inskeep: Mister Wallace’s debut EP Faggot is one of the fiercest things I’ve heard all year, they can rap as well as anyone out right now, and “It Girl” is the best vogue track of 2016.
[10]

Alfred Soto: Opening with Space Mountain beeps like the ones on early New Order, “It Girl” drops a tick-tock/wristwatch rhyme and something about a magazine before unleashing a breathless horndog monologue. The queer rapper is hungry; they’ll grab your lapels and shout in your face if it’ll get them a deal. Ambition is wasted on the rich.
[7]

Claire Biddles: An almost-perfect push and pull between intimidating personal space invasion and enticing deliciousness. I desperately want to be at this party but I’m probably going to change my outfit three or four times before I leave the house. 
[7]

Ramzi Awn: Mister Wallace has endurance, that’s for sure. And “It Girl” can kiki with the best of them. But the gimmicks are more borrowed than new.   
[5]

Iain Mew: I like their “212”-ish flow and the incredible variety of inflections and uses of the short word “girl,” but the production doesn’t have the invention to match. For me, confrontation repeated to this extent results in more dilution than accumulation.
[5]

Will Adams: The instrumental isn’t far from something I would’ve heard on the Fantasea mixtape, and Mister Wallace’s flow is attention-grabbing, but both they and the music stagnate pretty quickly.
[5]

Ryo Miyauchi: Good luck deciphering through that lightning-fast delivery. Mister Wallace doesn’t make it any easy to pin them down even with lyrics at hand, though that challenge also seems to be the thrill. Like the best rappers warping voice and communication of language, their eccentricities only lure you closer in hopes of understanding them. And “It Girl” is a nice label to fit such a character.
[7]

Brad Shoup: The giddy boasts are fantastic, but I might like the track even better. The synth hits and flashes of fake clavichord conjure suspense scenes in a late-night flick, a shadow-filled space that Mister Wallace fills with manic mischief.
[9]

Tim de Reuse: Wallace’s rapping is disorienting and unpredictable but never messy; they sound enormous and in control, ten steps ahead of the listener at every point, weaving in and out of a gorgeously minimal horror-movie-sting beat and pushing through sci-fi voice modulation that ought to feel corny but instead feels menacing as hell. I am at a loss for words to fully rationalize how infectious this is on every level — in style, in rhythm, in content — and how easy and fun Wallace makes it sound as they pull it off.
[9]