Just when we forgot about tropical house's hold on Top 40 10 years ago, it's come back to haunt us. Don't let this subgenre's name fool you — it retains none of house music's effortless stride. Rather, its assembly line EDM should have stayed in storage with those galaxy leggings and faux clip-in hair feathers.
Instead of waiting for the TikTok teens to bring this era into the nostalgia cycle, Kygo has decided to extend the jaw-numbing, dehydrated anxiety of a totally-cut-with-caffiene-pills come up with his collaboration with Ava Max.
As with most tracks featured by the haters of Exclaim!, the main crime behind "Whatever" is a horrid interpolation — this time, of Shakira's 2001 hit "Whenever, Wherever." It turns the track's chorus into a lazy breakup anthem, where Max spends the verses holding a torch, before convincing no one she's over her ex. Cue the same instrumental break you've heard on the radio umpteen times, turning what could've been a stomp-clap-hey!-inflected pop track into body dysmorphia in a Bikini Village change room.
To be fair, Max's discography has always been categorized by sounding like anything other than herself — have you noticed "Kings and Queens" sounds exactly like Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name?" It's too bad, considering she could have main pop girl energy if she had a strong sense of vision. Until then, there's always a lazy DJ beat that needs a vocalist.
Instead of waiting for the TikTok teens to bring this era into the nostalgia cycle, Kygo has decided to extend the jaw-numbing, dehydrated anxiety of a totally-cut-with-caffiene-pills come up with his collaboration with Ava Max.
As with most tracks featured by the haters of Exclaim!, the main crime behind "Whatever" is a horrid interpolation — this time, of Shakira's 2001 hit "Whenever, Wherever." It turns the track's chorus into a lazy breakup anthem, where Max spends the verses holding a torch, before convincing no one she's over her ex. Cue the same instrumental break you've heard on the radio umpteen times, turning what could've been a stomp-clap-hey!-inflected pop track into body dysmorphia in a Bikini Village change room.
To be fair, Max's discography has always been categorized by sounding like anything other than herself — have you noticed "Kings and Queens" sounds exactly like Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name?" It's too bad, considering she could have main pop girl energy if she had a strong sense of vision. Until then, there's always a lazy DJ beat that needs a vocalist.