Bono doesn't wanna debate the importance of increasing international aid to emerging nations, babe. Bono's not in the mood to defend his occasional New York Times columns or enthuse about the Age of Obama. What Bono would very much like to do is compliment your striking footwear, string together random unrelated if mildly provocative phrases, and shimmy around to the Edge's zigzag B52 bomber-sized guitar stylings as you apply glow-in-the-dark lip gloss.
"Return" is decidedly security-blanket cozier in tone than the cold-eyed, primitivist drone Meyers once doled out as Panther Skull, juxtaposing the crank-handle tinkle of a music box with wispy static and a field recording of kids horsing around in a park.
Nottz's splayed, purp-drunk organ sweeps host a rap godfather's grumbled, justifiably frustrated rumblings—"Can't afford to fill our prescriptions, so we all gon' die/CVS is slingin' dope on every block, worldwide"—while Bilal continues to cement his status as the '00s clean-up hook warbler of choice for introspective "mad-real" hip-hop cuts.
Tyga, Tyga, burning bright? Not just yet, but there's certainly promise latent in the class-clown elasticity of his flow. The MC's Sunshine State heritage gives this Fall Out Boy/Gym Class Heroes affiliate license to insinuate that his pimp hand's callused and strong over Snoop Dogg's "Who Am I?" beat, even though he knows that we know he's full of shit.
Must teeny-bopper pop singles be so mercilessly insipid, so narrow in scope, so vapid? More likely than not, Vistoso Bosses will tour with Lil Mama—who'll promptly mop up the stage with them. Given his professed FannyPack jones, this may pique Chuck Eddy's interest.
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