If we’re talking surface-level critique, LANY’s name alone (which stands for, you guessed it, Los Angeles New York) made me melon-ball my own eyes out of their sockets and throw them into the ocean. One level below that, their softboi charm extends further, to some malleable electro pop almost entirely cookie-guttered into oblivion. Tethered to some mythically dense assumption of what early-20s sentiments should sound like in song, each track on their record kinda reeks of exactly that: an entrenched effort to seem attainably cool, as relevant and earnestly mature as possible but with wide post-teenage eyes backlit by summer fireworks. Real talk, is this like a Noxzema commercial or what? by Kim Selling