It’s a Hit

by U2

(Interscope)

This one is a Frankenstein monster. There’s a sleaze-stomp groove of
the sort I haven’t thought about since the last time I accidentally
heard My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult’s “Sex on Wheels” (hey, U2 can
start wearing cowboy hats again, as long as they’re accompanied by
black dusters, wallet chains, and leather pants), the verse structure
is borrowed from Elvis Costello’s “Pump It Up,” Bono asks to be let
into “the sound!” à la the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Mostly it makes me
wonder for which leg of the inevitable world tour U2 will ask Franz
Ferdinand to open. My favorite moment: Bono mumbling, “I don’t want to
talk about wars between the nations,” flagrantly defying the public
record and more photo-ops than if they’d been stuck in the desert for a
year with Anton Corbijn and a lifetime supply of Gatorade.

by Bruce Springsteen

(Columbia)

You couldn’t ask for a more Springsteen-by-numbers song than this
title cut from his new album, which got an instantaneous five-star
Rolling Stone review like he was solo Mick Jagger or something.
Judging from this worn-out slog (“I feel so far away,” he sings; dude,
you sound it), maybe it would be better if it were solo
Jagger.

by Lil Wayne

(Cash Money)

Proof positive that listening to modern rock radio is bad for your
health. Music blogs have had a field day: “I probably wouldn’t want to
jack anything from his iTunes or give him control of the CD player in
the car on a road trip, at least unless he promised to not play that
Staind song again” (Marathonpacks); “What Engrish is to international
communication, this is to genre crossovers” (Attackerman); “Something
to be heard and never experienced again” (SoulBounce).

by Kelly Clarkson

(J)

Proof positive that listening to modern rock radio can actually be
good for your health: Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” consciously
modeled itself on the Strokes if they dealt more blowout choruses
à la Foo Fighters, and it was better than anything by either
band. (And I like the Strokes, as well as the first couple Foo albums.)
Then, Clarkson insisted on making a moody, personal album over the
objections of label-head Clive Davis, and it bombed. This song is a
bright-and-clear “Boss Knows Best” bumper sticker set to 50,000
megawatts of echo. As psychodrama, it’s a solid A; as a recording, more
like a B-minus.