Missy Elliott

"Ching-a-Ling"

(Atlantic)

In which Missy repeats herself big time: The spoken intro's bald rewrite of "Pass That Dutch," the cod-dancehall "This is a Missy Elliott exclusive" utterances, the Michael Jackson similes. Even if the track is, strictly speaking, not something we've ever heard in exactly that same form before, it's still more of the same, the basic "Work It" chassis with some "Pass That Dutch" paint. Forgive me for hoping she could reliably reinvent herself and/or pop music forever. On its own terms, this is a fine enough record; by Missy's standards, it's a sad encore.

Soulja Boy

"Yahhh!"

(Collipark)

As somebody who has spent more money than is advised on compilations of the early 1970s Jamaican DJ recordings that prefigure hiphop, I love the living hell out of this song, which tweaks the same basic pattern to modern ends. Sure, it's gauche to complain about being bothered by your fans when you're on your third single, but YouTube is everywhere, right? And anyway, gauche is what Soulja Boy does best—the sillier the better. How on earth could an onlooker have figured that this guy could peak so high? Or that the only reason you'd think to call this a novelty record is that it's funny?

Yael Naim

"New Soul"

(TĂ´t ou Tard)

No wonder Feist looked so glum at the Grammys—this song marks the beginning of the end of her weird yearlong bubble. There's been plenty said about "Starbucks folk," and this is the same thing with a couple obvious transpositions. (You could call it you-turn-me-on-I'm-an-iPod folk, with a nod to Joni Mitchell.) Anyway, whatever Feist's level of exposure, she'll never reach the levels of annoyance this song effortlessly cascades; Raffi has written tougher-minded music. It's such trash that I even find Yael Naim's accent cloying.

Teyana Taylor

"Google Me"

(Star Trak)

Now this is a novelty hit: a song entirely dependent upon its moment to work its limited magic—in this case, a chorus so obvious it barely cuts through a readymade R&B groove. Yet on the song's second chorus, Taylor's "Baby, you can Google me!" is spun off into some sparkling aural pixie dust that then blankets over all that immediately follows. It lifts the whole recording; they should have used it throughout.