I kinda want to share my favorite Billy/Tella fic but it's somehow problematic™... and in Japanese lmao.

Okay so hear me out: evajacks has to be endgame and have their HEA because not only is it satisfying from a storytelling standpoint, it also makes the most commercial sense. Yes, as in real life commercial sense.

1. Jacks has repeatedly said that a HEA just isn’t possible for him and Eva. Are the constant reminders for him just as well as Eva, just because he doesn’t trust himself with what he could do if there was even the slightest chance that he could truly be with Eva? Yes. But that’s also why the series ending in tragedy for them would feel incomplete. Recall: Jacks has done this before. Maybe he hasn’t yearned for anyone the way he yearns for Eva, but he has desperately tried to push away girls he had feelings for, only to end up kissing them and then killing them. If that were to happen to Eva, she would just be another girl - another flag claimed in his endless cycle of deathly romance, and Jacks would be right: that he doesn’t deserve love, that he’s incapable of it, and the cycle would just continue. What would be the point of dragging readers through not one, not two, but three books only to have the self-loathing main character gets his loathing affirmed in the most tragic way possible and then have him - his traumas, his issues - unresolved, just as it was at the start of Book 1? It would be gravely dissatisfying.

Yes I’m aware that there’s a chance the book could take a more sinister turn and have Jacks die instead, but that would be even worse. Evangeline is largely a character that just, lets stuff happen to her. Of course, she makes the most of it and she’s resolved to remain kind and spread kindness and cheer etc wherever she goes but the point remains: most of her actions just stem from what other people want. The only exception is perhaps when she prayed to Jacks, but even then, she chose to turn herself to stone rather than let someone else eventually do it. Why does she go to the North? Because Scarlett and Tella ask her to. Why is she marrying Apollo? Because Jacks forces her to. While it’s true that some of these situations were forced upon her and didn’t just come about by her meekly complying, she accepts all of them and goes with the flow. Luc doesn’t love her anymore? Okay, move to the North and find a new love. She has to marry Apollo? Well then maybe she can be his true love. Jacks is the only thing she has selfishly wanted that no one else wants her to yet she remains resolved and steadfast in wanting. To have jacks die and then Eva moving on would make her remain the character just lets stuff happen to her, going with what other people dictate is best - even if that other person is Jacks himself.

2. It makes the most commercial sense to have the series end in HEA. Stephanie has confirmed that there will be multiple, alternate endings to the series, but the ending on the regular version AKA the vast majority of the copies will be the canon ending and also the one she loves the most. The fandom has made it no secret that we love Jacks and we want evajacks to be endgame. It just wouldn’t make sense to hide the most satisfying ending (ergo the one readers will want the most) behind a Special, limited edition. They’d sell way more copies and make more money to have the best ending accessible to everyone looking to purchase.

Someone please tell me I’m right and not just gaslighting myself.

TAYLOR SWIFT - DELICATE

[7.08]

Clawing her way back up the sidebar...

Tobi Tella: The point on Reputation where the mask drops, "Delicate" is amazing because it's not afraid to be afraid. The slow dreamy admission of the seeds of a relationship forming in the verses followed by the panicked questions of the chorus trying to discern how much emotion it's cool to show these days. Not to mention the fantastic bridge and the great vocoder intro. Say what you want about Taylor Swift as a person, but the girl can still write a good song. [9]

Alex Clifton: Much of Reputation is a series of masks and bravado, and the choice of "Look What You Made Me Do" didn't turn people fully onto to the concept of the project. But here Taylor goes quiet, chilled, and tentative, which has always been one of the more successful hallmarks of her music. We know she's not actually the everygirl these days--she's living in another stratosphere, and the songs on Reputation remind of us of the fact that us plebeians don't have celebrity feuds and can't go out drinking at Sunset & Vine. But the doubt and insecurity that come with every new relationship--is it cool that I said all that, is it chill that you're in my head--aches with realness. Forget the cameos from famous friends, forget the complaints of tilted stages, forget the awkward Elizabeth Taylor reference; Taylor's best reputation has always been as a singer who translates complicated feelings into song effortlessly, and she does fine work here. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Reputation was an interesting development after the haphazard and poorly written 1989, particularly for how Swift seemed to have a better handle on working with the production to capture specific emotions and experiences. While this was present in her earliest works, her lyrics often took precedence--be it in actuality or in listeners' minds--to everything else; the instrumentation was the stage that hosted her dramatic narratives. The equal importance of lyrics, vocal melodies, and production on Reputation, as well as the lack of immediate earworm hooks, made several tracks feel more experiential than anything she'd done in the past. It felt absolutely necessary to hear a track like "King of My Heart" or "Dancing With Our Hands Tied" to fully comprehend what Taylor Swift was trying to accomplish. While the lyrics weren't as specific, particular words and nuanced intonations became potent signifiers that led to her most visceral, lively songs to date. But for those who refuse to detect the Taylor Swift of old in "...Ready For It?" and "End Game," there's "Delicate." Like "New Year's Day," it's a half-baked song that gets excused by fans because of a couple lines that are perceptibly sensitive and emotive from miles away. While the sudden stripping of sound in the chorus is affecting, the rest of "Delicate" confuses a soft tepid beat for vulnerability. And as much as her vocalizing helps to make up for it, the awkward delivery in the bridge is a strong reminder that Reputation was still a stepping stone in many ways. [4]

Ian Mathers: Damn it, everything else about Taylor Swift either always has been or recently became so incredibly tiresome, why does this have to remind me of all the things I really liked about 1989? [7]

Stephen Eisermann: It's no surprise that the most Taylor song on Reputation is seeing the most success. Delicate in both composition and title, the track finds Taylor singing about the nerves and anxieties surrounding a new relationship. The vulnerability in Taylor's voice plays well with the metallic production, and the finished product makes me long for the album that would've succeeded 1989 had all the Kanye/Kim drama not gone down. We deserve that album. [8]

Elisabeth Sanders: As has been stated countless times, one of Taylor Swift's greatest talents is her acuity with detail, the way she can somehow make a tiny specificity feel universal, personal not just to her but to the listener. "Phone lights up my nightstand in the black," she sings at the beginning of "Delicate," and somehow that really does evoke that strange liminal feeling at the beginning of a crush, talking too late at night just because they're talking back, going out to meet someone even though it's too late just because they asked. "Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head?" the chorus asks, somehow both tentative and absolutely self-assured, the way you make fun of yourself just in case you're not supposed to mean it that much. [9]

Lauren Gilbert: So let's get the negatives out of the way first: this song contains Taylor Swift asking "is it chill that you're in my head?" A) anyone who has to ask if they're chill is definitely not chill, and B) Taylor, I love you and all, but "chill" has never been one of your defining qualities. Remember, you made a whole music video about it? But no matter how unchill she is (and she is extremely unchill; have you fucking heard "Enchanted"?), girl can write a song. This is sleek and loath as I am to say it, even sexy. It's certainly better advertisement for New York than "Welcome to New York"; what teenage girl in the Midwest doesn't daydream about meeting a handsome blue-eyed man in a chic Manhattan bar? You'll wake later in his giant white-sheeted bed, the city spread out beneath you. Never mind that a more typical experience of one's late 20s in New York involves rather more rats and blockchain bros; "Delicate" feels both cinematic and relatable. More successfully than anything else on Reputation, it straddles the divide between Old Taylor's everygirl persona (I mean, really, who has not gone "oh shit I should not have said that much" in front of a new crush) and New Taylor's Reputation. I have complicated feelings about Taylor Swift The Cultural Event, but Taylor Swift the Songwriter can still write a damn good track, and I -- another deeply unchill twenty-something, dreaming of possibilities and promises yet to come -- am still here for it. [9]

Will Adams: A glint of vulnerability that's a welcome refreshment in the Reputation era, unfortunately subsumed by trop-house bilge and tossed-off Manhattan references. [5]

Katherine St Asaph: Other than Sarah Jessica Parker, Rupert Murdoch, or people who get off to Corcoran listings, who lives in a "mansion," as opposed to a penthouse, condo, high-rise, brownstone, or shitty walk-up on the West Side? Wouldn't a mid-price high-rise offer better views than the spendiest third floor? What are the chances someone who lives in aforementioned mansion would hang out in a "dive bar on the East Side," even if it's in Murray Hill like you just know it is? Such are the perils of mishmashing into one supposedly relatable song the lifestyles of the New York 1%, the lifestyles of the slightly less rich New Yorker, and the lifestyle of whomever owns enough of a mansion to be the assumed source of the footsteps on the stairs, yet still refers to "girls back home." Even the Taylor Swift of "Fifteen" would find "my reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me" laughably naive (gently-sisterly-pat-on-the-backly naive, at least). The same for the titular conceit -- never attribute to ~delicate 💗 love~ what can be explained by dudes being shitty. (The insistent "isn't it? isn't it?" would suggest she's doubtful too, if it didn't seem so much like songwriting filler.) The same for the beat kicking up as the story gets intimate, which seems backward; the same for emulating Francis and the Lights seeming like a timely thing to do. [4]

Matias Taylor: The vocoder, as if the ghost of her hidden desires, suits Taylor well as she dives into a classic millennial love story motif: anxiety over relationship status. This is also the most millennial her lyrics have ever sounded, with references to dive bars, "where you at"'s, and whether or not it's "chill" that she said all that. It's not just a calculated update for the Instagram era; she's still finding new pockets of experience to illuminate with her ability to zero into specific details and turn them into entire worlds of emotion, and the lyrics read as a genuine window into her life as a young adult. Whether it's the Disney villain glee of "Look What You Made Me Do" or the unrepentant devotion of "Don't Blame Me," Reputation is, among many things, an album about allowing herself to feel and fully embrace the emotions of each moment. And with "Delicate" she shows the self-doubt and reticence that may tempt her in that endeavour, particularly when someone else's feelings may be dependent on how she portrays her own. The Taylor on Reputation has several songs more to go before the closure and resolve of "New Year's Day," but for us listeners, hearing her moment of hesitation this finely articulated and brought to life by the music is an emotional high point in itself. [9]

Alfred Soto: CHVRCHES have waited their whole careers for a song that fits the rattling synthtastic regret they hear in their heads, and it had to be Taylor Swift who wrote it on her most ephemeral album. [6]

Rachel Bowles: It may be a low bar, but I love when a song does what it says on the tin. Being told but not shown is a common irksome misdemeanor in pop, lyrics disparate from music with no ironic intention (will.i.am is a persistent offender.) "Delicate"'s gentle yet insistent chorus, "is it cool?... is it chill?", quietly reflects the precarious nature of a nascent love affair. Is this mere flirtation, or could you become my everything? Taylor dares to dream but knows to tread softly, her vocoded vocals allow for a soft yet layered soundscape of second guessing, which when stripped back to her naked voice shows a vulnerable, romantic optimism. [9]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: A perfect encapsulation of what makes Swift a compelling writer and vocalist-- the way she moves between faux-conversational and melodramatic styles, in the transition between the soft "isn't it"s of the chorus and the vast yearning of the bridge, is maybe her best performance since "Blank Space." Yet it's wasted on a completely uninspired, sub-tropical house beat, too chill to elevate "Delicate" to anything more than a well-crafted love song that lacks some certain spark-- something you appreciate rather than fall for. [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

NEON TREES - USED TO LIKE

[6.62]

Seems like we still do…

Alfred Soto: Apparently The Singles Jukebox has a history reviewing Neon Trees, and, interestingly, so have I. The guitar crunch and enthusiastic chorus promise pre-hip-hop pleasures — by a CMJ-beloved quartet in 1986, say. In a timeline devoid of verities, young bands must make their own. Or find them. [4]

Kylo Nocom: When rock radio acts are either annoyingly ubiquitous or complete one-hit-wonders, Neon Trees being a two-hit wonder always seems to make their legacy a bit awkward given that it seems like it barely exists. Of course, “Everybody Talks” and “Animal” remain among the best pop rock hits of the century so far with their incessant twee energy. Even if the title phrase could read as a self-aware Hail Mary attempt à la “Never Really Over,” “Used to Like” has a confidence that suggests a reality in which their style of nervy power pop has always remained en vogue. The highlights include the pseudo-“Fireflies” synth melody and the bridge’s glitched breakdown — certainly features that date the song, yet feel indescribably joyful right now. [8]

Tobi Tella: Less schticky and more honest than I expected from the band, but also trends less interesting. I appreciate the attempt at propulsion and fun in the chorus and bridge, but I think going a little further would’ve given it more impact. [6]

Edward Okulicz: The groove is rubbery, the hook is dinky, the song as a whole is… cuddly? That can’t have been the goal, but like the accidental invention of Teflon, the result sticks, it just works. [7]

Brad Shoup: The line “get back to what you used to like about me” might be… a little emblematic, but hearing Tyler Glenn murder some vowels in the bridge really did send me back. After all this time, Neon Trees’ pneumatic new wave remains more uncanny than one thousand hypnagogic pop acts. [7]

Ian Mathers: There is, of course, a tinge of self-loathing to the idea of going back to what used to be likeable, or loveable, or even just tolerable, about yourself. Not only have circumstances shifted away from what you want (now, although god knows we often don’t know what we’ve got until it’s gone), but we’re placing the blame and the solution strictly on ourselves. Of course, demanding that someone else “gets back to what you used to like about me” puts it in the realm of the person who changed on you showing up at your door and expecting you to act like nothing happened. Which doesn’t make them nice, but nice isn’t always the same as appealing. [7]

Andy Hutchins: The parallel paths of Neon Trees and The Killers — bands of Mormons and ex-Mos from desert lands that toured together because the latter essentially discovered the former — fascinate me. The Killers struck with classically rock songs and have kept both making those songs and getting weirder for 20 years, becoming one of the biggest bands in the world at a time despite their singles having no purchase at pop radio: They haven’t had a top-40 hit since Brandon Flowers immortally wondered “Are we human or are we dancer?” and yet released a platinum album in 2012 and an album that debuted at No. 1 in 2017; a third is due this spring, and it’s probably going to be even more of Flowers making his band the millennial equivalent to U2. It’s probably going to be pretty good and sell even if it barely registers in the pop mainstream. Tyler Glenn, on the other hand, is the kind of former Mormon who’ll spit on Joseph Smith and revel in a lack of sobriety while working toward 15 years of trying to write the perfect pop song. “Used to Like” is not that, but its energy jangles, and its romanticizing of the liquored-up fuck-up Glenn is happy to play is at least trying to make an anti-hero compelling. Especially while The Weeknd is in the midst of working the same gimmick on the other end of the dial as a Vegas tourist, it’s nice to have a local providing the view from the ground, raging against his own dying of the light. [6]

Jackie Powell: Tyler Glenn told Billboard in November that “Used to Like” is about the pain that comes and goes when a co-dependent relationship shatters. That much is clear in the visual treatment. The loneliness is given a very modern image that is overused in our 2020 vernacular: the ghost. A white sheet/ghost figure follows Glenn through the void of his own loss. He meets someone at a bar and the mood changes. The ghost steps aside and stops its pursuit, but by the end of the clip, we see that Glenn didn’t slay the ghost. It greets him in the morning leaving him feeling melancholy. The track itself is a well-mixed solute of the entire Neon Trees discography, giving fans nostalgia while also inviting in newcomers who want to rock out and simultaneously feel a bit droopy. Producer Mike Green mixes the melodic and rhythm guitar of Habits, the dark ’80s synths of Picture Show and a touch of the high energy but depressing undertones of Pop Psychology. Glenn’s storytelling is like a three-minute brisk workout all about modern love that runs circles around the New York Times column and its corresponding Amazon Prime series. It simply does the job with more energy and speed. Elaine Bradley’s drumming keeps the tempo and the track moving because when her beat keeping cuts out with seven seconds remaining, Glenn brings his “yeah yeah yeahs” down the octave and down a dynamic, symbolizing that the marathon has been run. The lesson has been learned. This track aids with the transitional emotional journey that we don’t really talk about. But do we really talk about why people used to like each other anyway? Maybe Glenn is saying we should. [8]

HARRY STYLES - FALLING

[5.29]

Nine-point-eight metres per second per second...

Alfred Soto: Every generation coming of age after 2007 gets the "Apologize" it deserves. [3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: A compelling experiment in whether I'll like a Lewis Capaldi song any better if it's mislabeled as a Harry Styles song. [3]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: On its surface, "Falling" sounds like another banal Lewis Capaldi piano ballad du jour. But hiding underneath is a surprising amount of depth, reflection about regret, self-loathing, and harm that you've done to someone else. "What if I'm someone I don't want around?" Harry asks, "What if I'm someone you won't talk about?" The questions are never answered -- they just linger uncomfortably, leaning into introspection rather than running away from it. It feels vulnerable and authentic, like something that could only belong to Harry Styles. [6]

Tobi Tella: Maybe overwrought and melodramatic, but it's never less than honest. The brevity and simplicity of the lyrics helps it hurt more; "what if I'm someone I don't want around?" is a pretty devastating statement of loathing rather than the generic sad platitudes that have become synonymous with the piano ballad. Stars: they self-hate just like us! [7]

Alex Clifton: It's simple, pretty, honest and earnest -- also a bit overdone, but it's nice to hear some self-reflection from Styles that, err, some former bandmates never tried to emulate. It's also a dull single from Styles. "Adore You" deserved a much better follow up -- although, to be fair, "Adore You" is peak-Fine Line perfection, so anything that came after would be weak in comparison. [5]

Edward Okulicz: Oh, gimlet-eyed Harry, his shredding is earnest and delicious. He wears self-pity like a cloak, and it fits him like Lycra. He is lovely and he knows it. But then he wrote that chorus, which, apropos of the title, is as banal and clichéd as an Alicia Keys song (that means very). It is also very, very bad and the over-emoting is painful to listen to. I'm not sure why anyone would torpedo such a promising, on-brand ballad with such horrible impersonal gloop, but perhaps like his beloved watermelon, Harry Styles just doesn't have much flavour taste. [4]

Michael Hong: The world is aflame, and where do you seek refuge? The fast-paced pop-music that makes you feel like the world will end if the beat stops? The casual nihilism of Grimes? Or do you turn to the quiet solitude of Harry Styles, the kind of balladry specifically manufactured to tug at your heart? When faced with the reality that the only way to survive is social distancing, capital Pop music only feels like a temporary escape. And Grimes' nihilism feels pointed, like a sarcastic joke that you were never part of. Instead, there's some sort of consolation in "Falling," a reminder that everyone else is going through the exact same quiet solitude, a disconnect with reality that can only be felt through the pain in Styles's voice. The concept might be different, but the feeling's the same. Styles doesn't look for an escape but confronts it head-on. Each question hangs with a sort of lingering grace but the questions all have one thing in common in that they can't really be answered. Like the best of these questions, the best approximation of an answer is an emotion, here, an intense gut-wrenching, sinking, loneliness that, paradoxically, reminds you that the feeling is shared between others. For me, the lack of an answer only adds to that comfort. [9]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]