Words

At 130 the pulse is brisk but never hurried — the kick lands square, the hats are clipped tight, and the bassline keeps its distance so the vocal sits right up front. There's a rueful tilt to the A-flat minor harmony that stops the brightness turning saccharine; the chords lift, the hook returns, and the whole thing glides on clean, uncluttered production.

It's a record for the seam between warm-up and the real thing — bright enough to open a room up, sturdy enough to hold it there for three or four minutes. The polish is the pleasure and also the ceiling: nothing here surprises you twice, but the groove is honest and the hook does its work without begging.