Peter Bjorn and John: "Nothing To Worry About"

Why the hell did you guys waste this beat on yourselves? I can think of two dozen people I’d rather hear on vocals, starting close (Lykke Li) and ending far (Clipse, maybe). It’s the one drum loop on the album that’s made from the cotton candy that lines rapper’s dreams, but after you add the “Hard Knock Life”-y kids/chipmunk chorus and make it really golden, Peter has to go and ruin it by opening his fey Swedish mouth.

Here’s a solution, guys: fold up shop, make this your last album, and become the next Neptunes. Concentrate on making the rest of your songs this-ish. Big beats with fuzzed-out cane-sugar hooks will dominate the radiowaves all through 2k10. Lil’ Wayne’s Tha Carter III: Re-Re Birth will be 100% produced by you as he tries to get everybody to love him again, and all four of you can retire. What’s the equivalent of cough syrup in Sweden? Do you chew it up there like snus? Regardless, you’ll have enough euros to be up to your neck in it for at least the courtesy amount of time you need before you mount a comeback or do a Young Folks musical film a la Mamma Mia.

And yet, despite everything, this song still sums up the PB&J that indie kids swooned over just a few years ago. There’s the ominous spaces between sounds that sound like an Arctic Circle winter, the little guitar scratches and weird percussion, the raw science of it emphasized after last year’s swampy, unlistenable Seaside Rock. It’s just that the rap bluster of the chorus and beat are too big for your hopelessly indie sensibilities. Even if you tried one of the disconcertingly macho lyrics that pepper the rest of Living Thing, the whole direction already reeks of inauthenticity for a group who built their name on natural bonhomie. You’re just too goodhearted up there, and it presents you a stark choice: more attitude and a Max Martin backseat, or back to all that boy/girl music to shake hands to. Your call.