Two steps forward, one step back. The new generation of Rickys, Marcs, and Shakiras may be investing this chart journey with more consistent excitement and pop thrills than we've ever had, but it will be a long time, if ever, before we shake off the rhythmically uninteresting romántica ballad which in so many ways has defined the 90s in these pages.
Millie, like Martin and Anthony, is Puerto Rican, and is actually younger than them both, but this, her only appearance in these pages as a singer (she may appear again as a muse), is a throwback to the early 90s if not to the 70s, an utterly sincere slice of burnished AM pop with all the sonic attributes — glassy keyboards, anonymous strings, below-heart-rate tempos, and a rich if not particularly skillful voice — that I've come to expect from romántica ballads.
The most interesting sound is a high-pitched oscillator whining like a steel guitar, and while there are enough details to the production to make listening to it on repeat more of a voyage than a chore, the entirely straightforward lyric about resolving to forget a previous lover is far more utilitarian than resonant outside of the specific use-case of putting it on repeat during the getting-over-the-bastard phase of a breakup.
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