It’s been a minute since I’ve wanted a song like this: usually when I’m listening to dance music, I’m looking for something that’ll get me moving or keep me going. “Jack” is unequivocally a come-down song, but it works for me anyway. Or maybe “come-down” is a little negative sounding; it’s a cooling off song, let’s say. For that time when you’ve been working it out a little too hard on the dance floor, well into the next day, there’s Lindsey’s vocal, gliding soft and gentle. There’s an infectious pitch-shifted hook, there’s an uplifting, appealing lightness to the synths and percussion. There’s a funky bass groove, the kind that lets you catch your breath while you’re still moving. More than anything else, the latter’s the key to “Jack,” richly synthetic and irresistibly melodic. You could step outside for a breath of fresh air, feel the sweat instantly dry on your skin, and, hearing that bass through the club’s wall, you could still keep on dancing.
“Jack” is the song that plays as the camera peeks into apartments, restaurants, and storefronts at sunset. It’s a roving glimpse of private lives. Someone carefully applying mascara, blurry eyes an inch away from the bathroom mirror. A dinner for two, matching half-drunk beers and a warm orange glow pouring in from an open window. Flipping through crates of records, crouched on the floor, knees aching. It’s a panorama of metropolitan life right before narrative takes hold and directs course. “Jack” pulses with bouyant energy, mostly potential, as it sets the stage for whatever magic will follow. My only complaint is that treating the vocal gives it a robotic edge that doesn’t suit the song’s human heartbeat.
