If the Chainsmokers know anything, it’s that no one ever died from hearing a chorus too often. It’s why the American duo were the only bulwark against an all-Sheeran UK top 10 last month. This debut doesn’t dare vary their formula: instantly memorable yet completely forgettable music, with all the personality and passion of an invoice. The female singers all sound like a Sia guide vocal for Rihanna; the men mostly simper shallow emo-EDM cliches about failing relationships. Eventually everything sounds the same - the more you hear the less there is to listen to. This is Trump-pop: shallow, always betraying its influences, with a third-grade vocabulary and ambition that runs no further than emptying the nearest wallet.
