You put on Tinashe’s Quantum Baby. It’s only twenty minutes long, so you’re not asking much of yourself. Prelude “No Simulation”’s ponderousness is soon swept away by the first real song, “Getting No Sleep”, a UK garage twister Tinashe murmurs over with cool conviction, and at this point you congratulate yourself already on time well spent. You attend to the mix of coquetry and lamentation that follows, sympathising with the lust-feels-mistrust-heartbreak muddle she croons you through with the same pleasant if undemanding understatement as the music around her. Before you know it, she’s calling time with two hits, first “No Broke Boys” and then genuine hit “Nasty”. You leave impressed. When you go back, you decide the middle ten minutes is perhaps, after all, a bit too understated. But, really, it’s only twenty minutes, and before your morning something’s brewed it’s time for “No Broke Boys” again. Problem solved.
Not only is “Nasty” the actual hit of the two, its hook is also the purest, depending for its allure on the mere languid tone of Tinashe’s looped voice as she sings it. Still, probably because I’m nearer a broke boy than a nasty girl myself, it’s the titular hook of “No Broke Boys” that I’ve had echoing in my head, not “Nasty”’s guiltless confession. But there are other reasons, all to do with why “No Broke Boys” is the better track, and the kind of anthem all summers and indeed seasons need, brat or otherwise. “Nasty” itself was Tinashe’s smutty official submission for a brat summer anthem, and was the kind invited by the proudly louche brat mindset. “No Broke Boys”, on the other hand, is if anything a hot girl summer throwback. Sounds quaint, but this perhaps is to “No Broke Boys”’ credit, because it felt like the hot girl summer ideal was more essential and comprehensive than its bratty variant. In the same way, while “Nasty” is just about getting nasty, “No Broke Boys” is about something more: generally being much too much for the scrubs, thanks no thanks.
Indeed, the definitive work in this venerable lineage is none other than TLC’s “No Scrubs”. (See also, off the top of my head, Otis Redding and Carla Thomas’s “Tramp”, Jule Styne and Leo Robin’s “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend”, in its way Loretta Lynn’s “Hey Loretta”, and the very soul of Megan Thee Stallion.) But while “No Scrubs” may be the manifesto, respectfully, “No Broke Boys” makes it sound verbose, even a little goaded. “No, I don’t want…” – why bother with these clarifications in the first place? The whole point is the scrubs aren’t worthy; let them figure it out themselves. “Give a fuck how you feel”, goes Tinashe instead. She alludes to her ex only to praise herself, addresses him only to belittle and taunt. This attitude, however confected it may be, helps turn the gaze of what’s really a break-up song away from any failed joint past and towards a bright, or should I say hot, future of self-possession – that is, tonight, and whatever/whomever it may bring.
What’s more, the chorus of “No Broke Boys” might be catchier than—OK, as catchy as—that of “No Scrubs”, with whose vocal melody it shares its contour and rhythmic tendencies. While more people can probably recite the running-on explanatory refrain of “No Scrubs” than think they can, Tinashe, who after all is feeling careless, makes lesser demands by expounding her philosophy in bullet points; if you’re in a hurry, just pick your favourite (mine, “Looks so good, makes no sense”). And here Quantum Baby’s sonic smallness makes sense, because, like I said, she’s feeling careless. All we need and get beyond bass and drums—the latter sounding especially clouty for being so sparely adorned—is a capricious little keyboard riff that you might say is feeling itself as it twiddles its way down low. Matching its insouciance in her, dare I say it, bratty delivery of the chorus is all she had to do, and was well within her powers—or chosen ambit—as a low-key R&B singer. To top it all, if you thought Quantum Baby’s twenty minutes was a bargain, “No Broke Boys” is barely two. This also means I’m out of things to say about it, other than that playing it ten times on repeat isn’t a bad alternative to the album. Take it from one who’s done much worse while writing this.
Queen Brat says brat summer is over, and phenologically speaking she cannot be not wrong. Since my own lifestyle in no way aligns with that of the archetypical brat, this transition will hit others much harder than me. Still, I like for everyone to have their fun, so these people have my sympathy. And perhaps some solace lies in the reminder that hotness is a state of mind, and forever – so it behooves us to believe, at least, as we resist scrubby thoughts and ways. But if you find yourself short on belief, don’t worry. Just borrow some from Tinashe, who can spare it.