If you’re going to write a pop song about the inherently charged subject of crying in the club, you’re going to have to figure out how to escape the shadow of Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own,” the Sistine Chapel ceiling of the form. Camila Cabello, for one, couldn’t do it on a song that was literally called “Crying In The Club.” But Rachel Chinouriri pulls off that magical feat by hitting it from a completely different angle. The song bubbles along, all tasteful disco squelches and tasteful insinuation. Chinouriri’s voice floats over the track with effortless grace, as if she doesn’t even want to confront the heavy emotions that her lyrics describe.
Chinouriri doesn’t want to cry in the club. It’s nobody else’s business. She knows she should’ve stayed in, but she’s here now. She’s never felt better, and she’s never felt worse, but she’s not going to let the second thing overshadow the first. Instead, she’s got this feeling baby, that it’s time to work it out on the floor. She’s feeling sensitive, and she doesn’t wanna talk anymore. So don’t talk. When you’re crying in the club, the dancing is just as important as the crying. —Tom