Where does this instinct come from — and does it make me anything other than a churlish, prejudiced reviewer? For some of these covers, the annoyance comes from their commercial out-performance of the songs they’re based on. Jonas Blue’s “Fast Car,” for example, was an even bigger success than the original in some parts of the world, peaking at No. 2 in the U.K. charts and No. 1 in Australia (Chapman’s peaked at No. 5 and 4 respectively). Meanwhile, Calum Scott’s version of “Dancing On My Own” reached No. 2 in the U.K., in comparison to Robyn’s No. 8. While thousands clearly love Scott’s song, some British pop fans are outraged at the success of this cover given its greater prominence on radio and TV than Robyn’s innovative original.

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Part of this outrage comes down to the aesthetic change in the song. In the original, the Swedish star can’t escape her heartbreak on the dancefloor. Even as the production pulsates with euphoric synths, the lyrics ask desperately, Why can’t you see me? On Scott’s version, this contrast is eradicated: he simply howls the lyrics forlornly over a piano. As one person on Twitter put it, “I’m still furious that some whiny boy felt 'Dancing On My Own’ wasn’t sad and relatable enough.”

Covers like this don’t seem to build on original ideas, but to reduce them. Perhaps it’s this sense of emotional simplification that makes me narrow my eyes at the Top 40; but I think it goes a little deeper, still. After all, it’s not so different to what my favorites were doing back in the ‘00s, when songs were being subsumed into a formulaic pop sound in the same way — but back then, it wasn’t acoustic indie pop or tropical house, it was bubblegum pop. The older generation might have hated Britney’s take on “I Love Rock N Roll” for polishing Joan Jett’s rebellious anthem into a pristine product — but, in a way, you could see that bubblegum-ifying process as a rebellion in itself. Feminized pop music was always an easy target to hate on, given its creators and defenders were mostly young girls. What makes the popular covers of 2016 a little more troubling is that they come from a totally different demographic: bros.

Take Jonas Blue. His adaptation of “Fast Car” is bound to be irritating to anyone who appreciates the subtleties of the original and dislikes the current tropical house trend. As Jonas said himself to Idolator, “I wanted to create a new version of it for the younger generation.” Does that mean it’s inherently bad? No. But what does give pause is the way in which the song — a woman of color’s dream about escaping a cycle of poverty — has had its edges softened. Chapman’s “Fast Car” has a heavy weight, as the protagonist’s fantasy of a better life is undermined by the grimly realist final verse: I’d always hoped for better/ Thought maybe together you and me would find it. In Jonas Blue’s version, the song instead ends on the hope that its hero will live in the suburbs, and the pop-friendly house beat suggests pure escapism. All this, in order to turn a tragic song into a commercial hit for a man who posts Instagrams like this of himself with the hashtag #fastcar.