In all seriousness, though, the number’s there if you need it…

Thomas Inskeep: All the credit in the world to Logic for releasing a single whose title is the phone number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, and whose lyrics concern someone calling said number who, at the start of the song, wants to commit suicide — but who, by song’s end, has changed their mind. “1-800-273-8255” is a song of hope from someone who (on some level, at least) understands the struggles and impulses of those who consider suicide. This song’s gonna reach a lot of people (the guest turns by rising stars Alessia Cara and Khalid don’t hurt, either), and it actually works on a musical level, as well. This isn’t a corny public service announcement, but a narrative that draws you in. And it’s incredibly powerful. Be jaded if you must, but as someone who’s been touched by suicide, I want lots more songs like this, and similarly more platforms for them to be heard.

[10]

Alfred Soto: If this tract saves lives, it’s in spite of the tuneless chorus.

[3]

Katherine St Asaph: There’s a lot to be said for the Bornsteinian idea that at the bare practical level, anything you can do is preferable to suicide, even if that means listening to Logic singing. The song is alternately maudlin and murky, the “who can relate!” cheers evoke Big Fun in a way I assume is unintentional, Alessia Cara joins the long lineage of women cast as the selfless voice of emotional giving (Khalid’s place in this narrative is a can of worms I’m going to leave shut for now), and Logic’s major-label career is yet another case of G-Eazying would-be crossover rap off the radio. I mean, if it works, it works; it’s impossible to say, years and cultures removed, what’s copycat inspiration for teens and what’s solace, and the resulting confusion is one of the last refuges of victim-blaming in popular discourse (the recent nadir being the raft of psychologists who should know better criticizing 13 Reasons Why, a story in part about sexual assault, for its protagonist not, like, just talking to her abusers and bullies). So if “1-800-273-8255” lodges that number into the crevices of the brain where impulse decisions happen, all the better. I just suspect that as a teen, who had been there, I would have found this darkly farcical and alienating.

[3]

Iain Mew: The murky depth of the arrangement is an effective choice, perhaps one of the few possible, for tackling something as big as this does. It gives an impression of a great roiling mass of emotion that words couldn’t do justice to; the vocalists each bubble up and give it a go that barely registers anything more specifc, and it just heightens the feeling.

[7]

Crystal Leww: Art can give people who young kids look up a platform to talk about issues that people are often embarrassed or uncomfortable to talk about. That’s great! However, while I hope that this song helps any kid feel better about themselves, I cannot help but feel a deep, deep cynicism about Logic in particular doing this. Logic is the same dude who named his album AfricAryaN before someone told him that it was fucked up and then still chose to retain the song title for his final track. Logic’s whole album is Woke Bae in the grossest, most pandering and annoying way. No diss at all to my little siblings Alessia Cara and Khalid, who are not much older than actual teens, but this feels more self-serving on Logic’s part than helpful.

[2]

Maxwell Cavaseno: Logic is the Bono of rap in a way that Kanye always dreamed of being, but never could. Whereas Kanye’s greatest issue was that he had far too much of a personality, Logic has blinding ambition and very little else. In his own words, “1-800-273-8255” is meant to be an experiment where he writes a song from the perspective of someone who is plagued with suicidal depression, but done so in a way that it can still feel anthemic. The intent is well-meaning, but his read-through of the experience is hollow and uncomfortably calculated, in that Logic’s goal is to deliberately craft something that acknowledges a problem without really empathizing. The gesture is embarrassing, patronizing (the call and response adlib of “Who can relate?” feels less impassioned than it does vampiric) and one of the reasons why I actively worry about a kid like Logic succeeding. He understands how to appeal to people and earn their respect and confidence, but I don’t believe he understands them at all.

[4]

Will Adams: It’s the “Who can relate?!” that bothers me, as it betrays how much Logic is trying to be universal instead of personal. Obviously, if “1-800-273-8255” helps even one person, that’s great, but it’s unfortunate that there might be many who’d miss out on that help due to the edges being sanded down so much. The production’s lush enough, and Alessia Cara’s and Khalid’s brief contributions provide some bulk, but with so much of the song centered on Logic’s weak chorus, it’s not nearly as powerful as it wants to be.

[4]

Joshua Copperman: There is some gorgeous, warm production here, with a compelling contrast between the simple drum kit and the thick textures of the orchestral arrangements. Alessia Cara sells the second verse, as her voice gels with both the storyline of the song and the background music itself. Similarly, Khalid does his best with the soulful outro. That leaves Logic himself’s disappointingly impersonal storytelling as the weakest link; the rushed change from “I just wanna die” to “I finally wanna be alive” is the clearest evidence of reach exceeding grasp. I get the idea, that all it takes is one phone call to change the direction of someone’s life, but it’s handled somewhat clumsily, as are the shouts of “who can relate, woo!” that repeat throughout. But if someone who needs it is encouraged to call that number, that matters more than any bracketed score I could assign.

[6]