Why soundcloud is slow

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As part of that process, we resample and transcode it to a high-performance codec. There are multiple answers for why SoundCloud may be crashing on your phone. It depends on whether or not your smartphone is running iOS or Android — and what type of Android device. They may also be unsafe if they are no longer receiving security updates. If your SoundCloud app crashes on Android, there are a couple of different fixes you can try.

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Question feed. Not to mention, it's also the most invigorated Drake has sounded since 's "Back to Back. Many of Jepsen's die-hard cult-like followers would argue it's her best song to date. On a fairly regular basis, just as a point of principle, fans will express retroactively righteous anger about "Run Away With Me's" lack of nominations at the Grammys — even going so far as to circulate fake quotes from the Recording Academy explaining why it was snubbed "When a song is so ahead of its time, it's unfair to say it was released during the eligibility period, and that's exactly what happened with 'Run Away With Me'".

In any other hands, the song would've been a standard feel-good bop. A Moment! Lykke Li is at her best on "I Follow Rivers," a bizarre pop-rock-folk triumph that's soaked in an "eerie swirl of synths, reverb-swathed guitars, and pinging electronic percussion" Rolling Stone.

It's also one of those rare times a song was given new life with an upbeat remix that nearly surpasses the original's ingenuity and melodrama. Many of those songs became hits because Drake recognized rising musical styles dancehall, bounce, etc. But "Hold On, We're Going Home" isn't just a certified classic within Drake's specific catalog: Back when he still had something to prove, he made a timeless love song that will surely outlive his meme-able legacy.

As Jason Parham wrote for Pitchfork , this song "is not consumed with the moment, as Drake songs routinely are, but with forever. We'll likely never see anything like this song ever again. How fitting that the preeminent song on James Smith's solo album, "Loud Places," best illustrates his chemistry with Romy Madley-Croft, his bandmate from The xx.

The duo's palpable tension makes this song feel like a living, breathing, growing creature. Smith conducts a gospel-like chorus of chants and drum beats and hand claps, swelling around Croft's breathy croons — and transforming the song from an intimate confession into an all-consuming, gravity-defying hymn. When the song ends, it feels like you're coming down from an adrenaline rush. The answer is yes. In the years following, Rihanna went on to release her career-topping album "Anti," as well as launch a myraid of game-changing beauty and fashion brands, cementing her permanent mark on culture that now extends far beyond music.

The song is sheer power personified, flipping gender stereotypes by repurposing a lyric coined by controlling pimps, typically used by men in sexist revenge fantasies. Even as we whine and pine for new music from our High Priestess of punk-pop, no one needs reminding anymore who's in charge. Everytime she drops, she is the only thing we're playing.

In the beginning of the decade, Nicki Minaj was a buzzy, up-and-coming rapper who was best known for delivering the best verse of the year on Kanye West's posse cut "Monster. It made major waves in rap-obsessed circles — but Minaj didn't become a cultural touchstone until "Super Bass" caught fire. When it was rereleased as a single in , the bonus track seemed to contaminate the country's water supply, infecting everyone — Taylor Swift , Selena Gomez , and Ariana Grande all knew the lyrics by heart — with its pop-infused combination of rap and melody.

The song hit like a sugar rush with a hint of something harsher — something tart, sharp, and acidic — establishing Minaj as a top-tier rapper as much as an international pop star. You may not know this song by name, but as soon as that first chord hits, you'll feel a familiar euphoria.

There's a discomfort here, but it's poignant and vivid and keeps you coming back for more, like a masochistic teenage romance. There are plenty of songs from Swift's official pivot to pop music, "," that might feel at home on this list. Swift herself is particularly proud of the production on "Out Of The Woods. And yet, none of them come close to the transcendent experience of listening to "Style," which is sheer pop perfection from start to finish.

Its percolating guitar riff and polished synths expand gradually, creating an otherworldly third space that exists between what's been said and what hasn't. Swift and her lover are suspended there, driving in the dark, unseen and timeless. Lyrically, Swift has rarely been more in control. Each winking detail has been carefully chosen; each image is precisely painted. The song's narrative builds and smolders, gradually, until the climactic lament "Take me home!

The moment feels like an explosion, or a rebirth. That euphoric uncertainty is the whole point. The opening track is a hypnotic, humid slow burn that showcases some of frontman Alex Turner's most masterful lyricism to date: "Have you no idea that you're in deep?

By the end of the song, you're winded and longing for an ex that you didn't even know you missed. The pulsing two-part showpiece heralded a new dimension to our most private superstar, who had created her most personal album yet. The traditional read: misogynistic platitude is that a woman is beyond her prime once she's married, and especially after she's given birth.

Stigmas and narrow expectations for mothers, especially for black mothers, still run rampant. For such an egomaniac, West's collaborative skills remain unparalleled. It says a lot that in the midst of "Ultralight Beam," which boasts some of West's best production to date, he decided to hand the mic to Chance the Rapper.

And Chance, already a formidable lyricist in his own right, handed back a career-topping verse that paid direct homage to West's influence. Strokes of genius like this illustrate why many West fans refuse to give up on him and his potential for creative redemption. Two albums later, we may have to grapple with the fact that "Ultralight Beam" was his last. It sort of sounds like an arcade video game, and also like the work of a chill David Bowie enthusiast who makes beats in Brooklyn, and also like aliens crash-landing on our planet in a spaceship that resembles a disco ball.

Fittingly, "Dance Yrself Clean" is the opening track on the band's album, "This Is Happening," which was intended to be their final release. They returned seven years later, proving that dancing yourself clean really can do the trick. I am fully aware that the popularity of a song does not necessarily translate to its objective quality. This, however, is indeed one of those times. Think of everything you want a pop song to be.

Now try to tell me that "Uptown Funk" doesn't succeed on every single one of those levels. It's no fluke that it's been the cornerstone of every party, workout, and pump-up playlist worth its salt for the past six years; sometimes, a song is so catchy and fun and universally beloved that it escapes rational critique. Lorde's sophomore effort "Melodrama" is one of the decade's finest, most cohesive albums, on which each song enhances the others.

They shine individually but brightest as a whole, like Ursa Major, with its distinctive Big Dipper pattern and commanding place in the night sky. If there's one song that can exit this carefully constructed mosaic and emerge triumphant, however, it's the album's opener and lead single, "Green Light. Besides the defiant production — complete with an abrupt key change, a sudden swell of drums, and a song title that's only sung by a tiny chorus of background Lordes — "Green Light" expertly showcases Lorde's nuanced songwriting.

She revels in intimate personal details that should feel far too specific for a pop single, but don't "She thinks you love the beach, you're such a damn liar" , and images that seem simple but actually glisten with multi-dimensional emotion: longing, regret, anger, hope, euphoria. Traditional pop music thrives when it makes you feel young, vivid, and carefree. In that sense, "Teenage Dream" is the pop song. From Katy Perry's album of the same name, "Teenage Dream" exists like a shining beacon amongst its four fellow No.

But there is no song that better illustrates Lamar's rise as "hip-hop's trojan horse," both a master lyricist who has important things to say and a master producer who knows how to make you listen. Think back to when "Swimming Pools" first dropped: At some point during a night out, it was all but expected that every person at the party would commune to chant, "Pass out, DRANK!

Of course, "Swimming Pools" doesn't actually encourage its listeners to drink, but rather warns them not to. In its ferocious second verse, Lamar adopts the slightly deranged voice of his own conscience to tell him he's spiraling.

But then, the chorus comes back around, and he's convinced to "turn it up a notch. Before he was widely recognized as the greatest lyrical rapper alive, Lamar still intertwined complex storylines, societal observations, and explorations of his own duality with infectious beats and thrilling hooks. As he coaxed us to have fun, he also whispered truths in our ears — and as he rose to icon status, he rewrote the rules of rap and pop and commercial music on his way.

In , it would've taken a powerful song to completely overhaul Justin Bieber's image and convince us to open our hearts to him again. And, in a gloriously poetic turn of events, "Sorry" was up to the task. In under a year's time, Bieber went from the irresponsible, immature poster child for white boy nonsense to pop music's savior. But you'd be wrong on both counts. Bieber was gathering momentum before he dropped "Sorry," to be sure, but nothing else could've cemented his revival in the same way.

Because even if Bieber falls back into old patterns, even if we grow tired of his grating social media presence, we'll still be bumping "Sorry" until the end of time.

It's a banger so undeniably catchy and charismatic that it transcends his reputation, his comeback, and any possible comebacks to come. Since Kevin Parker's studio debut as Tame Impala in , he's made an unparalleled impact on the ever-melting border between "underground" and "mainstream" music.

And while every song he touches these days is a prime example of his ingenuity and flair, "The Less I Know the Better" truly embodies what makes a Tame Impala song resonate.

But at the same time, for me, I love that kind of music. Parker leaning away from convention and fully into his own taste is exactly the point. The best Tame Impala song isn't one that worries about trying to be "cool. With colors and patterns swirling around you, you forget that a boundary between "cool" and "uncool" is even supposed to exist.

To take inspiration from somewhere is always dope, but like, there's always this hunger to do something that no one is doing right now — a hunger to push people somewhere new," she said.

Mission accomplished. There has never been a song like "Thank U, Next," one that casually name-drops a superstar's exes — not for shade or shock value, but to express radical honesty and genuine gratitude. Given the very public relationship drama that preceded its release , the hungry masses would've been perfectly satisfied with a kiss-off anthem, even if it had been shallow or self-indulgent.

Instead, Grande channeled her momentum — operating within the brightest spotlight of her career — to craft something that felt more like a philosophical statement. But her debut single, "Video Games," is the most perfect example of how Del Rey can make you feel nostalgic for memories that aren't even yours, or things that may have happened to you in a parallel universe.