Pitchfork Drops Troye Sivan Rush Bomb Internet Loses It

Troye Sivan has never been shy about making people talk. From his debut days to his glossy, tightly produced latest singles, he knows how to make headlines, get people arguing in comment sections, and keep fans sharing.

But even for him, this is a moment worth pausing over: Pitchfork has officially ranked his track “Rush” at number 49 on its list of the “100 Best Songs of the 2020s So Far.”

It’s not the top spot. It’s not even top 20. But in an industry drowning in singles that vanish before they even hit the playlist, making this kind of list at all is a statement.

A statement about taste. About Pop’s future. About whether “Rush” is actually as good as its supporters say—or if it’s just a hyper-engineered product designed to make you think you love it.

Rush Isn’t Just a Song. It’s a strategy.

When Pitchfork published its list, you could practically hear the keyboard warriors warming up.

Some were thrilled: finally, Troye Sivan is getting the critical respect he deserves.
Others were rolling their eyes: 49? Really? Pitchfork is trying too hard to look cool.

That split says everything about what “Rush” represents.

It’s not just a song. It’s a strategy.

Every layer of the track feels precision-crafted to provoke a reaction. The percussion hits harder than anything Sivan’s done in years. The vocals, even when they’re whisper-level soft, feel designed to set off a million TikTok remixes.

This is hyper-produced pop. But that’s not a crime. In 2024, being hyper-produced is the job.

Pitchfork’s Reasoning (and the Drama It Sparked)

Pitchfork’s list didn’t just dump 100 tracks in an Excel table.

It served taste with a capital T.

For “Rush,” they called it “one of the most addictive singles of the decade so far,” praising how Sivan “never sounded so seductive.”

Their mini-essay on the track highlighted the tight structure, the slick confidence, and the expertly layered hook that refuses to leave your brain.

But that praise didn’t land quietly.

Scroll the replies on social, and you’ll see a civil war:

“This is just corporate pop pretending to be edgy.”
“He deserves top 10—everyone knows it slaps.”
“Pitchfork is trying too hard to be mainstream now.”
“About time they recognized real talent.”

It’s exactly the kind of polarized hype that marketing departments dream of.

Troye Sivan’s Long Game

For Troye Sivan, this isn’t just a random win.

This is a carefully built moment in a long-term career arc.

Because Troye has been around. He’s seen the hype cycles. He knows that getting Pitchfork on your side—ever, at all—is a big deal.

This isn’t Billboard or iHeartRadio. Pitchfork is the cool kid approval stamp.

And Troye’s brand, for years, has been about balancing mainstream popularity with just enough indie credibility to avoid looking desperate.

Getting Rush on this list tells every future playlist curator, festival booker, and brand partnership manager: Hey, this isn’t just pop. This is respected pop.

What Makes “Rush” Work

Strip away the discourse and the marketing, and “Rush” is… well, good.

Really good.

It opens with a drumline that feels equal parts club-ready and arena-sized. The pacing is breathless, hence the title—designed to keep you leaning forward the whole time.

Troye’s vocals? Whispery, commanding, then soaring all in the same phrase.

Pitchfork quoted the Portuguese promo lyric: “Respire um, dois, três, pegue tudo de mim, tão bom.”

Translated, it’s “Breathe one, two, three, take all of me, so good.”

But let’s be clear—this isn’t about poetry. It’s about vibe.

It’s engineered to be addictive. That hook is sticky. The production is top-tier. It dares you not to dance.

But Critics Call It “safe.”

Of course, no big critical win happens without backlash.

Plenty of listeners—and a few industry insiders—have called Rush too safe.

They argue it doesn’t break new ground. That it’s just Troye Sivan picking trendy sounds off a Spotify playlist and calling it innovation.

The truth is probably somewhere in the middle.

Troye didn’t invent this sound. But he polished it until it gleamed.

Rush isn’t trying to be avant-garde. It’s trying to be the song everyone plays at the party.

And you can bet it’s going to keep showing up in summer festival sets and retail playlists for years.

The Numbers Don’t Lie

For all the sniping about Pitchfork’s taste, the real-world reception is hard to argue.

Rush charted internationally, racking up millions of streams in its first weeks.

It’s on TikTok. It’s on Reels. It’s in ads.

It’s one of those tracks that works equally well blasting from an SUV in LA as it does in an influencer’s neatly curated apartment.

That universality is the real product.

Skeptics call it “calculated.”

Troye Sivan probably calls it smart.

Pitchfork’s List: A Blessing and a Curse

Getting Pitchfork’s seal of approval isn’t nothing.

But it’s also the fastest way to paint a target on your back.

Fans of Rush now get to gloat: “See? Even Pitchfork knows it’s good.”
Haters get to dig in harder: “Pitchfork sold out.”

It turns Rush from a big single into a conversation.

And let’s be honest—Troye Sivan knows exactly how this game works.

You don’t get to this level by accident.

Troye’s Evolution: From Bedroom Pop to Stadium-Filler

Maybe the most interesting thing about Pitchfork’s choice isn’t the ranking itself.

It’s what it says about Troye Sivan’s career arc.

Remember: Troye didn’t start as some manufactured industry plant.

He was a kid uploading DIY songs and vlogs, trying to find an audience.

Early work was intimate, small-scale, and direct-to-camera.

But over time, he turned into the kind of artist who can headline festivals and sell out massive venues.

Rush is the sound of someone leaning into the big moment.

No more DIY aesthetic. No more apology for wanting the spotlight.

It’s confident. Even arrogant.

And Pitchfork’s nod confirms he pulled it off.

Why the Ranking Matters

Is 49 a perfect number?

No.

Is it better than not being on the list at all?

You bet.

Think about how many songs have come out since 2020. Think about how many huge singles have already been forgotten.

Landing on that list isn’t just a pat on the back.

It’s immortality, at least in the short-term memory of an industry that moves at warp speed.

It’s a reason for every future journalist writing a Troye Sivan profile to mention Rush.

It’s a reason for playlist editors to keep adding it.

It’s a reason for fans to keep streaming.

The Soundtrack of Now

When Pitchfork wrote their mini-review, they didn’t call Rush revolutionary.

They called it seductive.

They praised the way it wraps you up and drags you along.

That might be the truest thing you can say about it.

It’s not trying to reinvent music.

It’s trying to be the soundtrack for every perfect summer night.

For the club at 2 AM.

For the car ride home.

For the memory you didn’t know you were making.

Troye Sivan Isn’t Ignoring the Critics

Don’t mistake Troye Sivan for someone who’s unaware of the backlash.

He knows Pitchfork love comes with strings attached.

It’s a badge of credibility—but also a promise you’ll get called out the second you slip.

But here’s the thing: he seems fine with that.

He’s not trying to be your best-kept secret.

He’s not worried about alienating the underground.

He wants the biggest stage possible.

And with Rush, he’s making his case to own it.

Final Word

In 2024, pop success is about narrative as much as sound.

Rush is a hit because it sounds good.

But it’s on Pitchfork’s list because it feels important.

It’s a little divisive. A little corporate. A little too polished.

But it’s also undeniable.

Troye Sivan knows exactly what he’s doing.

He’s not here to play it safe.

He’s here to make sure you can’t stop talking about him.