One Too Many - Keith Urban and Pink

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Keith Urban & Pink – One Too Many

Score: 3.4

It takes a certain kind of courage to title your duet One Too Many when the song itself sounds like it was written after exactly that number of beers. Keith Urban and Pink, two pop-country-adjacent titans, come together here not so much in harmony as in a musical custody battle over who can out-melodramatise the other. Spoiler: nobody wins.

On paper, the song is about drinking too much and dialling up an ex—a theme as old as both Nashville and karaoke machines. In practice, it’s a chorus so sticky it could double as the lining of a barroom coaster. Urban strums an acoustic that sounds like it was fished out of a Spotify “Acoustic Coffeehouse” playlist, while Pink delivers vocals with the intensity of someone who thought she was cutting a demo for a Now That’s What I Call Country 2030 compilation.

The production is its own beast: a Frankenstein’s monster of Top 40 gloss, faux-folk earnestness, and something that might be steel guitar if you squint hard enough. It’s as if Max Martin got locked in a room with a Nashville songwriter and the only way out was to produce something that would make both Walmart shoppers and wine-aunt Facebook groups nod in approval.

Lyrically, One Too Many is a Hallmark card taped to a whiskey bottle. “I’ve had one too many,” they sing, a phrase repeated so often it feels less like confession and more like the Terms & Conditions you’re forced to accept before entering Keith Urban’s radio rotation. It’s supposed to be messy and relatable, but instead it lands with the authenticity of a corporate brand tweeting about “getting lit on Taco Tuesday.”

That’s not to say it isn’t catchy—it is, in the same way a car alarm is catchy when it’s been going off for an hour. It will lodge itself in your brain, make you hum it against your will, and then leave you wondering why you suddenly have the urge to buy boxed rosé and an Urban Outfitters cowboy hat.

In the end, One Too Many isn’t a disaster so much as it is aggressively fine: the sonic equivalent of warm domestic beer. It won’t ruin your night, but you’ll definitely wish you had something better in your hand.

Best moment: When it ends and you realise Spotify auto-play has queued up literally anything else.
Worst moment: Realising you’ll still be humming it tomorrow.

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