Maroon 5's best you can hope for is oblivion. The band hummed and strummed their way into the background of every Starbucks, singing sanded-down soft rock with Adam Levine's distinctive whine appealing for love, rain, and Sunday mornings. It was a case of anesthesia. Levine became a bland, consistent presence in pop culture, spouting nonsense and judging singing competitions on television.
Since their debut with Songs About Jane over two decades ago, the band has clawed at pop trends—EDM-inspired beats, clever partnerships with rappers—occasionally discovering a tune so sweet, a drum pattern so blunting, that you surrendered to the euphoria. Maroon 5 isn't known for its mushy songs or bloated, overcommitted metaphors. You listen to submerge.