The track's genesis lies in Dragana's "Up And Down," that mid-nineties exemplar of synth-driven euphoria, and the influence proves foundational rather than superficial. Momotaro has clearly studied the architecture of classic Eurodance: the propulsive four-to-the-floor beat, the sawtooth synth stabs that arrive with metronomic precision, the unapologetic maximalism that defined the genre before minimalism became dance music's default mode. Yet this isn't mere pastiche. The production values betray a thoroughly contemporary hand, with stereo separation and transient definition that would have been impossible to achieve in the analogue studios of 1996.
La Fiamma's vocal performance deserves particular attention. Her delivery channels the attitude and melodic clarity that made Eurodance vocalists such compelling presences—confident without crossing into aggression, emotionally direct without tipping into sentimentality. The decision to retain, indeed emphasise, audible breathing throughout the track initially registers as curious, even potentially amateurish. Yet this proves to be the production's masterstroke. Those breaths function as rhythmic punctuation, adding a corporeal dimension to what could easily have become sterile digital perfection. They create tension and release, suggesting physical exertion and emotional investment. The breathing becomes the track's heartbeat, grounding the synthetic elements in something undeniably human.
Momotaro's sound design reveals genuine craftsmanship. The synth leads possess that characteristic brightness and aggression, cutting through the mix with the kind of assertive presence that demands attention rather than politely requesting it. The bass programming hits with contemporary weight whilst maintaining the bouncing, almost playful quality that characterised the genre's golden period. The arrangement demonstrates admirable restraint—nothing overstays its welcome, each element serving the song's forward momentum rather than the producer's ego.
The broader cultural context cannot be ignored. Eurodance emerged during a peculiar moment when electronic dance music could be simultaneously underground and mainstream, when chart success didn't automatically signal creative compromise. That duality has largely collapsed; dance music now exists either as experimental art or algorithm-optimised content. "Play Me Like a Hit" makes a compelling case for a third option: music that embraces accessibility without abandoning artistic intent, that delivers immediate pleasure without resorting to cynical manipulation.
The track's significance extends beyond its considerable technical merits. Momotaro has created something increasingly rare: dance music that celebrates joy without irony, that embraces emotional directness as a feature rather than a flaw. The title itself—"Play Me Like a Hit"—acknowledges the transactional nature of pop music whilst simultaneously subverting it through sheer force of conviction. This isn't music that apologises for wanting to be loved.
The "Radio Edit" designation proves apt. Clocking in at a presumably concise duration, the track understands that pop effectiveness often derives from knowing when to end. It delivers its payload efficiently, leaves the desired impression, and exits before outstaying its welcome. This economy of expression, combined with the production's undeniable polish and La Fiamma's committed performance, suggests that Momotaro possesses both the technical facility and the artistic sensibility to sustain a career beyond novelty revivalism. "Play Me Like a Hit" succeeds on its own terms: unashamedly populist, meticulously constructed, and blessed with enough character to distinguish it from the countless anonymous productions currently clogging streaming platforms.