Risqué but cautious? Sabrina Carpenter’s ‘Man’s Best Friend’ is not as subversive as it seems

The album whose album cover caused everyone on the internet to become a living GCSE Drama performance piece is here. Welcome, Man’s Best Friend by Sabrina Carpenter! There can now be a respite from the Model United Nations-esque debates in the comment section – alarmed discussions based on real arguments about important global issues that happen inside a bubble and carry very little real-world consequence (the album cover didn’t set feminism back 50 years no matter how many likes that one comment got).

Carpenter’s 7th studio album, Man’s Best Friend, came out on 29 August as a follow-up to her highly acclaimed, record-breaking album Short n’ Sweet. Short n’ Sweet introduced the world to Sabrina signatures: her light-hearted misandry, lyrics riddled with sexual innuendoes, and one-liners and songs often lamenting the capricious nature of a relationship topped off with airy and light vocals and 1980s synths. This album contains a lot of the similar staples, and peppers in some freshness, which makes for an enjoyable listen. However, when put in the wider musical landscape, it is far too safe.

There was no point of stagnation in the album

What stood out on this album’s first listen was that it didn’t adhere to an old pop formula: having at least one instrumentally stripped-down emotional ballad and gut-punching lyrics that will be used in TikTok edits for years to come. These songs are all danceable or at the very least swayable. Even the more slow-tempo songs like ‘Don’t Worry I’ll Make You Worry’ and ‘We Almost Broke Up Again Last Night’ were imprinted with the DNA of late ’70s ABBA and Fleetwood Mac, and so were slow but had groove to them, meaning there was no point of stagnation in the album.

This album also includes Carpenter’s distinct tongue-in-cheek lyricism. However, what is more singular is how she tackles heavy topics such as heartbreak or depression through her lyrics. Her more serious lyrics, while not ornate, are compelling because of their concise bluntness. Not every album has to have songs that oscillate between extremes, offering pearls of poetic wisdom about self-discovery or the perfect metaphor for what heartbreak ‘actually’ feels like. In the final track ‘Goodbye’, a song about being broken up with, Sabrina simply states: “And I have cried so much I almost fainted / To show you just how much it hurts / I wish I had a gun or words.” This is in some ways more engaging than if she had chosen an elaborate metaphor.

The musical range of this album is also impressive, starting with ‘Tears’, an upbeat Donna Summer-style disco track about being turned on by a man doing the bare minimum. Not a new concept, but in true disco fashion, the lyrics take a backseat to the beat, vocals, and instrumentation, allowing you to just dance. Other songs like ‘When Did You Get Hot?’ and ‘Sugar Talking’ have elements of 2000s R&B songs, centralising vocal runs and playful flirtation, as if Ariana Grande and Christina Aguilera were crystallised into one sound. Carpenter also leans into country pop on the song ‘Go-Go Juice’, which is easily a tune you can see people dance on a top of a table to in a Texan bar.

While not lacking originality, this record isn’t cutting-edge or embarking on new territory

However, for all its versatility, danceability, and honesty, where this album falls short is that, when looking at it in the wider musical context, it takes no risks.

While not lacking originality, this record isn’t cutting-edge or embarking on new territory. Carpenter doesn’t challenge herself to be bold or weird or outlandish in a way that is radical, which is an underlying issue seen in her previous album. Ultimately, being an empowered woman singing about sex and relationships with humour and bluntness, while very fun, is not audacious and certainly not new.

The most effective measure for whether or not an artist or a song is successfully breaking new ground is that it has the “How can someone do that?” factor. What that is, is art that makes the listener ask rhetorical questions in amazement like: “How can a person sing like that” “How can someone dance like that?” “How did they even come up with this concept for a song?” This kind of artistry, because of its novelty, can be divisive. It is not always instantly likeable, or perhaps it takes a while to catch on because it’s ahead of its time, which is the entire point.

Looking at the tracks on this album, there isn’t one song that evokes that reaction in any capacity. Vocally, Carpenter really shines on songs like ‘When Did You Get Hot?’ but she isn’t doing runs or riffs and doesn’t give you goosebumps or feel emotionally complex.  Carpenter’s lyrics, which are known for their witty bluntness, aren’t clever enough to make them quotable. “Gave me his whole heart and I gave him head” feels closer to something whispered at the back of a Year 8 science class than in a Simpsons writers’ room. Underscored by the over-use of ’70s and ’80s instrumentation and production, which feels like a cheap way to play on nostalgia for very beloved and popular music from that period, it all falls a little bit flat.

This album isn’t destined for pop permanence

The album cover, by contrast, hints at something far more contentious. The cover features Carpenter on all-fours while a faceless man holds a fistful of her hair. It caused major controversy, sparking a wildfire of online conversation about the extent to which it was satirizing the male gaze or not, with many people calling it antifeminist and unnecessary. While the reaction was premature and melodramatic, as the music hadn’t come out yet, it suffices to say that none of the songs are provocative or boldly satirical enough to explain the choice of the cover. The cover is a mirage – visually teasing something that isn’t there in reality. Her other visuals for the album, like the photoshoots, the lyric videos, and her personal style, display a Golden-Era Hollywood glamour – black cocktail dresses, big blonde curls and men in suits – and while these images look chic, they aren’t grotesque, subversive, or intricate, but wholly unimaginative.

Listen to Man’s Best Friend here: