Once upon a time, mainly in the movement of the 50s, 60s and 70s, there was a genre of film popular as sex comedy, where adult relationships (and what we can now call situations) are broken for weak risque but reasonably sophisticated laughter and maybe even a small piece of actual insight. It’s someone’s guess about Sabrina carpenter have seen many of these films during absorbing all the old school showbiz informing about her public persona, but boy, she knows Sex comedy. No other star on the screen or Songland is almost as dedicated to laughing out of the carnage in the battle of the sex, which she makes another degree in her very winning new album, “Man’s Best Friend.”
And make no mistakes, this is musical comedy through and through. Over 12 songs there is Nary a verse or run where Carpenter’s tongue is not in her cheek, even when the songs come to things that everyone who has been part of the dating world can find something painful in abstract. They all play as excerpts from a SLU stage music like she and her three writing collaborators – Jack AntonoffThe Amy Allen And John Ryan – should really come to write, one day, in his great leisure time. At the moment, they have an album that is almost guaranteed to leave a constant smirk on the face, if the vagaries from young heart damage and desire are something that reason with you at all. Or wait, is it an actual expression of joy? Because in their best moments, the music itself has the power to produce it as well. There are different levels of pleasure to be found in an album that asks the musical question: What happens if ABBA had humor?
As a fair warning, what Carpenter said to “CBS Morning” can be repeated here: It will be pearl coupling. (And if you’ve spent enough time with this album’s double single-ender, your mind may immediately wonder if coupled pearls are an euphemism for something.) Unlike the slightly more gentle film sex comedies referred earlier, “man’s best friend” would have deserved a r-classification of about the third or fourth song, and more and more and more so much. The form-for the for the users of the users-as for for the for the users of the users-who for for for for for for for for for for for for for for for for for for for for for for for for the Folde offormes of the camelay in a non-sexual context. This is just saying: we don’t try to promise Coward-The level wit here. But you don’t have to be a part of her target demo to estimate how difficult the task was that carpenters and her three (and only three!) Co -authors have deducted, in maintaining a fairly consistent level of confusion over 38 short n ‘cute minutes … In the middle of a lot of expert -designed key changes and melodic life that is to be a hell of a fulfill Expert -designed key changes and melodic life that will act as a hell of a fulfilling policy in the case, which is a case that is a lot of a lot of expert -designed key changes and melodic life that will act as a hell of a real estate policy in the case which is a whole that is a great deal.
The album starts with “Manchild”, the three -month -old leading single that almost Everryone will have heard enough times to skip. It is good, and really works as an effective overpressure for why-you-so-theme for a bunch of songs that follow … but most of the songs that follow are actually much better. In that category we can place the second track in the running order and just released the second single, “Tears”, which on the one hand is one of the album’s dirtier numbers and on the other hand really aims to eradicate sexiness in IKEA mount and voluntary disk. Carpenter has fun with an immediate piece of incorrect direction: “I get wet over the thought of you …”, so she sings to start with, and your heart can fall for just half a second: Oh, it will be that kind of an album. And then, without missing a pace (yes, ok, missing just a pace), she concludes the idea: “…To be a responsible guy. “Now Carpenter did not invent the comic idea that women get horny from men being thought -provoking and productive, but she may have overturned this.
And this year’s most memorable line, for better or worse, or better and worse – the grateful end result of all this model male behavior is that “tears drop down my thighs”? It is a moan that goes through America after the first listen to it … but again, is it a moan of crawling or of pleasure? Either way, wonders work on how Aronoff has a promising piano intro bleeding to the best full, four-on-floor Disko-revival we have had for a few seasons. I don’t know how Dance Clubs of America will program this in the coming months without just getting its customers to double, but the pace will find a way – it always does.
The third track, “My husband on willpower”, is when things start to become more interesting. It’s almost the opposite of “tears”: Now her man is self -actualizing and does all the right things, and she hates it, because he has lost his libido when he was. “My husband’s in contact with his feelings / my husband will not move me with a twenty foot bar,” she regrets. “My sloppy pajamas don’t tempt him in the least / what in the fucked romantic dark comedy is this nightmare?” This is the first appearance of a trope that returns on several points throughout the album: Sabrina -carpenter is Understanded.
Playing that part of the romantic and sexually hindered indented in a failed relationship-as she also does in “Nobody’s Son” and “Never look”-is a kind of smart self-writing that lets Carpenter be as much of an EVERYGIRL as she is a glamed dream girl. If a pop goddess who pours on the red lipstick and shows twice as much leg as any 5-foot woman may have can still not keep her husband on, how much better should her less glam audience feel if it has happened to them? It is an interesting contrast that a carpenter plays just right when she sings her tragically entertaining stories about VE – a sad bag in a baby doll dress.
Anyway, as bold as she can be in painting herself as a loser in love, she is also wise enough not to milk it through an entire album, and balances they admittedly delightful downers with a few numbers that have her big and responsible. In addition to “Tears”, there is another unwaver sexy song on the album – “House Tour”, which seems to be the singer who invites someone into her home at the end of a date, until you quickly realize that the home is, her. (Mothers, hide your daughters, ears, then Connect the beads, which all flight attendants would certainly advise.) “Go-go-go juice”, which recommends alcohol use and a night in the city as a cure to be dumped, can be straight out of Kesha School of Philosophy. “Sugar Talking” may be the closest as seriously deliberate maturity here: In this she advises a guy who is happy to spend more time SMS than visiting that “your pieces mean crap for me / get your sad ass to mine.” Thoroughly speaking, but advocates for personal interaction is the beginning of the wisdom of the 21st century.
The strangest song is perhaps “don’t worry, I make you worry” – one of the titles that already seemed entertaining only on the track list and lives up to its potential. Carpenter really doesn’t spend much time trying to sound like Taylor Swift, which is a pretty tough trap to avoid 2025, even if Swift is not your Turkish and a friend and even if you did not hire her primary producer. But in this issue, carpenters manage to temporarily seem fast in two different, contrasting ways. The reflective music bed sounds a bit like one of the serious “folklore” or “Evermore” albums, but the lyrics are pure “empty space”, in the proud and not conscious threat to just go into a relationship and do some serious injuries. It is an odd composition of music and lyric, but Carpenter manages to sound like a threat for a minute.
Difficult as it is to believe at this late date, not everyone still gets the carpenter is up to something much more shy and smart than just being a sex goddess. It would be difficult to miss that she is a comed in her heart if you saw her Madcap Christmas Special for a couple of years, or if you have seen her on awards show that they draw strange stunts like a note-by-note remake by an old Goldie Hawn routine. But the passing upset over the album cover for the standard edition of “Mans Best Friend” speaks to the fact that not everyone comes here, or cares. It is clearly a kind of satire – she may or may not want to be your dog in a relationship – not a serious approval of S&M, or worse. Equally clear, it was supposed to be snapped a bit, so we may not be able to blame the part of the world that was properly provoked to take the picture to the surface value. But this was not Madonna who made a “sex” book; This was a carpenter creature, said Smart Goofball, forged his own submissive tendencies.
Hunting for width can be a challenge even for someone with a more selective audience, let alone at the level of Superstardom Carpent has recently achieved. Who else does it? Taylor, maybe, for a song here or there, but her persona is essentially a serious one; Ditto for Chappell Roan, whose sense of joy is strong but may not her overall thing. Carpenters are chopping out a channel for herself that allows her to enjoy a kind of musical dazzle that is common to the legitimate scene but not something we find so much in pop.
Which raises a question: How will she be treated by Grammys? There is an old Maxim – a real maxim – that Oscar voters do not have the slightest call what to do with comedy, not even at an elevated level like “Barbie.” Recording Academy may or is not bound by such blinders, but if she comes in the race it will do for an interesting contrast – a brave woman whose person is about standing up against male hypocrisy struggling with it with part of the male hypersinet in the past year. Whatever you think about these respective works, can anyone register be more of an anti-“ordinary” than the rough carpenter who has just laid out?
Anyway, there should be an award to pull off the carpenter and her cohorts pull in a song like the half-romantic “we almost broke up again last night”: to sound a lot like vintage elo, with their swirling violets and mellotons … Although the comparison forces you to imagine how Jeff Lynne would let us like dolly sung But how charming it is to have a carpenter to offer a healthy, feminist and froliSSome-cooping of some of the classic sounds we associate with pure pleasure, such as Elo and ABBA, now with additional real relationships and titters.
