Sabrina Carpenter’s “Man’s Best Friend” is a dazzling romp through the battlefield of modern romance, wielding humor as sharp as a stiletto and melodies as infectious as vintage ABBA. In an era when pop often leans into earnestness, Carpenter channels the spirit of classic sex comedies—those faintly risqué films of the ‘50s, ‘60s, and ‘70s that mined adult relationships for sophisticated laughs and fleeting insights. Whether she’s devoured those old-school movies or simply absorbed their showbiz DNA, Carpenter proves herself a master of musical comedy across the album’s 12 tracks. With her tongue firmly in cheek, she and her tight-knit team of collaborators—Jack Antonoff, Amy Allen, and John Ryan—craft a 38-minute spectacle that’s as likely to leave you smirking as it is to spark gleeful laughter, blending clever wordplay with the sting of dating’s universal truths.
This is no subtle affair, as Carpenter warned on “CBS Mornings”: expect pearl-clutching. The album earns its R-rated edge not through explicitness but via cheeky double entendres and casual F-bombs tossed in non-sexual contexts. Unlike the genteel wit of Noel Coward, “Man’s Best Friend” thrives on bold, playful irreverence, sustained by expertly crafted key changes and melodic hooks that ensure the music hits even if a punchline misses. It’s a high-wire act, balancing bawdy humor with pop craftsmanship, and Carpenter pulls it off with the ease of a stage musical star. The songs feel like scenes from a yet-to-be-written Broadway show, one that her team could pen in their hypothetical spare time, capturing the messy hilarity of young love and lust.
The opener, “Manchild,” a three-month-old single, sets the tone with its why-are-men-so-lame vibe, acting as a cheeky overture. But the real magic begins with “Tears,” the second track and recent single, which flips expectations with delicious misdirection. “I get wet at the thought of you…” Carpenter croons, teasing a sultry anthem, only to pivot: “…being a responsible guy.” The line lands like a punch, celebrating the allure of men who assemble IKEA furniture or wash dishes. The lyric “tears drip down my thighs” is a groan-worthy gem—cringe or delight, it’s unforgettable—paired with a disco beat that rivals the genre’s best revivals. Co-produced by Carpenter and Ryan, the track’s piano intro explodes into a four-on-the-floor banger, destined to challenge dance clubs to keep patrons upright amid the laughter.
The album’s third track, “My Man on Willpower,” flips the script. Here, Carpenter’s partner is too self-actualized, his emotional growth killing his libido. “My man’s in touch with his emotions / My man won’t touch me with a twenty-foot pole,” she sings, decrying her “slutty pajamas” going to waste in a “fucked-up romantic dark comedy.” This theme of being undersexed recurs in tracks like “Nobody’s Son” and “Never Getting Laid,” where Carpenter plays the thwarted underdog—a pop goddess in a babydoll dress, red lipstick blazing, yet unable to spark her man’s desire. It’s a clever self-deprecation that makes her relatable, an Everygirl despite her glam persona, inviting listeners to laugh at shared romantic woes.
Carpenter balances these tales of woe with moments of bold confidence. “House Tour” is a steamy metaphor, inviting a date “inside” her, while “Go-Go Juice” channels Kesha’s party-hard ethos, prescribing booze and nightlife to heal a breakup. “Sugar Talking” offers a rare nod to maturity, urging a text-happy suitor to ditch paragraphs for face-to-face connection: “Your sorry ass means shit to me / Get to mine.” The oddest track, “Don’t Worry I’ll Make You Worry,” blends a reflective, Taylor Swift-esque “Folklore” sound with “Blank Space”-style lyrical menace, as Carpenter threatens relational chaos. It’s a quirky juxtaposition, proving her versatility in wielding humor and heart.
Carpenter’s comedic chops shine beyond the music. Her madcap Christmas special and awards show antics—like recreating a Goldie Hawn routine—reveal a performer who thrives on wit. Yet, the album’s provocative cover, hinting at S&M, sparked outrage among those missing the satire. It’s not Madonna’s “Sex” book; it’s Carpenter spoofing submissive tropes with a knowing wink. Chasing such bold humor at her level of superstardom is rare—Taylor Swift and Chappell Roan dip into mirth, but Carpenter’s commitment to musical blitheness feels singular, akin to a Broadway comedienne.
The album’s retro influences—ELO’s swirling strings, ABBA’s melodic joy—elevate tracks like “We Almost Broke Up Again Last Night,” where Carpenter drolly sings, “We had our sex, and then we made amends.” It’s a feminist, frolicsome twist on classic pop, blending relationship tensions with pure pleasure. As Grammy season looms, “Man’s Best Friend” poses a challenge: will voters, often blind to comedy like Oscar judges with “Barbie,” embrace its brazen wit? Against the male hypersincerity of 2025’s contenders, Carpenter’s raucous rebellion stands out, a pop triumph that proves she’s not just man’s best friend—she’s the genre’s wittiest provocateur.
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