Sabrina Carpenter’s seventh album “Man’s Best Friend” arrives at a pivotal moment in her career. After the viral success of her previous album “Short n’ Sweet,” two Grammy wins and a sold-out tour that cemented her as one of pop’s fastest-rising stars, the expectations for her next project were sky-high.
The album cover — featuring Carpenter on all fours below a man — had many fans criticizing it as regressive in its portrayal of women, questioning whether it undercuts the strides Carpenter made in presenting herself as witty, sexually liberated and in control of her narrative. With so much attention surrounding the release, “Man’s Best Friend” feels less like a new concept and more like a test of consistency; it begs the question: Can Carpenter sustain her momentum and deliver another pop-defining era?
The answer is both yes and no. “Man’s Best Friend” is not a high-profile flop, nor is it the groundbreaking statement some fans might have hoped for. Instead, it lands as a reaffirmation of Carpenter’s established sound. While the production sticks to Carpenter’s pop formula and amplifies the country twang, it does so without offering anything new. Many choruses feel low-effort and lack the undeniable spark of “Espresso” or “Please Please Please” with only “Manchild” standing out as a truly memorable single. The consistency keeps her sound intact, but the repetition tips into monotony.
Lyrically, the album leans heavily into innuendos and sexual humor, more so than any of her previous work. Carpenter has always wielded humor and suggestiveness as tools to disarm and charm her audience, but the execution falters on this record. Instead of coming across as empowering, lyrics — such as “I get wet at the thought of you” — land with the awkwardness of an overshare.
The second single, “Tears,” captures this tension perfectly. Musically, it is one of the album’s most inventive tracks, fusing pop with grooves influenced by the “Queen of Disco” Donna Summer and anchored by a pulsing bassline. Rather than sounding like a woman embracing her sexuality, the lyrics veer toward something that feels clumsy and oddly out of step with her usual charisma.
This shallowness extends across much of the tracklist. Time and again, Carpenter’s songs rely on jokes, puns and one-liners without grounding them in a deeper emotional context. While this lack of context isn’t detrimental to creating a catchy, witty pop ballad, Carpenter otherwise fails to churn out choruses that stick. There is little sense of what Carpenter herself is feeling, beyond the punchline or reference. What fans are left with instead is a watered-down, more surface-level replica of “Short n’ Sweet” with many of the melodies sounding recycled or plainly unmemorable, leaving much of the album emotionally hollow.
The standout exception is “Manchild,” a track that cuts sharper and lands deeper than the rest. In the song, Carpenter takes aim at her own patterns in relationships, acknowledging how the baggage of past heartbreaks lingers and influences who she chooses. The song is biting yet self-aware, with one of the album’s strongest lyrics: “I like my men all incompetent.” Unlike the flat innuendos elsewhere, this line resonates because it blends humor with vulnerability, offering listeners a glimpse into Carpenter’s frustrations and contradictions. The accompanying music video doubles down on the theme, cementing the track as the album’s anchor.
Beyond “Manchild,” a couple of tracks show that Carpenter is still capable of surprise by leaning into different lanes. “Sugar Talking” adopts a soft R&B pacing that stands out from the otherwise pop-heavy tracklist. Its bounce-y rhythm is playful like “Tears,” but the explosive backing bass and shimmering synths give it more muscle and texture, elevating it above the low-effort choruses scattered elsewhere.
“My Man on Willpower” also marks a creative detour, channeling the theatricality of a full-on musical number. The lyrics play like a vignette, allowing listeners to imagine the unraveling of a relationship as Carpenter watches a man’s love for her fade. What makes it compelling is the twist: he evolves, fixes himself, and does everything she once hoped for — just no longer with her. It’s a sharp, cinematic concept that captures both heartbreak and irony, showing glimpses of the lyrical depth the rest of the album struggles to reach.
Unfortunately, outside of these tracks the rest of the record blurs together. The production is slick, but almost too slick — every track is polished to a glossy sheen, leaving little room for rawness or experimentation.
In the end, “Man’s Best Friend” does not derail Carpenter’s momentum, but it does stall it. The album secures her place in modern pop, but it does so without pushing her artistry forward. For fans, there are hooks and playful moments to enjoy, but for critics and casual listeners, the lack of lyrical depth and the sameness of the melodies make the project feel forgettable. Carpenter is not at risk of fading — her star power remains undeniable — but “Man’s Best Friend” feels less like the next chapter in her story and more like a placeholder.