I was ten when I first watched the acapella version of Dangerous Woman on Youtube. I am nineteen now, and Ariana Grande has just dropped petal, which means I have technically grown up alongside this woman — from the wide-eyed needy era to the deeply unbothered 34+35 era, and now to whatever we’re calling this one. Self-produced, with Max Martin and Ilya Salmanzadeh clocking in for support, petal is the kind of album you put on as background noise and somehow resurface from an hour later, mildly emotionally rearranged. Here’s everything that went through my head, roughly in order.
1. The intro rolls out a literal red carpet
Am I in heaven? Because that opening genuinely made it feel that way — heavy synths, electronic drums, and a voice that sounds like it’s floating in from somewhere else entirely. There’s something otherworldly about how kiss me opens this album, and I’d give anything to hear those first forty seconds again for the first time.
2. Kebab in the pavement
I’ll be honest: I saw the TikTok trend before I properly heard the album, which means my first real impression of this song was “it’s such a f*cked situation, kebab in the pavement,” followed by several dozen increasingly unhinged variations. Only upon actually listening did I realise the song is so much more than a kebab, or a pickle, or whatever’s been dramatically narrated on the sidewalk that week. The intro beat is doing serious 7 rings cosplay, and the internet’s already nicknamed it the evil twin, but where that song was all spectacle, this one settles into something that reads more like self-reflection.
3. Nobody does petty manifestation quite like this
The confidence in oh well is real, she’s realised she doesn’t need this person (or possibly anyone) to have a good life, and frankly the audacity of that realisation is inspiring. What really gets me, though, is how cleverly she keeps it vague — is the “you” an ex? Is it us, the fans who’ve loved her a little too hard for a little too long? She never says, and I think that’s the point. Everyone gets to project their own messy relationship onto it!
4. Not the kind of ‘freaky’ I was expecting
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Anyone who’s been listening since the positions era knows Ariana doesn’t shy away from the raunchy stuff, so a song titled freak feels like a trap you happily walk into, except it’s actually a slower, more restrained cut about telling someone to settle down for once. The autotune does a lot of the quiet work too, making something this intimate sound almost mechanical. There’s also a neat callback to the poison line from Hampstead: there, poison is what makes her feel alive; here, it’s been weaponised against her.
5. There’s a literal sword sound effect and I need everyone to know
Picking up right where freak left off — quieter, almost a muted extension of it, which fair, freak could not have been any shorter — warning signs (interlude) plays like the inside of a relationship you know you shouldn’t keep going back to. It drops in a sword-slash sound effect about 45 seconds in and it might be my single favourite production choice in this album. She sounds fully aware he doesn’t deserve her, and goes back anyway, just to be heard by someone. If my last situationship is reading this: you know who you are.
6. like i do is the actually freaky song, false advertising be damned
Remember the song literally titled freak turning out to be the well-behaved one? All that raunch went to like i do instead. This is the most explicit song on the record, sung with zero hedging and full victory-lap confidence. She also tucks in a genuinely sweet nod to the way her grandfather used to say their surname — a tender little detail hiding inside the most scandalous song on the album. Truly a woman of range.
7. I am never getting over this album
The instrumentation in never get over me keeps shape-shifting from section to section, like she’s trying on genres for size, which somehow makes the central thesis land harder: whoever left is going to spend a long time missing what they had. There’s also a faint echo of her own catalogue buried in the beat — a little treat for anyone who’s been here since before she was this famous.
8. Seems like everyone is getting hot nowadays
Listening to bad thing (bunny hop), I was reminded of Sabrina Carpenter’s When Did You Get Hot? Both songs have that exact same premise: stumbling back into someone from your past and suddenly, inconveniently, finding them irresistible. The guitar-forward, faintly indie-rock production is a genuine left turn for her, the kind of song that belongs in a movie’s final scene. There’s a real sweetness buried in it too — the specific, carefree ease of a person who knew you before any of this, which maybe explains why going back suddenly doesn’t feel so reckless.
9. Ah, finally — the acceptance stage of grief
After eleven tracks of emotional whiplash, nowhere, nobody plays like the moment she finally stops fighting it. Deep breaths, no more running, no dramatics. If the rest of the album was denial, bargaining, and a little bit of anger, this is where she lands: at peace with however things turned out.
10. She really does layer her voice like nobody else
Step back from any individual track and the thing that lingers is the production — vocals stacked on vocals, harmonies tucked quietly under the lead, less belting than she’s known for and a lot more restraint.
Editor
Bianca LoCredit
Lead Image: @arianagrande via Instagram
