But on ‘7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven’, her boldest project to date, she doesn’t just blur boundaries, she obliterates them.
A daring exploration of feminine power, identity, and reinvention, the EP reveals a fearless new era for an artist unafraid to shapeshift in the face of expectation.
From the opening moments, it’s clear this isn’t business as usual. ‘American Dream’ kicks off with a smoky, poetic monologue from Apollonia—yes, that Apollonia of Purple Rain legend—whose sultry spoken-word delivery frames the album’s central tension: the glittering promise and inevitable rot of fame. It’s a powerful thesis statement, shimmering in cinematic drama, that sets the tone for the genre-bending ride to come.
‘Dark Energy’ pulses like a neon heartbeat, sleek, brooding, and impossibly magnetic. It's GRAE at her most unfiltered, channelling the nocturnal allure of The Weeknd while grounding it in her signature vulnerability. As the bassline coils and snaps, her voice cuts through like a flare in the dark, asserting not just her artistic evolution, but her arrival. If the ‘American Dream’ posed the question, ‘Dark Energy’ is GRAE’s answer: unapologetic, controlled chaos.
‘Cha-Ching’ follows with a kaleidoscope of Vegas glitter and sharp-edged irony. Then comes ‘Motorcade’, a startling pivot. Inspired by Jackie Kennedy, it’s a ghostly ballad wrapped in historical gravitas. GRAE’s vocals float like smoke, reframing a moment of collective trauma through an achingly feminine lens.
‘A(Rouse)’ may initially read as a spoken-word detour, but it’s crucial, an interlude where Apollonia’s voice returns to provoke, seduce, and disorient. It’s not a break in momentum; it’s a recalibration. That disorientation bleeds into ‘Fantasy,’ a confessional standout that confronts the paradox of performance, how authenticity becomes just another costume. GRAE’s delivery is fragile but fierce, laying bare the emotional cost of living between persona and reality.
The emotional peak arguably arrives with ‘Scarlet’, a quietly devastating piece built from shards of betrayal. There’s a communal ache here, part diary entry, part collective exhale, with GRAE acting as both witness and translator of heartbreak. In contrast, ‘God In A Woman’ explodes with divine feminine rage and grace. It's the EP’s spiritual centrepiece, a thunderous hymn to power reclaimed, wrapped in ecstatic production that borders on the sacred.
‘Wet Dream’, the namesake track, not to mention its wildest detour, is pure release. Sensual, experimental, and utterly free of inhibition, it’s GRAE unbound. ‘Pleasure Breeds Fame’, the final Apollonia interlude, offers a haunting epilogue. Her voice drips with cinematic weariness, threading the project’s themes back through myth and memory. And then comes ‘Hollywood’, the curtain call. Fragile yet defiant, it closes the chapter with a whisper instead of a bang, spotlighting the quiet devastation behind the applause.
With ‘7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven’, GRAE doesn't just deliver an album, she architects an experience. It’s a bold, theatrical, and emotionally raw body of work that challenges what alt-pop can be. Each track peels back a layer of her artistry, revealing someone who isn’t afraid to dance in the dark or burn it all down.
Danielle Holian
Image: ‘7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven’ Official Album Cover
