Britain’s rising star has released a sophomore album that’s taking over everything from Instagram feeds to your best friend’s playlists—and the hype is well-deserved.
I don’t want to be that annoying person who says, “I knew Olivia Dean was brilliant before she got big,” but you know what? I did. And I’m proud of it, especially now that her sophomore album, The Art of Loving, is topping charts and going viral for all the right reasons.
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Finding Olivia Dean
The first time I encountered Dean was in 2023—I was scrolling through YouTube, searching for new music to sink my teeth into. The algorithm, probably noticing my endless loops of Sade and Norah Jones, did what it does best, blessing me with a suggestion: the music video for her single “The Hardest Part.” It was released three years prior, later included in her debut album Messy (which came out the same year I found the song).
Visually, the black-and-white video channels a 1960s Motown sensibility (think The Supremes), and it immediately intrigued me. Three versions of Dean join her as backup vocalists, swaying as they open to a melancholic, vocal-forward tune. It starts slow, then bursts into a soulful mantra that hooks and lingers with addictive harmonies. I searched up more of her songs and quickly fell into a rabbit hole of pieces that made me think, Why aren’t more people talking about this!?
Her song “Dive,” also from her debut album, was further proof of her capabilities as both a vocalist and composer (alongside longtime collaborators Bastian Langebæk and Max Wolfgang, who would later work on The Art of Loving with her). It opens with drums, flashes of piano, and later horns that build up until they hit the once again, incredibly infectious chorus—hot coffee on a Sunday morning, a swooping statement that sparkles and leaps with the anticipatory, almost nervous glee of new romance. “Maybe it’s the loving in your eyes (I’m here, see through)/Maybe it’s the magic in the wine (I’m feeling loose)/maybe it’s the fact that every time I fall, I lose it all/But you got me from my head to my feet/and I’m ready to dive,” she sings.
And while Messy didn’t soar the way The Art of Loving has, it deserves credit as the foundation that let Dean find, and refine, her voice.
On The Art Of Loving
It’s too soon to say, but Dean might just win the Grammy for Best New Artist in 2026. The Art of Loving already made its Top 10 debut on the Singles Chart (for “Man I Need”) and Albums Chart of her native UK. On October 10, 2025, the album ranked seventh place in Billboard’s Top Album Sales list, and eighth on its Top Streaming Albums list. At the time of writing this, the album has reached seventh place on the Billboard 200™, sitting beside names like Taylor Swift, SZA, Cardi B, and Sabrina Carpenter.
As for the shores of our own archipelago, Dean’s “Man I Need” has risen to the Top 10 of the Philippines Hot 100, as Billboard Philippines reports. If I took a shot for every time I’ve heard the song used in an Instagram reel or story online—from friends, acquaintances, strangers (and yes, I’m guilty of this as well)—I’d be rather hammered, but no complaints here. It’s attention that’s well-deserved.
“I made this album to be listened to, at least first hopefully, on headphones,” she tells Spotify on its Liner Notes feature. “I hope they just take away, ‘I want to be more caring for other people in their lives, to treat love as a practice, as a craft.’”
Dean has clearly gained a newfound confidence in the things she did best on her previous album. The Art of Loving blends warm piano, strings, drums, and brass to create a sound that feels distinctly her own, yet still echoes her neo-soul and Motown influences. At twelve tracks, the sophomore effort is self-assuredly succinct: confident in both its atmosphere and storytelling.
The Art of Loving (Intro)
The album opens with an eponymous intro, Dean’s voice honey-smooth and peppered with a blend of instrumentation, getting straight to the heart of the matter: “It’s the art of loving/it wasn’t all for nothing, yeah/you taught me something/[…] Something lost and/something gained/in the art of loving.”
This is the artist saying, “We leave pieces of ourselves with every relationship we enter.” It doesn’t necessarily have to be romantic in nature, even when Dean’s album finds its footing within that context.
Nice To Each Other
We open with the quiet uncertainty of “Nice to Each Other,” Dean’s first brushstroke on this portrait of modern love that longs for “sure and steady” without succumbing to tradition. “We could be nice to each other/wrong for each other/right for each other/rise to each other,” she sings, delving into hypotheticals before the proposal, “‘Cause, you know, I’ve done all the classic stuff/and it never works, you know it/so can we say we’ll never/say the classic stuff?/To show it/Water, sunlight, talkin’ all night/Just enough to grow it (yeah).” In a signature move, Dean kicks off with measured, drawn-out verses before introducing a rich chorus that envelops you in the crystalline, intimate detail of hushed conversation.
Lady Lady
The singer’s use of rhythmic and lyrical repetition (reminiscent of earlier pieces like “The Hardest Part” and “OK Love You Bye”) shines here, as do her vocals, harmonizing in a song about the inevitability of growth. The titular “lady” becomes a synecdoche for the self; Dean reflects, “She’s the man/I think she has a master plan/it’s something I don’t understand.” It’s a sentiment that feels both comforting and resonant in its calm acceptance—the idea of your inner self as an omniscient force, steering change even when you can’t yet see where it’s leading.
Close Up
We then return to a song for two: a denouement of a relationship, or perhaps the illusion of one. Dean gets extra vulnerable here, the piano in the intro serving as a heavy prelude to what’s to come. She likens a dizzyingly ambiguous dynamic to the confusion of Alice in Wonderland: “Chasing rabbits don’t usually end/with happy ever after/And you make reality feel so bizarre/just because of the person you are.”
Then come the drums, sonic punctures that mirror her piercing question: “How can you get close to/someone you keep out of reach?/Where does that leave me?” She continues to interrogate, gently but firmly, as horns enter, before circling back to the song’s title, a moment when she realizes “it don’t look like love,” now that she’s seen it up close.
So Easy (To Fall In Love)
Dean jumps in the opposite direction tonally with “So Easy (To Fall in Love).” It’s sung as both a statement and a taunt, the singer clearly having fun with the irresistibly bubbly, jazz-inspired number. While “Man I Need” is getting its flowers, this track feels like another standout, simply because of how effortlessly enjoyable it is, both in writing and melody.
“I’m the perfect mix of Saturday night/and the rest of your life/Anyone with a heart would agree/it’s so easy/to fall in love with,” she says, before seamlessly sliding into, “The way I do my hair, the way I make you laugh.” It’s playful, giddy, and exactly what you want a song like this to be. (And the music video where she plays Cupid is just a delight.)
Let Alone The One You Love
The album is a carefully-crafted mix of highs and lows (which generally reflects the emotional rollercoaster of its central theme), with Dean grounding “So Easy (To Fall in Love)” through this subsequent track that leans into the blues. Like “Close Up,” it’s an unraveling of a relationship where one person begins to see the imbalance between what they give and what they receive. “And, if you knew me at all/you wouldn’t try to keep me small/Who would do that to a friend/let alone the one you love?” she asks.
Man I Need
And now we get to the track that’s making waves, arguably the best on the album: “Man I Need.” As Dean shares, it’s her favorite one, an ode to the beats of greats like Michael Jackson (you’ll hear the spirit of “The Way You Make Me Feel” across the entire number). What more is there to say? It’s tastefully catchy, rhythmically supple, and an overall feast of everything that makes soul, R&B, funk, and even jazz such beloved genres.
Its dramatic situation is disarmingly simple and utterly charming: Dean asking a man to stop dancing around the moment, because he’s exactly what she’s looking for. “Already gave you the time and the place/so, don’t be shy/Just come be the man I need”—sweet and to the point.
Something Inbetween
Dean approaches her more serious songs with the same confidence she brings to her lighter ones, as shown in “Something Inbetween.” A reprieve from the album’s desire and yearning, it’s the shortest track, and fittingly so: a brief, clear-eyed plea from a woman who wants companionship while still honoring her independence. “Love needs breathing,” she confesses. “Love needs breathing/I’m not his, I’m not hers/I’m not your all or nothing/I’m more, can we still be something in between?”
Loud
The most string-heavy track on the album, “Loud” seeps in with the fingerpicking of guitar strings before erupting into a swell of violins that recall the orchestral-pop balladry of Sam Smith’s “Writing’s on the Wall” and Adele’s “Skyfall.” There’s an air of indignation here, a quiet fury toward someone who sweeps you off your feet only to leave you out in the cold. “No, I won’t phone, ’cause/we went straight to lovers/so, we can’t even talk as friends,” Dean laments, before belting, “You let yourself in/and you weren’t allowed/to come around and/throw my heart about/to turn me on just to turn me down.”
Baby Steps
This song picks up where “Lady Lady” left off: at the starting point of a relationship’s dissolution. Dean enumerates the ways a person learns to live with absence—the loss of a lover, a language, a way of life. The answer, she suggests, is one day at a time: “I won’t fall back/If I fall forwards/least I have that.” The steady drumbeats evoke footsteps trailing one after another, her voice earnest as she pares her words down to their syllables: “I’m talking bah-bah-bah-baby steps.” It’s a weary yet hopeful tune that serves as the falling action of the album’s storyline.
A Couple Minutes
The second to the last track comprises fragments of memory, a brief run-in with an old flame; to steal “a couple minutes” that reach into the past, to feel like no time has passed even when everything is different. “Turn around,” Dean softly commands, the R&B-focused melody hazy and wistful, “It’s been a while, let me know/Like, did you end up moving house?/You’re the only one who knows that name/You’re the only one that does that face/I just wanna know if you’re okay.” It’s an examination of reminiscing, but also a declaration. “Of course, I still care/Love’s never wasted/when it’s shared,” she says, returning to the message of her album’s intro.
I’ve Seen It
Dean’s final song isn’t going to be a chart-topper, but it’s one of the more compelling tracks in terms of songwriting. There’s something almost childlike in the way the singer contemplates on love without ever mentioning the word. It’s her voice, laid bare with mainly the strumming of strings. “I’ve heard it laced in every song/and still the words/all come out wrong/it doesn’t always/answer when you call,” she admits in self-referential irony. “Brings out the worst/brings out the best/I understand it less and less/I guess I’m not supposed to know it all.”
Still, there’s the attempt, and the sheer gladness of being able to feel and act on it at all: “And it makes me cry/to think that I am able/to give it back the way it gives to me.”
Give The Art of Loving a listen, and you’ll see why people are singing its praises. The album’s themes—familiar yet finely realized—show a rising star who doesn’t claim to know everything about love, but instead invites us to feel our way through it: finding strength in ourselves; choosing openness despite the endings; and, after everything, staying optimistic about what this lifelong experience can still bring.
