Petrichor—the biochemical term for how the earth smells right after it rains—is a phenomenon of memory as well as rot. The scent depends on the makeup of a place—city asphalt has its own petrichor, different from that of rural woods—and more specifically, the decomposing matter around it. Despite those fetid origins, people consistently rank it among their favorite scents, seeking it out in fragrance and in the field. Perhaps they are drawn to the decay.
070 Shake certainly is. Her lyrics plumb the torment of love without flinching; her voice often sounds like it’s bubbling up from the depths. Petrichor is a perfect album title for her; as she told Vogue, the scent-memory is “a reflection of the music itself.” Those who’ve followed Shake since 2016, when she signed to G.O.O.D. Music, already know this. But millions more listeners learned in 2022, from her feature on British artist RAYE’s monumental single “Escapism.” The track, a bad trip from afterparty to aftermath, clawed its way out of TikTok to the Billboard Hot 100 (both RAYE and Shake’s first entry there) to Song of the Year at the BRIT Awards. The song wouldn’t fully work without Shake’s third verse. She deglamorizes the affair; all the frantic posturing falls away until it’s just her and her defeat.
On Petrichor, 070 Shake is well aware that larger stages are forthcoming, and she expands her sound accordingly. As on her past work, much of the album is co-produced by Dave Hamelin (Beyoncé, Leikeli47) and Johan Lenox (Big Sean, No I.D.) But there are changes. Megaproducer Mike Dean is out; pop songwriter Sarah Aarons (Tate McRae, Ravyn Lenae) is in. Shake is a multihyphenate singer-songwriter-rapper, but here she leans toward the former two, replacing most of the rap with ballads and orchestral pomp.
These are all expected moves from an artist coming off her first Top 40 hit and probably wanting more, yet it’d be a real stretch to call Petrichor a pop album. Her distinctive sound is still here, particularly the parts inherited from My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy: the proggy distorted arrangements, the vocals processed and blown-out until they’re like sawblades in your face, the enormous anthems that aspire to arena rock. (Shake might aspire to arena rock even more than Ye, judging by how often she reaches for guitar solos and gospel climaxes.) The paranoid rap tracks “Lungs” and “What’s Wrong With Me” are practically G.O.O.D. Music homages.
