The Art of Loving: Why Olivia Dean's Voice Feels Like a Deep Breath

I have a new obsession, and her name is Olivia Dean.

Her second album, The Art of Loving, just turned one year old last week — released September 26, 2025 — and in twelve months it’s gone from “promising sophomore record” to genuine phenomenon: number one on the UK Albums Chart, British Album of the Year at the BRITs, and a Grammy for Best New Artist. But I’m not here to recite the trophy case. I’m here because this record grabbed me by the collar and wouldn’t let go.

The three on repeat

“Nice to Each Other.” “A Couple Minutes.” “Baby Steps.” Those are the three I keep coming back to — and I love that the latter two were later singles (summer 2026), like the album keeps giving long after release day.

What gets me about all three is the same thing: restraint. Dean never oversings. She lets a phrase breathe, leans into a note instead of attacking it, and trusts the song to do the work. As someone who sings, I notice that stuff — the difference between a vocalist showing you what they can do and one showing you what the song needs. She always picks the song.

Why it feels so refreshing

Here’s the bigger thing, and the real reason I needed to write this: Olivia Dean’s voice is soulful and sultry in a way that feels almost rebellious right now.

So much of today’s music climate is about maximalism — bigger drops, busier production, vocals tuned and stacked and processed until the human fingerprints are gone. Then Dean comes along with vintage melodies, jazz-kissed arrangements, and a voice that sounds like it was recorded by people in a room together, and it feels like a deep breath. Like remembering what the whole thing is for.

Her signature trick, as the critics have noted, is pairing those vintage, jazz-influenced melodies with lyrics about thoroughly modern love — and that tension is the whole magic. Old soul, present heart.

The inspiration

I’ll be honest about why this one’s personal: I’m a singer. It’s my strength — the thing I trust most in myself, musically. Hearing someone use their voice the way Dean does — with taste, with patience, with soul — is inspiring in the most literal sense. It makes me want to get in the booth. It reminds me that the album I’m working toward doesn’t need to chase the current sound. It needs to sound like me, fully.

So happy belated birthday to The Art of Loving — twelve tracks, thirty-four minutes, and not a wasted second. If you haven’t sat with it yet, start with my three. Then play the whole thing. Then play it again.