With the flick of a synth and the whisper of a war cry, GRAE steps into her power on ‘7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven’ – a dreamy, defiant alt-pop odyssey soaked in femme glamour, emotional grit, and cinematic flair. It’s not just an album; it’s a transformation. Think lace gloves gripping a mic, mascara tears beneath strobe lights, and heartbreak turned high art. This is GRAE unfiltered, unafraid, and utterly unforgettable.

Stream: ‘7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven’ – GRAE

**On 7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven, GRAE transforms from indie pop darling to alt-pop powerhouse, delivering a fearless exploration of identity, power, and the art of reinvention.**

There’s something utterly intoxicating about a woman who knows her power – and isn’t afraid to wrap it in velvet, light it on fire, and serve it with a side of synth-laced heartbreak. Enter GRAE, the Canadian alt-pop siren whose latest album, 7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven, is nothing short of a sonic fashion editorial: glamorous, fearless, emotionally tailored, and dripping in unapologetic intention.

From the moment you press play, it’s clear this isn’t just an album – it’s a mood, a mirror, and a metamorphosis. The opener, “American Dream,” voiced by the eternally enigmatic Apollonia (yes, the icon herself from Purple Rain), sets the stage like a velvet curtain being pulled back on a new era. Her voice, smoky and slow, paves the way for what’s to come: a lavish but piercing exploration of identity, rage, glamour, and transformation.

Throughout 7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven, GRAE is no longer the dreamy girl next door in oversized knits and bedroom pop softness. She’s undergone a transformation – and emerged a heroine in stiletto boots and smudged eyeliner, unbothered by the wreckage she leaves behind. The sound is deeper, the production slicker, the emotion unfiltered. It’s indie pop, yes, but elevated. Think Saint Laurent at midnight. Think neon tears and perfume-soaked rebellion.

Take “Dark Energy,” a slow-burning, noir-tinged anthem that pulses like a heartbeat under silk.

It’s haunting, glamorous, and utterly magnetic – the sonic equivalent of a long glance across a smoky room. GRAE doesn’t beg for attention; she commands it, using her signature whispery vocals like a weapon dipped in honey.

This is the sound of a woman walking away from the wreckage in heels, unscathed and smiling.

Then there’s “Cha-Ching,” a glitter-drenched takedown of illusion and excess, inspired by a trip to Vegas. The track feels like a Chanel-clad fever dream – seductive, surreal, and playfully jaded. It’s the kind of song you could imagine blasting in a limousine on the way to an afterparty you’re not sure you want to attend. Underneath the glitter is grit, and GRAE makes no attempt to hide the cost of the fantasy.

“Motorcade,” one of the album’s most poetic and surprising moments, channels the spirit of Jackie Kennedy in the face of unfathomable loss. The ballad drips with elegance and melancholy, imagining a moment that history froze in black and white – and giving it color, feeling, femininity. It’s bold, cinematic, and intimate in the same breath, cementing GRAE as not just a pop artist, but a storyteller.

What elevates 7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven into true conceptual brilliance is the trilogy of interludes, all delivered by Apollonia. These moments are not fluff. They’re fashion show narration, sacred spells, monologues from a wiser, more dangerous muse. “A(Rouse)” in particular feels like stepping inside a subconscious dreamscape – part prayer, part provocation. It reminds the listener that glamour is not passive. It’s power, chosen and weaponized.

On “Fantasy,” GRAE gets intimate, exposing the chasm between the self we present and the self we hide. The production remains lush, but here her voice is unadorned – delicate but resolute. This is the dressing room moment, where the gowns come off and the truth hangs heavy in the air. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful, and arguably one of the strongest songs in her catalogue.

Then, “God in a Woman” arrives, and everything shifts. This is GRAE’s high-fashion runway moment – bold, divine, stomping with ethereal power. The track doesn’t just shimmer; it erupts. It’s both a celebration and a reckoning, drenched in female energy that doesn’t ask for permission or apology. If you ever needed an anthem for putting on red lipstick and reclaiming your narrative, this is it.

And just when you think the album can’t get wilder, “Wet Dream” throws you headfirst into chaos – with glitter, smoke, and zero creative restraint. This is the sound of GRAE off the leash, reveling in the freedom to be a little weird, a little wild, and completely herself. It’s fabulous, it’s fearless, and it proves that pop doesn’t need polish to be perfection – it just needs truth.

By the time we reach “Pleasure Breeds Fame,” Apollonia’s final interlude, we’ve come full circle. Her voice is silkier now, almost soft with wisdom, threading together the themes of power, pain, image, and release. Then comes “Hollywood,” the album’s elegant closer – fragile and cinematic, like the final shot of a film that leaves the audience breathless and slightly undone.

7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven isn’t just an album, it’s a reinvention. For GRAE, it’s proof she’s no longer following the rules of bedroom pop or chasing the shadows of the greats who came before her. She’s standing shoulder-to-shoulder with them now, wrapped in sequins and self-awareness. It’s glamour with a purpose. Pop with perspective.

GRAE Dives Inside the ‘Whiplash’ of Her Dazzling, Undeniable Debut

:: FEATURE ::

In a world of fleeting singles and surface-level streaming fodder, Canadian alt-pop artist GRAE delivers something rare: A fully realized album with teeth, tenderness, and transformative vision.

7 Minutes ‘Til Heaven isn’t just her most ambitious work to date – it’s a fearless reckoning. One that glimmers with cinematic beauty, but beneath the gloss, pulses with a raw and restless heart.

It’s rare that an album feels this much like a moment, a glittering, aching, brave, beautiful moment. But GRAE has given us just that. So pour a glass of something sparkly, turn down the lights, and let this album seduce you. This isn’t heaven. It’s better.

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