His surprise seventh studio album Swag arrives after months of relentless tabloid fodder, spiraling TikTok theories, and a level of public scrutiny that borders on madness.
To be clear, Bieber has always been a headline magnet, but the build-up to this album felt suffocating in a way that even he couldn’t seem to deflect. Collages of him seemingly ‘slipping out of control,’ alongside speculation about his marriage, mental and physical health, alleged substance use, and even his son, have been inescapable lately. If he so much as blinked too slowly, someone had an answer for why.
It was a kind of media circus matched only by the meltdown of Britney Spears, circa the shaved head era.
So, how did he respond? He dropped a record instead. And for an artist who once measured his relevance by the velocity of his chart-toppers, (we all remember him telling fans to stream Yummy even in their sleep), Swag feels like a left turn. There was no rollout, no single, no promotional teaser, not even a cryptic Instagram countdown. And in the world of Bieber, that says everything you need to know about this album.
Because here is an artist who is declaring that he is here to reclaim his space, entirely. The choice to work with long-term collaborators speaks as much: producer Harv lays the groundwork, while Carter Lang, Eddie Benjamin, Dijon, and Mk.gee – who have worked with him on several remixes and standout tracks on Justice – return as trusted caretakers of the album.
Sonically, he draws from the style that has always served him best – slow-burning R&B with 80s and 90s influences, marked by smooth grooves and slick production. Even the way he uses his voice, lingering in falsettos and letting phrases trail off, reminds us that this is an artist who no longer needs to prove he can sing – only that he still wants to.
So, when it works, it really works. Devotion feels like warm air on the skin – subtle, inviting, layered with just enough vulnerability to feel earned. Yukon and Daisies glow with Mk.gee’s signature guitar tones and warped production, evoking a retro dreaminess without falling into full nostalgia. All I Can Take opens the album with syncopated drums while Butterflies builds into one of the most melodically generous songs Bieber has released in years. Zuma House is a stripped-down 83 seconds, acoustic-guitar ballad in the mode of Neil Young’s Hitchhiker, while Glory Voice Memo is a bluesy micro-jam that sounds straight out of his phone’s voice memos app.
Even the guest verses – Sexyy Red, Gunna, Cash Cobain, Lil B – arrive like passing figures contributing to his show, rather than attention-grabbing detours. No one overstays their welcome and no one overshadows him.
The writing on the album reflects the same reclamation. On Go Baby, he praises his wife, Hailey, with the kind of casual intimacy only a husband could get away with, calling her “iconic” and nodding to her billion-dollar beauty brand. On Walking Away, he drops the guard completely, admitting, “We better stop before we say some some sh*t,” a line that stings quietly like an argument that never ended. Dadz Love is equally confessional, full of wide-eyed gratitude and awkward pride as he reflects on fatherhood. None of it is polished, and admittedly, some of it barely works.
Lyrically, this may well be the weakest album he’s made – but ironically, that’s exactly why it works. Even the interludes with Druski, cringe as they may seem, circle back to something honest. The now-viral snippet of Bieber lamenting, “People are always asking if I’m okay… it starts to make me feel like I’m the one with issues and everyone else is perfect”, says more than any armchair psychologist on the internet ever could. So, even when the words don’t land, you at least hear that directly from him.
Certainly, Swag is not flawless.
But it is never trying to be. It is an honest attempt from an artist to own all his mess. And in doing so, Bieber reminds you who he really is – a pop titan, bruised – but forever burning bright.