After ‘Brat,’ Charli xcx learns to let go

Though Music, Fashion, Film is sonically a departure from much of Charli’s usual hyperpop tendencies, the album’s themes are consistently self-conscious, hyperaware, and existential. “SS26,” the pensive and sleek second single, is rife with her nuanced songwriting as she questions one’s ability to remain authentic as an artist while the world is in a perpetual state of catastrophe. A more refined evolution of the diaristic, almost first-draft-like quality of the lyricism she’s sharpened over the course of how i’m feeling now and Brat, this record strikes a balance between relaxed and controlled that reads as effortlessly brilliant. Stars in hopeful eyes reveal themselves as symbols for the Hollywood Walk of Fame, as light guitar strumming echoes a roll of film flipping through a camera in the cathartic single “Camera.” “Wink Wink” cheekily toys with expectations, flippantly contemplating Theseus’s Paradox in relation to personal identity via a string of ironic what-ifs (re: thought experiments) set to the bounce of grunge-pop. Music, Fashion, Film manages to hold sentimentality and complexity simultaneously—a songwriting feat attainable only by the iteration of Charli that has nothing more to prove. 

Despite the genius showcased in the record’s strong singles, its criminally short runtime—at only 30 minutes—makes any slight missteps more apparent. The meditations in “SS26” turn redundant and languid on “Card Declined”—another track similarly pessimistic about materialism, set to the drone of a fuzzy, slowed-down guitar as Charli talk-sings her way through single-note verses. The dancey, pop-soaked “2007,” though aptly and undeniably an earworm, leaves substance to be desired underneath its shuffling stack of vocal hooks. Even when the lethargy of the album’s stretched-out guitars returns us to more captivating contrasts in “Persona,” via its clash with Charli’s off-pitch vocals and scathing critique of someone else’s persona, the song ultimately feels congested in its wordy lyricism.

As Charli’s “anti-Brat”—“all of my albums work in opposites,” she told Rolling Stone about the record last month—Music, Fashion, Film flouts the apathetic track of her previous era’s persona with a refreshing sincerity. In “Magic Metal Montana,” the penultimate track, Charli forthrightly cherishes her close friend and collaborator Cook. Paired with comparatively sparse drums and guitar, Charli’s stripped-back vocals and honest lyricism are able to take center stage, where she expresses gratitude for Cook’s teachings, his haircut, his dance moves, and the faith that the co-producers have in one another. The song is a sunny, bright love letter that appreciates a deeply valued friendship of Charli’s. 

Sincerity, honesty, intimacy—these are the characteristics that define Charli’s latest era, evident not only in the confessional writing throughout the record, but also in the earnestness in the album’s visual world. The intention behind the album cover, for instance, is straightforward. Featuring a photo of John Cale, Marc Jacobs, and Martin Scorsese in a humble kitchen, it was simply Charli wanting “to put people on the cover who (she) had personal connections with,” she told shaad magazine. Cale, Jacobs, and Scorsese have each had an impact on Charli’s artistic endeavors into music, fashion, and film respectively, and the cover directly celebrates that. Charli additionally screened a film version of the record in theaters, featuring the album’s songs paired with behind-the-scenes footage and low-budget music videos, interspersed with candid, off-the-cuff explanations preceding each track. Altogether, the film—like the album it was made for—is delightful in its commemoration of sincerity. 

Even the marketing campaign that surrounded Music, Fashion, Film felt more selective, and less concerned with spectacle. Charli dubs this approach “anti-marketing,” describing it (and her approach to this era) as “more intimate, personal, private, one on one. less about the projection of scale.” Leading up to its release, Charli hosted only a few private conversations and Q&A sessions between herself, a limited number of fans, and a select few of her idols. These were not publicized to thousands, as would be the case for traditional marketing campaigns, nor were their audio recordings or transcriptions released to the public to build hype. Instead, Charli embraced a dying practice: focusing on cherishing the present, prioritizing sincerity and intimacy over mass appeal and virality. 

This intimate soul of the record is captured most clearly in the final song: “No One Lasts Forever featuring David Cronenberg.” Ever-anxious about the mortality of her art and self, Charli finally confronts her unease with impermanence head-on, alongside her director idol Cronenberg. Against a glitchy beat, Charli muses on her anxieties about the temporary nature of life, stating “nothing’s gonna last forever” with a worried, but resolute, certainty. And—as if in response to an intimate conversation over the phone—Cronenberg consoles her over rising, aching synths: “No one lasts forever,” he affirms, with a finality that feels more like acceptance. His words turn into an existentialist round, echoing each other into a physicality that sways listeners and Charli alike into a peaceful submission. One day, it will all have to be over. That, we’re urged to believe, is what gives us freedom.