Charlotte Aitchison is inspired. And not only she, but also her friends and regular collaborators A.G. Cook and Finn Keane. Together they head out to parties, take photos, kiss, and record music. This is how it unfolds in “Rock Music,” the opening track to “Music, Fashion, Film,” an album born from that state of grace in which nothing seems overly premeditated and where everything is built from bursts of artistic impulse. That sense of spontaneity and creative freedom threads through a work that breaks with the established Charli XCX sound, leaving the dance floor behind and turning to electric guitars.
And it makes sense: after “Brat,” was there room to continue with the same style she had just perfected? According to Charli, surely not. She has always been a restless and nonconformist artist, and now that fame she had seemed to crave for so long has finally arrived, there is nothing compelling about sticking to the same path. The music she composed for “Wuthering Heights” already offered clues to her upcoming ideas, especially in “House,” with John Cale (the honorary guest on the cover alongside Marc Jacobs and Martin Scorsese), and now, in “Music, Fashion, Film,” she makes it clear that whatever strategic aim this rock pivot might have is matched by its honesty.
Here the singer reveals a new facet, but this isn’t a reinvention: this album could not be signed by anyone else. There’s one thing that hasn’t changed at all: the ability to speak about her worries and insecurities with urgency as well as irony. For several years now, Charli has been more than a pop star; she has also wanted to try acting. “Something new and undiscovered / and something a little violent / dare to fail and be ugly / I’m inspired and alive,” she confesses about how this new profession makes her feel in the catchy “Camera,” which features one of the project’s most immediate melodies. Also addictive, with a strong emphasis on drums and guitars, “Wink Wink” ponders with humor the external perception of her “bad girl” image.
Thematically, the album swings between satire and pure despair at a superficial, divided, and horrible world. “Nothing will save us, neither music nor fashion nor cinema,” she laments in “SS26,” where Charli substitutes the hedonistic notion of a “Brat Summer” for a pessimistic indie-rock that conceals far more layers than first appear: the languor of the acoustic guitar, the distortion of the electric, the synthesizers chopped after the first chorus, and the convincing drama in the singer’s voice culminate in one of the album’s most solid tracks. In the same vein of anti-capitalist irony, “Card Decline” denounces the frivolity of the upper echelons who think anything can be fixed by buying it.
One of the album’s strongest features is that spontaneity already mentioned, which allows certain songs to shine much more than they would have with a more polished production. “2007” and “Yeah” carry a demo-like feel, yet they are two of the most interesting tracks and they contribute substantial character to the project. The former captures the digital aesthetic of that year and casts it through a hyperpop lens (or should we call it hyperrock?). The latter is an irresistible experiment of tangled guitars that bursts into a grand melody in the chorus (no lyrics), forged by a dirty synthesizer that represents an escape route after the suppression of a feeling. For most of the track, Charli repeats “I don’t wanna” again and again until, after a “Wait, now I wanna feel it,” the production loosens with that electronic line, leading the listener into a cathartic euphoria.
There is also room for tenderness in “Music, Fashion, Film,” delivered by “Magic Metal Montana,” an ode to her great friend and creative partner A.G. Cook. “You’re my best friend, but we don’t talk / we make music, we talk like this” Charli sings with real feeling. The song stands as an anomaly within the album, but among the many existential musings and sarcasm, this small dose of sentimentality sits very well.
Although in “No One Lasts Forever,” which includes part of a conversation between the artist and David Cronenberg, the mood returns to something heavier, reflecting on artistic legacy and the fluctuations of ego. “Some artists have survived thousands of years, but as for their experience, they’re dead, they’ve gone… Oblivion is freedom,” says the director of “The Shrouds.” Charli adopts his words as her own, tucking them into the final moments of her record. If nothing lasts forever, what remains is at least the attempt to make art that is relevant in this exact moment. Not for humanity, but for oneself. That is the essence of “Music, Fashion, Film”: the constant pursuit of authenticity, even if it means donning a mask and playing a role.
