Charli XCX – ‘Music, Fashion, Film’ album review: the Emperor’s new album
Following the release of Charli XCX’s sixth album in June 2024, one Brat summer rolled into two, proving the Cambridge-born singer’s ability to take hold of the zeitgeist. But with the rave charade now saturated, where does Charlotte Aitchison go when the party’s over?
The Skinny: Much of the discourse leading up to the release of Music, Fashion, Film has focused on questions of satire, seriousness, the death of Brat, its rebirth in rock, and a thousand other things beyond the music itself. But when you silence the noise surrounding Charli XCX’s seventh album, what you are left with is this:
“I used to lick cream off strawberries in the summer
And maybe I fucked your dad
Just kidding, I’m only saying that for effect
But my point is I think people can change
I used to jump on trampolines with no underwear on
And now I basically just wear trousers”.
It is telling that the catastrophically cringey verse is followed immediately by a chorus that quips, “Yeah, do you get me? No, you don’t get me”. But the implication that if you recoiled at the ‘punky’ lyrics then you simply missed the point fails to fend off any questions about their objective quality.
Charli XCX has always been divisive, but even her most ardent fans would surely struggle to find any insight in the slurry of provocation found in that indicative verse and offer any praise beyond the fact that it dodges more typical cliches in pop. But what does any of it mean? And if it is meaningless, why does it feel so try-hard?
That, ultimately, is Music, Fashion, Film‘s greatest sleight of hand. With titles like ‘Wink Wink’, it presents itself as an album to be decoded rather than enjoyed, cynically engineering endless debate over irony, fun, authenticity and self-mythology while quietly sidestepping a more obvious question: are these songs actually any good?
When it comes to the musical quality, despite the backroom talent attached and the cunning ploy of placing three auteurs on the album sleeve, the answer is rarely yes. Aitchison might have previously been on the forefront of hyperpop experimentation, but Music, Fashion, Film spends much of its runtime repackaging familiar indie sleaze, Nirvana riffs, and flashes of the Barbie soundtrack into a plastic Camden rave, failing to match the futurist originality that the genre once set out to establish.
Instead of pushing pop forwards, the album rummages through yesterday’s dressing-up box. But while there are moments of catchiness and the odd thrill, like all fancy dress parties on a Monday morning, without due conviction and too many winks, the whole thing becomes boorishly tedious.
Clumsy lines like, “I’m a bitch, I’m too drunk”, only compound that problem. Whether intentionally juvenile or not, “I fucked your dad” doesn’t actually feel provocative (because it isn’t). Instead, it feels algorithmically contrived to generate discourse. Every awkward, jarring phrase or gaudy glitching melody becomes another tiresome opportunity for fans and detractors alike to argue over whether Charli is trolling.
So, what you’re left with is something that sounds like an ‘edgy’ advert for a new cologne from Christmastime circa 2003. There is something notably cynical about that, particularly at present. We live in an economy where the quickest route to relevance is no longer to say something meaningful, but to blurt out something eye-catching and inflammatory enough to have countless people weigh in.
Outrage is monetised, confusion is monetised, and endless interpretations of clues without answers are monetised. Music, Fashion, Film is late to that playbook, but it leans into it so eagerly that it egregiously resembles ‘content’ created for engagement rather than sincere songs written to endure.
That much is clear from their often limited structure. Constantly arriving at full volume, many of the tracks grab your attention and then feel harmonically inert, looping the same progression with no real development. Strip away the faux-rock distortion, side-chain compression, and blown-out synths, and the foundations are revealed to be very slight and often startlingly familiar.
Standout Track: ‘SS26’
The Verdict: There’s wry self-awareness, but that shouldn’t be mistaken for substance. Just as the ‘rock’ amid the rave shouldn’t be mistaken for reinvention. If you’re a teenager discovering this aesthetic for the first time, then you might find it thrilling. But if Brat was the nightclub, then this feels like three hours into the after party that you never wanted to be at, full of posers chatting shite about “real incestuous vibes”.
Release Date: July 23rd, 2026 | Producers: AG Cook and Finn Keane | Label: Atlantic Records
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