The singer has returned to the gritty, stickiness of the club for her new album. To celebrate its release, we rounded up our 5 key takeaways
When Charli XCX released 2022’s Crash, a radio-friendly concept album that imagined her as a mega-pop sell-out, it seemed to finally solidify her entry into the mainstream. After existing in the world of underground pop for the majority of her ten-year career, its intentional and successful grasp at commercial success seemed to have paid off, manifesting in her first UK number one album and a slot on the soundtrack of the following year’s most hyped film. Yet, its saccharine lyricism and radio-friendly beats began to irritate Charli, whose earliest exposures to music came via illegal raves rather than top-40 countdowns.
It’s why Brat, with its lurid green colour palette and bewitching baselines, marks a retreat from the stratospheres of stardom and back to the club – aiming to soundtrack the very gritty, sticky dancefloors and warehouse parties that birthed Charli’s brand of high octane hyperpop in the first place. “It’s sadness and beauty and stillness – it does something to me almost chemically, I think,” she said of her infatuation with the club to The Guardian earlier this year.
Alongside a realm of new sonic references, Brat leans into the brashness of its namesake, enlisting an army of internet hot girls to spread the gospel. Yet for every tongue-in-cheek one-liner and zeitgeist-worthy marketing move, Brat is interwoven with life lessons and cultural observations from pop’s most iconic underdog – and it’s all delivered through lyrics lifted from gossipy text chains. Below are a few key observations from one of 2024’s most loved albums.
THE ERA OF PENSIVE POP IS OVER
In 2024 much of pop lyricism descends into the mundane. Even Taylor Swift’s latest album dwelled heavily on the details of Matty Healy’s munchies. We’re in an era where the hyper-specific thrives, and everyone’s competing to be the most down-bad.
Brat, then, signals an abrupt end to pop’s current penchant for woe-is-me introspection. “It’s very much like texts I would send to friends. I wasn’t worried about rhyme, or the traditional things; it’s really just about capturing a feeling of chaos and saying the most blunt thing that is at the top of my brain,” she told The Guardian. It’s why the album is riddled with candid observations and commentary on pop culture – from odes to succubus internet it-girls to tales of pop star rivalries and complaints about a pop culture landscape that forces artists to be likeable.
It’s an ethos that seems to be spreading, spurring a plethora of dead-eyed party girl copycats across Hollywood. Perhaps, then, this is the long-awaited finale to the era of moody pop that’s soundtracked much of the post-pandemic era, ushering in a new dawn of messiness, fast cars and club classics.
OUR CONVERSATIONS ABOUT WOMEN IN MUSIC ARE STUNTED
Ten years ago, the music industry’s girlboss era brought (alongside a slew of questionable female empowerment anthems) a new outlook on the way we discuss women in music. One key takeaway was how it changed our view on the rivalries between female artists, which dominated the tabloids for much of the 00s. In this new era, these ‘rivalries’ were mostly dismissed as the media ‘pitting women against each other’. In some aspects, it was a time of progression, yet Brat shines a fluorescent green light on where those conversations fell short.
On “I think about it all the time”, Charli contemplates what becoming a mother might mean to her career, while “Girl, so confusing” explores a ricocheting relationship with a fellow female musician – one that the public compares her to on the basis they have “the same hair”. It’s a contrast to the attitudes of the last decade that declare it’s sexist to not blindly support a female peer, or to dare to examine the inevitable complexities of these relationships beyond the surface level. Here, Charli contends with these uncomfortable truths before concluding that being a girl is confusing, OK!
SOPHIE’S INFLUENCE WILL LAST FOREVER
In a recent interview, Charli lamented how her own insecurities prevented her from fully collaborating with the visionary producer SOPHIE, who died in 2021. “I didn’t feel like I was magical enough for this unbelievably magic person,” she said. “That makes me ashamed now I don’t have the opportunity to experience that anymore, because she’s gone. I feel ashamed for being a coward. It’s hard to write about. I’m sad for myself that I didn’t experience all this person had to offer.”
Perhaps it’s why much of Brat seems to be a sonic ode to the producer, whose innovative attitudes towards production carved the foundation for the UK’s experimental scene in the last decade. On “Club classics” she wishes to “dance to SOPHIE” and “So I” explicitly recalls the self-doubt that plagued their relationship, as she sings: “Wish I tried to pull you closer/you pushed me hard, made me focus.”
THE CLUB BATHROOM IS NOT YOUR THERAPY SPACE
Speaking to Rolling Stone UK, Charli admitted she’s not a fan of the heart-to-hearts that spring up in club toilet queues between lip gloss applications. “I actually avoid the girls bathroom at the club,” she said, declaring death to the deep convo. “I don’t actually like the deep chats because I find it really annoying. I’m just like ‘you’re killing my vibe’. Like, I just want to dance.”
Instead, Brat encourages us to embrace the dancefloor in these scenarios. It’s not to say that it’s a record devoid of pain – it’s actually the opposite – it’s just underscored by brash synth and industrial beats. Here, Charli spotlights the catharsis of the club and encourages us to exorcise our heartache on the dancefloor, rather than in tear-soaked cubical confessionals.
OUR STANDARDS FOR POP STARS ARE TOO HIGH
While Brat shines in its couldn’t-care-less candour, it’s also interwoven with confessions of insecurity surrounding Charli’s place in the industry. These observations are harrowing coming from one of the most influential artists of the past decade – pointing to a wider issue across much of modern arts and culture, where likeability and an inoffensive public persona are prized above artistic vision.
“These days, labels are really desperate for their artists to be liked, and the currency of niceness is really important in selling records, otherwise you’re bad, evil and wrong,” Charli told The Guardian. “You can’t separate yourself from your fans. Unless it’s extremely drastic and distant – and then that almost becomes the culture itself.”
“Rewind” outlines these doubts: “I used to never think about Billboard,” she sings, pointing out our current tendency to prioritise commercial figures in place of an album’s cultural impact. A glance at stan Twitter sees this data-crazed mania in action, with users discussing their faves’ new drops like stock market fluctuations. Here, Charli summarises how these unproductive conversations can sink under our favourite artists’ skin and ultimately distract from the music we depend on them to create.