'Music, Fashion, Film': The most misunderstood album of 2026?

At the beginning of May, Charli xcx released ‘Rock Music’. Swapping the electronic influences of BRAT for an experiment in grunge, the song proved divisive: The Guardian called it “very funny, infernally catchy and chaotic in a way that sets it apart from the perfectly turned and written-by-committee approach of 21st-century mainstream pop”, whilst other listeners took to social media to criticise it as post-ironic, tongue-in-cheek mockery. One of the main targets of the internet’s ruthless denunciation was the lyric “I think the dancefloor is dead”, which was initially taken as a jab at the very genre of music that made Charli xcx a star. The public thought that the BRAT hitmaker was attempting to elevate herself above “the dancefloor”, but the public were wrong.

On first listen, it has to be admitted that ‘Rock Music’ is jarring, and not in the abrasive way Charli xcx is known and loved for. Its instrumentation combines glitch pop with indietronica, featuring crashing cymbals, unpredictable rhythms, and plenty of autotune. Its sound wasn’t the only problem, either, as fans and critics alike desperately searched for an answer to one question: why? A split formed between those who saw ‘Rock Music’ as satirical, and those who argued for its sincerity.

The release of a satirical single seemed potentially career-ruining, and to those who had seen her Aidan Zamiri-directed mockumentary The Moment, it appeared that career-ruining was her aim. Some argued it was for the better if it was satirical, as sincerity suggested that Charli had lost her artistic touch. She’s always been known for blunt lyricism, but blunt lyricism that hits hard nonetheless, whereas lines such as “we kiss each other, real incestuous vibes” lacked that and instead came across as purely peculiar.

Responses to ‘Rock Music’ weren’t limited to faceless online profiles and the media, however: figures from the music world Charli has embedded herself weighed in, with John Summit offering one of the most memorable takes on the track. The American DJ and producer, best known for making the type of tacky EDM that could be plucked from any chart of the past twenty years, took to his Instagram story to state “maybe your dancefloor is dead but ours isn’t babe”, patronising tone intended. The Charli xcx fans who tracked down his phone number took things way too far, but they did lead Summit to realise that it was a battle “not worth fighting”.

While Summit’s response to ‘Rock Music’ may have been the most memorable, it certainly wasn’t the most prominent. Pop music’s undisputed sovereign Madonna also voiced her thoughts, also taking to Instagram to suggest that “If your dance floor feels dead, Maybe you’re playing the wrong music”. It was far from a coincidence, as instantly evident in the clear parallel to Charli’s lyrics, and even the rhyme in Madonna’s statement on “wrong music” and Charli’s ‘Rock Music’.

The connection goes deeper, though, as Madonna’s post landed amidst her campaign for recent album CONFESSIONS II, the sequel to her mid-noughties classic Confessions On A Dancefloor (emphasis on Dancefloor). Moreover, Charli xcx released the second Music, Fashion, Film single ‘SS26’ on the very day Madonna supposedly ignited what tabloids such as Metro described as a “bitter feud”. And maybe the whole situation was an example of a “press strategy” akin to those Charli takes aim at on that single, as the two stars were spotted chatting amicably at designer Anthony Vaccarello’s Saint Laurent menswear show in Paris, before Charli appeared behind the decks at Madonna’s Parisian edition of her Club Confessions series later that night.

‘SS26’ itself offered a glimpse at a softer side of Charli’s take on ‘Rock Music’, arriving as an alternative ballad set to chilled percussion and ever-so-slightly distorted guitar. Musically, it might be the most palatable track on Music, Fashion, Film, but the same can’t be said for its lyricism. Despite the deceptively mellow instrumentation, Charli takes aim at the pompous showcase of the Fashion medium of her album’s tripartite. The overarching message of the song is that “nothing’s gonna save us, not music, fashion, or film”.

In behind-the-scenes footage posted to social media, Charli is recorded affirming that art “can’t really change the world on this grand scale that it's sometimes expected to”. It might be pessimistic, but in a world where art is perceived as a saving grace, it’s a powerful statement. However, it’s a statement potentially diminished by her attendance at this year’s Met Gala, which hosted Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos as an honorary co-chair and saw Charli appear dressed in Saint Laurent. “I think I’ll be alright if I look good in the clothes”, indeed.

‘Card Declined’ is repetitive and fuzzy, expanding upon the criticism of commercialisation in ‘SS26’ to cynically sustain that “a smile”, “a personality” and “backstory” cannot be purchased. This allows her to examine, perhaps briefly, the commodification of individuality, condemning a culture in which human identity has become influenced and dominated by materialism. At the same time, she disparages the concept of retail therapy, removing any hope of chasing happiness through transactions with the song’s titular phrase. The whole thing ties into one lyric from BRAT’s ‘I might say something stupid’: “wear these clothes as disguise”.

Of all four of the singles released ahead of Music, Fashion, Film, ‘Camera’ is the hardest-hitting by far. It’s intimate, vulnerable and contemplative, seeing Charli swap cliché and commentary for introspection across two and a half minutes of emotional sincerity. ‘Camera’ was the perfect choice for the album’s final single, tying together its themes just a fortnight before release. “It makes me want to throw my life away, all the music, all the people, not a single kiss goodbye”, she sings, revealing the negative side to her sudden explosion of post-BRAT fame.

Even the repeated chorus of “all I know is how it makes me feel, and it makes me feel” sounds vulnerable, encapsulating the experience of feelings that defy articulation. A similar contradiction to those found in the album’s previous tracks arises here, too, but this time Charli recognises it for what it is: “chase the stars, the ones in your eyes, but let’s be honest, I’m talking about the ones on the pavement”. This is the first time she addresses her own aspiration, and the ways in which she fits into the commercialised world of stardom she seems to disparage. One reference to Hollywood’s Walk of Fame contains layers of meaning, even down to the fact that its depiction as a simple “pavement” removes its stature and grandeur.

In ‘Camera’, “that look, it’s a bullet”, in the same way that “all this sympathy is just a knife” in BRAT’s third track. But here, it isn’t a fellow star that makes her feel insecure, it’s the public eye and the internal insecurity that stardom has brought her. “Do I want to make music? Am I being fucking stupid if I try to be a girl on the screen when I’m turning 34?”, she questions, bringing the final part of her tripartite album title into the picture. Although she might be best known as a popstar, Charli informs her listeners that film and acting offer her “something new and undiscovered, and something kind of violent”, unlocking a new form of artistic identity which provides an outlet for emotional depth that reaches a level of catharsis.

Another contradiction can be found towards the end of the second verse of ‘Camera’, but, as before, it’s a contradiction that feels honest and vulnerable. Charli discusses “daring to fail and being ugly” in acting, reflecting upon the artistic liberation offered by a medium that often requires roles outside of the traditional beauty ideals that imbue celebrity culture. Here, Charli critiques that celebrity culture and its expectation of perfection, while also opening up about her experience of accessing suppressed emotions and adopting new realities through film.

The idea of being “totally honest” only in a fictional role may be paradoxical, but it reveals the sentiment at the heart of Music, Fashion, Film. It’s exhausting to be Charli xcx, underneath all the glamour and celebrity, and sometimes she simply wants to escape. At times, it’s clear that she feels suffocated by expectation and by the identity she has constructed for herself, and the greatest reward she can gain from film is momentary self-effacement: “it’s the only way to feel like I’m not actually me”.

‘2007’ is one of the album’s few light-hearted moments, but buried within it is a criticism of its own. As Charli xcx repeats “I can take you to heaven like it’s 2007, popstar in my bedroom like it’s 2007”, the lyric sounds more like the temptation of a siren song than a promise of liberation through stardom. When considered amongst the album’s other tracks, and the themes explored thus far, the song adopts a sinister meaning, although perhaps the temptation lies within the urge to read too far into the record’s most sugar-coated, danceable track.

Musically, ‘2007’ wouldn’t sound out of place on BRAT, striking a balance between the ‘Rock Music’ influences of Music, Fashion, Film, and the indietronica that ran through songs on her previous record. It lures the listener into a sense of security before the undeniably abrasive ‘I’m Afraid’, a song grounded by a bassline that sounds deliberately out of tune. “I’m a wife, I’m a kid, I’m destroyed, I’m a bitch, I’m too drunk, I can’t sleep, I can’t feel, I’m afraid”, Charli drones, vocally recreating a downward mental spiral, and terror can be heard as the instrumentation distorts as the song reaches its end.

‘Yeah’ turns away from the existential contemplation of ‘I’m Afraid’, and with lyrics composed of just fourteen repeated words, it’s the building tension and exploding release of guitar that takes centre stage. Even the repetition in the song’s production speaks to the repetitive nature of the music industry: albums like BRAT are exactly what labels would want to recreate in search of further cultural moments, but Charli xcx wants to break out of this and “feel it” (the music she’s making) rather than constantly saying ‘Yeah’ to trends.

Admittedly, the album dips in quality as it passes its mid-point. ‘Wink Wink’ is the worst of its singles, featuring jarring vocal distortion and nonsensical lines such as “I used to lick cream off strawberries in the summer, and maybe I fucked your dad”. However, the mantra “I’m not a bad girl anymore, I promise” is interesting, seemingly standing as another anti-BRAT statement before being instantly undercut by a “wink, wink, wink, wink” from the pop-star. Her insistence that “people can change” leaves all doors open for the future of Charli xcx, stirring excitement for whatever may come next.

‘Persona’ is the kind of song that takes a few listens to truly get to grips with, sustaining the jarring vocal distortion of ‘Wink Wink’ but applying it to lyrics centred around facades in social interaction. Its title is likely inspired by Ingmar Bergman’s avant-garde psychological drama of the same name, which centres around the relationship between a speech-impaired stage actress and a nurse given the responsibility of caring for her. Similarly, Charli’s song appears to revolve around two human identities and the complexities that arise in their interactions: the song opens with the line “sometimes I wonder if you realise the way you come across, it’s kind of crazy”.

As the song develops, however, it increasingly seems that the ‘Persona’ Charli is discussing is not really a “best friend” who keeps her at “arm’s length”, but herself. “You like the sound of your voice, and I like the sound of mine” is the first hint of this, but it’s truly cemented as the chorus arrives with its brutal statement “I know you’re performing”, and tied together as she sings “you know I see you when you see me”. Gone is the jealousy and confusion of ‘Sympathy is a knife’ and ‘Girl, so confusing’: here, Charli seems very aware that she’s “under the influence of life imitating art”, struggling to separate the private from the public. ‘Persona’ sounds like a conversation between the real Charli xcx and the “party girl” at the centre of BRAT, and it thus adds to the intense vulnerability that runs throughout Music, Fashion, Film.

With the façade removed, Charli feels free to indulge in real friendship, but ‘Magic Metal Montana’ results in the album’s only true dud. Lyrics such as “you’re my best friend but we don’t talk, we make music, we talk that way, drink some whiskey but not really, you don’t drink so I’ll drink for two” induce a visceral reaction of repugnance. It’s Charli’s attempt at a platonic ode to A. G. Cook and their working relationship, but it’s the worst track on Music, Fashion, Film by a long mile.

Swiftly returning to a high level of quality and introspection, ‘No One Lasts Forever’ is the perfect closing track for an album characterised by contemplation. Charli considers the ephemerality of stardom, and the ways in which this interacts with public image and “the crushing highs and lows of ego”. The track’s first verse sees the pop-star embody her BRAT ‘Persona’: “I don’t want to go home now I’m more confident than ever, since everyone knows my name all the parties got better”. But this comes crashing down as “everybody thinks I’ve got a problem” with both over-indulgence and, well, being too much of a brat.

This leads Charli to resolution, though, as the album comes to a close, that “I’m not scared of anyone, cos nothing’s gonna last forever”. She realises how essential it is to experience the ups and downs of life in the spotlight, and life in general: “one minute know you’re the worst, and the next minute you know you’re better”. Canadian film director, screenwriter and originator of the body horror genre David Cronenberg closes the track with a speech that not only provides Charli with a pivotal career moment (her fifth studio album was named after Cronenberg’s 1996 film Crash), but also ties together all the themes of Music, Fashion, Film.

In an interview with the podcast Tape Notes, Charli revealed that Cronenberg’s speech is taken from an hour-long conversation between the two about the latter’s near-death experience. Cronenberg reveals that it was “people” and “life”, not “art”, that came to mind in what could have been his final moments, and thus it is "people" and "life", not "art", that forms the centre of his identity. This strikes quite the parallel with ‘If You Take Away The Music Then What Has She Got?’, the B-side to ‘Camera’ which discusses art becoming self-identity, while ‘No One Lasts Forever’ closes on one hauntingly reverberated line that removes this possibility: “they are dead, they are gone, no one lasts forever”.

It’s interesting, though, that the physical variants of Music, Fashion, Film omit Cronenberg’s speech in favour of a locked groove which repeats Charli’s voice singing the word “forever” until the disc is removed: it’s tiny touches like this, whether in the music, lyrics or styling, that truly reveal the album’s greatness. This is also reflected in the album’s cover, which features three legendary figures in music, fashion, and film. John Cale, best known as a founding member of The Velvet Underground but most recently resurfacing as a feature on ‘House’, the lead single from Charli xcx’s soundtrack for Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights adaptation, appears alongside fashion designer Marc Jacobs and film director Martin Scorsese. It’s the perfect tribute to the tripartite of artistic mediums that the album is formed around, and it adds to the album’s overall brilliance.

The B-sides are a different story: ‘I Keep On Thinking Bout You Every Single Day And Night’ is already interpolated at the end of ‘Card Declined’, while ‘Playboy Bunny’ is simply cringeworthy. It’s a shame, since some of the best songs on BRAT were B-sides (see: ‘Guess’), but it can be said with certainty that after a few listens of Music, Fashion, Film itself, the album more than makes up for the disappointment of its bonus tracks. It insists from the opening notes that it isn’t another BRAT, despite featuring self-referential moments clearly influenced by its aftermath.

‘Rock Music’ is just one case in point, and it’s rare that a lead single can initiate such a high level of discourse. If the whole project exists as a method of keeping her name in the public’s mind, she’s more than succeeded. Charli’s own response to the mixed reaction received by ‘Rock Music’ can also stand as a manifesto for the album as a whole: “things can be funny, earnest, sincere, and joyful all at the same time”. The album might be esoteric, it might lean into parody, and it might come across as performative at times, but as Charli herself said to British Vogue, “everybody is performing, in a way”, and this is what Music, Fashion, Film takes aim at.