Despite her name comprising mostly Roman numerals, there’s something refreshingly zeitgeist about the British pop sensation Charli XCX. Or as Julius Caesar would have called her, Hundred Har Fifty-one Ninety Ten.
Before now Charli has piqued a certain level of interest in me but not much. A passing distraction but something that wasn’t aimed at me, like the BBC Proms, incontinence pads or Buzz Bowls. However, the other day I found myself in a bored stupor while I was waiting to collect a vacuum cleaner at Argos, so I took the opportunity to listen to some XCX.
I listened to her latest album Music, Fashion, Film twice – it’s a short album. And then I did something I had never done before: a 720-twist standing backflip. No wait, not that. I listened to her neon green iconic long-player Brat.
This blog post is not going to be a review of those albums. Sorry to disappoint, but I need to be brief: the Argos server is giving me side-eye. So here are a few comments about both albums. Everything Is Romantic is sublime. 360 is an earworm. SS26 is an even bigger earworm. No-one Lasts Forever revives a classic era of 90s pop experimentalism. There. That'’s all you’re getting.
What impressed me most was her easy adoption of rave and hardcore with pant-juddering BPMs and sweaty synth energy. She can lay down a candyfloss melody then jackhammer the dancefloor until our toes are paste, sometimes within one song. The juxtaposition does not jar; it’s like we're being gaslit, but the gas has the sweetest smell.
In the wake of the Monster Capital anthology, I’ve been pondering about the death of subculture. The idea of the death of capitalism, and culture now feeding itself in a continual loop like a snake eating its own tail. Things that used to be on the fringes of culture – drum ‘n’ bass, tattoos, happy hardcore, queerness – are now mainstream, commodified and renting a £1,250pcm flat in the centre of town. Charli encapsulates this: she is sub-culture and mainstream culture combined.
I’m glad I listened to Charli XCX. I will listen to her again, despite a great many other albums competing for my attention – new Arca, new Nia Archives, a live Front 242 thing. In fact, you can’t stop me listening to more Charli: this isn’t imperial Rome, and I can do what I want without you sticking a gladius up my jacksie.
That brings my Charli chatter to a close. I must go. Argos have given me my six-slot solar-powered toaster. It's not what I ordered, but the server is drooling at me and it's time to get out of here.
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