Charli XCX Triumphs Through Pop Catharsis on BRAT
The English icon’s latest album is a messy, revelatory insight into what life exists at the precipice of fame.

For years, discussions of Charli XCX have noted the bifurcated nature of her fame: fiercely beloved by her fans but unable to break out into mainstream success—and she’s not alone in this distinction. Pop’s Middle Class, as The New York Times dubbed it, gets bigger everyday, but none of Charli’s peers acknowledge that divide as loudly as she does.
Her last album, 2022’s CRASH, was billed as her most serious attempt to play the music industry game she’d long bristled against. She used an A&R person for the first time and topped the album charts in the UK, Ireland and Australia. Songs like the sickeningly sweet “Yuck” and blatant September rip “Beg For You” were sonically commercial in a way that Charli hadn’t sounded since her “Boom Clap” days. The pivot was especially pronounced in the wake of her diaristic lockdown project, how i’m feeling now. Announced via a Zoom call and worked on in that same space, the album trapped affection and apprehension in amber. But with CRASH firmly in the rearview, it’s obvious that its mission largely failed at breaking Charli into a new tier of success—and, judging by the music on its follow up, it may have brought some old anxieties to the forefront.
On BRAT, Charli is once again channeling her experiences into radical, bite-sized pop songs. It makes CRASH feel even more like an aberration, drawing way closer from the forthright nature of how i’m feeling now. BRAT, though, is messy and vulnerable—in a way Charli’s work has lacked over the last decade. Her own framing positions the album as a club record, written as though she’s spouting these songs off via drunk texts to a friend. That last part is unambiguously true, right down to the sentence case titling. Calling BRAT a club record isn’t wrong, though, per se—fans breathlessly awaiting something that sounds like her lauded Boiler Room set might be left scratching their heads, though. Instead, BRAT is a love letter to the sounds of electroclash (think Ed Banger Records, Peaches, Uffie). Charli, with an assist from producers like EasyFun, Gesaffelstein, her fiance George Daniel and, of course, A.G. Cook has built her sound into something sparse, stimulating and strange.
BRAT offers a direct perspective into Charli’s psyche, illuminating the insecurities she feels when she looks backwards and forwards at her career. Whether it’s guilt about calling the paparazzi on herself, or feeling out of place at glitzy parties, she’s aware of her own marginality. As she puts it on “I might say something stupid,” a devastating, robotic ballad: “I’m famous, but not quite.” Her self-aware songwriting gets even more explicit on the glitchy “Rewind,” where she employs her trademark Auto-Tuned sing-rapping in an effort to draw out nostalgia about the days when her music was all passion, not a job. It’s put plainly: “I used to never think about Billboard / But now I’ve started thinking again / Wondering about whether I deserve commercial success.”