British songwriter Charli XCX has been a starlet for more than a decade, so it’s a great surprise to find her foot is stuck with the working classes. “Card Declined” singles out the fury humans innately feel daily regarding their lack of income. “I’ll buy a smile,” the singer ruefully admits, devastated by the punchline: “card declined”. In this materialistic domain, failure hinges on every misspent purchase. Music, Fashion, Film proves to be an overview of miserabilism in the 21st century.
Daringly, the record cover boasts bassist John Cale, designer Marc Jacobs and film director Martin Scorsese, incorporating a singular voice for the core elements of proletarian entertainment. “Camera” is the composition that best places a foot in all three camps, positing an epistle around the visceral excitement generated by cinema, rock and clothing. “Yeah” is deceptively simple, a plodding guitar battering against electronic drums, yet that belies the fact that it is, in fact, an internal monologue between the optimist and pessimist regarding commerce.
Charli XCX ventures further with this theme on “No One Lasts Forever”, complete with a cameo from The Shrouds writer David Cronenberg. Opening with a reverb (an electric guitar?), “No One Lasts Forever” metamorphosises as a melancholic, dreamlike journey into Nietzschean ennui. The abyss that stares at all of us looks fairly bleak on this tune, as evinced by Cronenberg’s monologue, a man exploring the constraints of everyday art.
Music, Fashion, Film is refreshingly reminiscent of Lou Reed‘s The Raven, as it is as much a dialogue between artist and audience as it is a finished product. Reed and Charli XCX allowed for inconsistency around the assemblage of tunes, diving from densely produced to lightly so. The glistening bass recalls John Deacon during Queen‘s Jazz era, providing a counterpoint to Charli XCX’s ghostly voice. “Wink Wink”, a bruised pop piece, combs choppy, chiming riffs against soaring choruses.
The closest thing on the record to a radio staple, “Wink Wink” closes out with an infectious outro. “Persona”, a loud roar introducing the tune as the singular vocals enter, is more cerebral, an act of defiance from a friend scorned by a fellow member of the same social circle. Fizzy fuzz guitars cement the backdrop, permitting Charli XCX an opportunity to scat along to the backing track. “Magic Metal Montana” is a slow, thumping, hypnotic power ballad punctuated by down-tuned chords and sharp discordant noises. Despite the many sonic jumps and buzzes, the attention is squared on the central undertone of despondency in a modern day.
Escapism comes in many forms: drugs, sex, exercise. There are healthy forms, and unhealthy ones. As with many areas in life, the less healthy ones are often the most tempting to partake in. If Music, Fashion, Film has a throughline or central message, it is that imagination, at its most abstract and purest, gleams from cinematic, musical, and fashionable endeavours. A trinity forged in art, these are the lexicon of the lower classes; diversions that are beneficial to the soul.
It would be wrong to pencil Charli XCX’s latest as a concept album or a rock opera in the mould of Godley & Creme’s Consequences, but it would be churlish not to acknowledge that there is a flow to the work. Tunes feed into one another, building itself up from the piece that came immediately beforehand. The singer, now on her seventh record, pursues the continuum of human feelings and flairs; this may be the most humane entry yet in the grand canon. Such is the power of honesty; it transcends profanity, creating a tangible voice for working-class people.