The cover of Charli XCX’s latest album is instantly recognizable, with the word “brat” pasted carelessly in a blurred resolution on a pane of lime green. Careless, indeed, is the word that comes to mind for this album — and that is its greatest success.
This lime green has served as key branding for pop sensation Charli XCX’s recent release, “Brat,” and has planted its flag in the zeitgeist, expanding beyond the music industry, most notably in Vice President Kamala Harris’ presidential campaign. Almost immediately after its release, “Brat” was met with universal critical acclaim. The internet filled with praise for the album and Charli, with netizens chanting a battle cry for “Brat summer.” These are no small feats for a pop album and beg the question: What is it about this album that has created not just critical and commercial success, but also the momentum to propel itself into a pop culture symbol?
Charlotte Emma Aitchison, known professionally as Charli XCX, first gained traction on Myspace in the early 2000s, where her music caught the attention of a promoter. The latter invited Charli to perform at several (illegal) warehouse raves located in East London where she then adopted her stage name: Charli XCX. In 2010, Charli signed to Asylum Records and later gained international prominence for her collaboration with Icona Pop on their hit single “I Love It” (2012). Charli continued to find popular success with “Fancy” (2014), a collaboration with Australian rapper Iggy Azalea, and “Boom Clap” (2014) which was used in the soundtrack to the coming-of-age romance “The Fault in Our Stars.”
It’s difficult to overstate the immensity of “Brat” in internet culture this past summer, and even harder to provide an answer to the question of “Why?” There are a few possible explanations: Perhaps the aforementioned carelessness that permeates “Brat” and its blatant disregard for all that is holy in the realm of musical aesthetics satisfies the contemporary appetite for the “postmodern” and the “ironic;” perhaps its kitsch artlessness and maximalism is its own aesthetic.
But put more simply: “Brat” is cool. “Brat” is fun. “Brat” is flattened cigarette butts on concrete, a tight dress pulled up to the hips, sleepless eyes between smudged kohl. “It’s okay to just admit that you’re jealous of me/ Yeah, I heard you talk about me, that’s the word on the street/ You’re obsessing, just confess it, put your hands up/ It’s obvious I’m your number one,” sings Charli in warbled auto-tune on “Von dutch” in an embodiment of a stumbling, grunge popstar-diva.
This self-indulgence, apathy and insolence in Charli’s world-building is the key to the album’s success and popularity. It fulfills a maximalist fantasy for many young people, serving as a sonic tour de force that embraces the chaotic, maximalist ethos of hyperpop. At the same time, its cracks reveal emotional authenticity and vulnerability, providing the album a sense of dimension and purpose. “Girl, so confusing,” explores themes of competition, envy and uncertainty in female relationships: “Yeah, I don’t know if you like me/ Sometimes I think you might hate me/ Sometimes I think I might hate you/ Maybe you just wanna be me.” Upon its release, listeners speculated that Lorde was the subject of the track, and on June 21, Charli released a remix of the song with the addition of a self reflective, vulnerable and masterfully metered verse from Lorde herself: “‘Girl, you walk like a bitch/ When I was ten, someone said that/ And it’s just self-defence/ Until you’re building a weapon.” On “I think about it all the time,” Charli opens up about her hesitancies and desires surrounding motherhood after a visit to a friend: “Standing there/ Same old clothes she wore before, holding her child, yeah/ She’s a radiant mother, and he’s a bеautiful father/ And now they both know thesе things that I don’t.” Yet, following this moment of intense confusion and emotional vulnerability, Charli pulls us back into a head banging, light-strobing beat once again on “365,” a clever call-back to her opening “360”: “Who the fuck are you? I’m a brat when I’m bumpin’ that/ Now I wanna hear my track, are you bumpin’ that?”
This sort of emotional left-and-right head-banging may feel extreme, but never does it feel unintentional or wasteful. The album evokes feelings of shame, pleasure, fear and indifference; the push and pull of the “here and now” that defines youth and club culture, while still reminding us of the crippling uncertainty and longing that coincides with young adulthood. “Brat” is fun, yet toys with its own artificiality without taking itself too seriously. Here, Charli leaps between grasping insecurity and narcissism, ecstasy and self-disgust, and so do we, jumping and sweating along to the tempo of an early 2000s club beat.
