Futurism in music seldom reaches new heights that feel progressive, at least meaningfully, or which result in more than a momentary blip of new or remixed sounds, only slightly alternative from preconceived and recycled works. But the sign of any worthwhile dive into that artistic well is seamlessly meshing a current wave with its past influences, while never being truly tied to or reliant on either, or being experimentally bold simply for its own sake. And Charli XCX's fifteen track, fifty-one minute album Charli effortlessly skirts through and between both, mixing in the bubblegum bass and hyperpop excursions of PC Music and her previous EPs and mixtapes, and the bold, electronic dance-pop ethos of a mid-90's club mix—and it excels at nearly every turn.

Charli's music since her mainstream introduction over a decade ago has progressively evolved alongside the character she displays, morphing from twenty-something newcomer to alt-pop veteran within just a few years of her output; it would be nearly impossible to connect the dots, in as many outings and as well as she did from True Romance to Pop 2, all within four years and change.

And as character portrait of that evolution, Charli is likely her most cohesive and forward-thinking project to date—even if its reimaginings of the mind-melting Track 10 as the more simplistic, clubby Blame It on Your Love, and the ethos of its more tepid points clash slightly with the outsider-as-mainstream appeal of elements of her sound fleshed out from Pop 2 and Vroom Vroom. Simply put, it seems to be a creative watershed, sharply combining everything that made her rise to cult appeal occur, crossing over with voices she had collaborated with on that ascent, be it Kim Petras and Tommy Cash on the brutally transcendent Click, or Brooke Candy, CupcakKe, and Pabllo Vittar on the vulgar and equally foreboding Shake It. The added inclusions of mainstream and under-current pop icons like Christine and the Queens, Sky Ferreira, Big Freedia, and others amount to the project billing itself as the amalgam of electropop monuments, very attentively placing their performances towards the front and back where most of its stunning noise hits occur, bar Lizzo's contribution to the aforementioned Blame It on Your Love, as relatively small as it is.

Its first five tracks are some of the most well-crafted in its lane, its opener Next Level Charli a brilliantly arranged and fuzzy introduction, in its place bracing for the following four hits and working as the record's calling card. The pulsating rhythm and Charli's performance is immediate and nearly mystical, coming across as a beautifully virtual elevation of her artistic unworldliness.

And just as that track is timeless in its reinvention of her more experimental edge from 2017 and prior, the following few tracks all perfectly amplify the love and admiration of that pre-y2k flair, with each pairing guest performance painting themselves in with unbridled self-abandon. They altogether blend into a nostalgic cacophony during the post-club breakdown on Gone with Chris, then on Charli's subtle vocal warping alongside Sky's verse and harmonies on the brilliantly arranged Cross You Out. Both shine through emotive rises, the former's personality sparkling back and forth, the latter's more murky delivery suiting the grimy instrumental, courtesy of A.G. Cook and collaborators who—across the record, while filing down experimentation during more personally attentive spots—provide some of the most energetic and creatively molded blends of the styles previously mentioned.

1999 then, alongside Troye Sivan, is certainly the album's most potent distillation of a wistful view of the simpler life, starry-eyed and hopeful to return to a similar mentality—though Click is the claustrophobic high that breaks down and caps the record's first leg. An egotistical, blistering, and powerfully anxiety-inducing fling, never settling on one specific sound palette long enough, before finishing with a totalizing and ear-bleeding breakdown, credited simply as 'noise' to Dylan Brady in the album's liner notes. It perfectly closes the first third of the album alongside Petras and Cash despite any initial odd inflections; the overall set of five stand separate, a kind of blissfully tuned-in set of experimental pop blockbusters.

The following songs, while they do skip around and feel not entirely connected to each other at first glance, tie in emotional outings to serve as good transitions, particularly that of Warm alongside HAIM, serving as a kind comedown. It, as well as Thoughts and the later I Don't Wanna Know, are certainly the most diluted elements of the record, yet they still fit in amongst the shoulder-to-shoulder highs of the rest of the LP. The first is simply a subtle ballad, providing a useful respite with a slower, plucky and synth-laden backing, while the other two serve up slightly out-of-step synth progressions, or reverbed-soaked, listless medleys. Neither are outright missteps though, and to an extent their skittering themes of ignorance in love are tenable, worthwhile avenues to explore, they simply rhyme ideas in less formative packages.

Blame It on Your Love is to this point the most thematically disparate coming off of Thoughts, an arena-sized thrill that, while certainly a good, choice reinterpretation, and useful in resetting the mood at the center, is simple fun with a less outwardly daring air compared to the rest of the record. But thankfully, that's about all there is negative to say about the whole project; even the final moments' constant changes, instead of feeling like trying to fit too many ideas in at the buzzer, surprisingly shapeshifts to an off-the-wall look into the future, be it looking in towards Charli's character or outwards at the world she's inhabiting.

White Mercedes, Silver Cross, and February 2017 offer initially tepid synth strings and percussive oddities leading through that second half, that all morph into their own unique expressions of love and lamentations; Yaeji and Clairo offer their voices in an intriguing way too on that penultimate cut, firstly blending well with the bouncy synth heaven before an abrupt scissor cut ending with the former's soothing conclusion. All three tracks on their own spark just enough drive, especially Silver Cross in its ability to warp and transition quickly between strong affectations and buzzing electronics.

The most impactful moment before its final three is surely of Official, a self-described difficult penning, one that ended up as a wonderfully sweet, love-affirming ballad; its cute vocal progression alongside soft, arpeggiated keys pair altogether into an aesthetically charming and elegant expression of devotion. The little details push it over the edge as one of the greatest moments on the project, like the little inhale ahead of the second verse; it's pretty and alluringly special.

Which is, in part, what makes the whispering, robotic introduction of Shake It so confounding; Charli's voice feels alien and disconnected, before Big Freedia's presence quickly takes over in front of bass blasting and brazen, off-the-wall electronic stings. It is the most abrupt and harsh change-up the record has, hair-raising in its personality and varied performances, somehow outdoing Click in its pure bombast. Its minor stumble is only in how far it takes the concept in its context, even if each raunchy character introduction works wonders; coming after Official just makes both tracks' purposes a bit weaker, though they still tie together in purpose at the hip in some respects—and your eyes widen more and more as the song continuously evolves and bears down on your eardrums.

The album closes in on a thesis of that preceding note of embracing futurism, while being indebted with concern about these stories of love and devotion and interconnectedness through modern life; it does a lot of heavy lifting alongside Next Level in its bookending of Charli's purpose, a reckoning of present-day relationships and simply navigating the world as Charli sees it. Bringing back Troye Sivan into the mix is brilliant, starting with heart throbs and culminating itself with the project into a wonderful, glitchy and harmonic return collaboration.

And that pretty pointedly depicts the timelessness of the entire album; it acutely sketches, through borrowing and reinventing the old and new, the structure of what makes pop albums so gripping and human. Its structure wanes in just the right ways, cutting abruptly with noise, lust, utter adoration and complete rejection. The moments it nails loop back in on themselves self-referentially, hypnotically, throughout its hefty runtime—that passes by with ease in an instant, despite its consistent density.