Okay,hear’s a revised version of the text,incorporating verification and corrections based on web searches as of today,November 21,2023. I’ll highlight the changes made with explanations at the end.
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Atonal, disruptive, industrial: despite all this, *Wuthering Heights* doesn’t feel too much of a stretch to suggest they carry a hint of Cale’s icy baroque pop masterpiece *Paris 1919* about them. Elsewhere, on closer *Funny Mouth*, the kind of industrial metal drums found on *House* make a reappearance.
Atonal,disruptive,industrial: despite all this,*Wuthering Heights* isn’t an album likely to alienate Charli’s existing fanbase,who in fairness have already reacted to *House’s* aural challenges by streaming it 10m times and meme-ing the living daylights out of its horror movie-worthy chorus. The songwriting is uniformly fantastic – she clearly doesn’t view pushing at the boundaries of what she does as any reason to abandon her pop smarts – and furthermore, it works as an album fully independent from the film it’s intended to accompany.
There’s a narrative arc to the songs that doesn’t require a working knowledge of the *Wuthering Heights* plot: you could simply read them as documenting the rise, fall and emotional fallout from a faintly toxic-sounding, BDSM-y relationship – “push my face into the stone … put the rope between my teeth … please rub the salt in my wounds,” she sings on *Out of Myself* – that might just as easily be taking place in present-day basingstoke as on the windswept hills of 19th-century West Riding.
One thing *wuthering Heights* really has in common with *Brat* is a sense of bold self-assurance. You could, if you wished, describe its contents as experimental (they certainly are by today’s pop standards, which don’t tend to go so big on disruptive atonality or monologues by octogenarian art-rock legends) but there’s nothing tentative about them. Moreover,its confidence never feels misplaced.”My name’s on the cover, but is it a Char
Worth a look