Chris

It’s a refreshing, empowering record that embraces finding identity in a lack thereof.

A breathless, breathtaking achievement, Chris is a fascinating, infectious, endlessly suggestive work, an ode to 80s pop bombast that uses those splinters to build and then de-construct countless glimpses of Héloïse Letissier. Somewhere in amongst these myriad of definitions is Christine And The Queens, a shape-shifting pop entity perpetually aiming for something greater.

It’s groovy and funky and sultry, and it takes things seriously while still being joyful. It encourages freedom of form, in the sense of both body and art. It’s the perfect second album for Christine and the Queens.

Chris is a second album that thrives in the realm of the uncertain, throws perceptions on gender, sexuality and expression comprehensively out of the window, and cements the status of Héloïse Letissier as a true star.

Chris is an album delivered for a wider audience, but still with a subversive and unique texture and emotion that loses nothing of the vacillating energy of the subculture whilst making a confident play for the biggest stages.

Some tracks, like "Doesn't Matter," are splendid on their own, without getting into a showy pop realm: what that song lacks in hooks, it makes up for with micro walls of sound and a choral climax, courtesy of some sublime layering. But others are better at a distance. ... Despite that, Letessier's evidently heightened confidence goes a long, long way on Chris, and its emotions and attitude pop with astonishing strength, even if the sound could afford to do so a little more.

Chris is an imposing structure, one likely to dominate 2018's skyline. There are, however, still heights left to hit. [Oct 2018, p.89]

It’s true to say that Chris seems to run out of steam a bit at the end, with only the beautifully reflective Make Some Sense really standing out during the album’s last few tracks. Nevertheless, this doesn’t stop Héloïse Letissier’s second record being one of the year’s most intelligent, enjoyable albums, and cements her position as one of our most intriguing, interesting pop stars.

On the evidence of Chris--a deft and bogglingly-intelligent record, which somehow sounds blissfully effortless too--she’s earned her own place in the pop icon history books.

Her dance-pop and funky synth-pop easily parallels the intrigue of her brawny lyrics and though she may feel frustration from the record’s narrative being solely steered towards her pansexuality, new short hairdo or the record’s relevant themes in the wake of #MeToo, let it be known that this is one of the finest pop works of the year.

The resulting album is an electric blend of unforgettable imagery, emotional depth, and lurid, sizzling pop-funk.

The best songs on Chris are the outliers, the ones that are either fully intellectually-engaging or completely poppy. The songs in the middle, that plainly try to balance between the two, only underwhelm because of how common they feel.

The result is an album that balances sophistication with a satisfying pop sense, and emotional heft with a lightness of touch. [Oct 2018, p.110]

A record more extroverted, flamboyant and hooky across the board, and which, depending on how you categorize Dirty Computer, feels like a frontrunner for the year’s hottest pop album.

Unlike most ephemeral pop music today, Chris--like the gender-fluid character at its center--feels consequential and everlasting.

A lot of Chris--and a lot of the coverage around it, to be fair--can seem reductive on first glance. But Letissier is one of the most nuanced songwriters working, and an inventive arranger.

Chris more than anything revels in fluid identities--whether gender, personality, mood, or otherwise--and the way they free people from expectations and limits. By extension, this frees up Christine And The Queens from musical conventions, and propels the group to the precipice of greatness.

She just writes fantastic songs: the melody of 5 Dollars is perfectly poised between sweetness and melancholy; What’s-Her-Face frames a lyric about self-loathing with an ominous cloud of electronics; Damn (What Must a Woman Do?) conjures a crowded dancefloor at 4am so effectively you can virtually feel the perspiration dripping from the ceiling. It is an album about pop music as much as any of the other topics it addresses.

Letissier makes her vintage synths snap, crackle, pop, fizz, freeze, squelch, shimmer and soar.

Like Chris’ persona, the album is lean, unashamedly self-aggrandising and thrillingly audacious. Here, pop is a transformative power. Subverting male privilege to her own advantage, Chris has built an album of tunes that could not only top charts, but also change worlds.

Here, as with Grimes, percussion is used as a weapon; none of the lyrics are clichéd top 40 pap. Unlike Grimes, however, Letissier has a bold, synthetic funk payload to commend her, and her lyrics are more obviously personal.

As its title suggests, Chris is a supremely confident introduction to the next phase of Christine and the Queens.

For a flag-waving LGBTQ artist riding the transgender express, the secret of Letissier's crossover charm is that she never lets polemic get in the way of a slick hook. It may be pop with a purpose, but first and foremost it is pop with a damn catchy chorus.

It's a lean, thrillingly muscular set from a genuinely distinctive talent. [Oct 2018, p.26]