Lorde
Virgin
Universal/Republic
Rating: ★★★★½
Reviewed by JOHN HAYDEN
From counting dollars on the train in Takapuna to the Big Apple, Ella Yelich-O’Connor’s path has been utterly singular.
After a Grammy-gobbling debut (2013’s Pure Heroine), and its unimpeachably brilliant follow-up Melodrama (2017) where she carved out new modes of young adult expression - at turns bruised, wry, bitter and heroically self-aware - Lorde found herself at the forefront of the art-pop vanguard, blazing a trail for the likes of Billie Eilish and Olivia Rodrigo- purveyors all of confessional lyrics and unpolished vocals, set to a minimalistic sonic template.
The sun-dappled Solar Power (2021) followed, a folk-pop left-turn which left fans and press alike cold with its unassuming arrangements and lyrics lambasting the climate crisis, as their author wrestled with the messianic weight of celebrity - hardly befitting a pop princess who rubbed shoulders with A-List besties with names like Taylor and Charli. Certainly, when she opined on Oceanic Feeling about “building a pyre... ready to “step into the choir’’, there was the sense she already had one eye on her next incarnation.
With no new music since, save for a guest spot on Charli XCX’s Girl, So Confusing remix - which snagged her an Aotearoa music award for single of the year in May - our own Prettier Jesus titillated followers with a pop-up show broadcast from an Auckland toilet block as part of the rollout for her fourth LP, Virgin. Her turn on the Charli track featured a frank confession - “for the last couple years / I’ve been at war with my body” - setting the tone for her most unflinching set of songs to date.
The stark cover art - an X-ray of the singer’s pelvis - signals the candour within. Opening track Hammer sees the singer prowling New York, claiming that “when you’re holding a hammer / everything looks like a nail,” and that “some days I’m a woman / some days I’m a man’’. Where Solar Power saw freedom as sandy beaches and ignoring phone calls, here, Lorde’s liberation is in bodily autonomy, a theme further examined on the breathtaking Man of the Year. Over the gauziest of synth pulses and compressed cymbal crashes, Lorde embraces her masculine side as she ponders “who’s gon’ love me like this / who could give me lightness?” Shapeshifter’s arrangements further evoke this flux, as she intones “I’ve been the siren / been the saint” as the backing miraculously morphs from skeletal garage beats to lush string swells.
Yet Virgin’s liberation is borne of bitter experience. Lead single What Was That sees Lorde struggling with expectation (“since I was 17 I gave you everything”) while Broken Glass candidly details an eating disorder over a phones-aloft, arena-ready chorus. Elsewhere, the sumptuous Clearblue - all disjointed, auto-tuned a capella snippets - is an arresting account of awaiting the results of a pregnancy test.
Ultimately, as Lorde nudges her 30s, Virgin stands as a vibrant testament to transformation, the sound of an artist craving, and finding, comfort in their own skin.
Single download: Shapeshifter
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