By Brontë H. Lacsamanam Reporter
Album Review
Virgin
Lorde
Universal Music New Zealand
THE SECRET SAUCE of elusive Kiwi pop musician Lorde has always been vulnerability.
Four years ago, her third studio album Solar Power saw her go on a healing journey into the sun. Eight years ago, her album Melodrama sunk into the recesses of her emotional depth. Twelve years ago, her debut album, Pure Heroine, had everyone marveling at the sheer honesty and boldness in the then-17-year-old Auckland girl’s lyrics.
Born Ella Yelich-O’Connor, Lorde has allowed each of her albums to represent chapters of her life. For those on the millennial-Gen Z cusp like this writer, her music has practically marked a generation’s experience of adulthood.
Lorde’s fourth album, titled Virgin, was released on June 27. Now 28 years old, she bares her soul once more in this new outing, as evidenced by the album cover which is an X-ray photo of a pelvis with a belt buckle, pant zipper, and IUD.
While the music is stripped-down in this album, it is also more sonically mature, a huge leap from Solar Power. More than ever, Virgin proves that Lorde continues to embrace the vulnerability of exploring her identity with the rest of the world.
“Hammer,” the euphoric first track, sets the stage. It satisfyingly tackles her openness to redefine her gender fluidity, with lyrics like “I burn and I sing and I scheme and I dance / Some days I’m a woman, some days I’m a man / I might have been born again / I’m ready to feel like I don’t have the answers.”
The more nostalgic melody of the lead single, “What Was That,” is quintessentially alt-pop, though it feels adjacent to songs written to go viral. The lyrics remain strong, however, a composite of emotions from mourning relationships that don’t work out.
“Shapeshifter” is a cool switch-up, opening with an excitable techno beat and leading into a poignant snapshot of detachment during compulsive sexual encounters. Towards the end, the song builds up to a sonically rich emotional peak.
The fourth track, “Man of the Year,” is another single that delves into the changes in one’s identity. Lorde’s stripped-down vocals reference ego death, becoming “someone else / someone more like myself,” the song evoking both the baggage and the freedom that come with it.
Meanwhile, “Favourite Daughter” is more fun and upbeat. But the lyrics convey the same angst of self-growth, this time in terms of living up to projections of one’s mother. It’s a perfect little pop love letter.
Another sad song to dance to is “Current Affairs,” where Lorde once again invokes her mother as she describes a messy love affair. “Clearblue” has layered vocals detailing the experience of a pregnancy test while “GRWM” has Lorde scrambling to define what it means to be a grown woman.
These little musical noodles, though not as complete or dynamic as her work from previous albums, are effective musings of an adult still in the growth process.
The ninth piece, “Broken Glass,” is memorable for its minimalist yet bouncy thumping beat and rhythmic electro-pop melody. Music aside, it’s an epic ballad that’s haunting in how it hints at an experience of an eating disorder, how she lets herself “get sucked in by arithmetic,” how it “felt great to strip / new waist to hip.”
Another potential favorite is “If She Could See Me Now,” a short and concise track that explores Lorde’s encounters with fame. Closing off the album is “David,” a more ethereal and raw offering that may feel like an erratic resolution, but drives home the fact that Virgin’s intention is to present snapshots of vulnerability.
While Virgin doesn’t hold a candle to the youthful boldness of Pure Heroine or the depth and intensity of feeling in Melodrama, it climbs interesting peaks that only a musician like Lorde can scale.
She has always felt like a nonbinary artist, not quite fitting in a box, and she leans into this very well. The album may be titled Virgin, but the concept of purity and virginity is clearly a construct, one that Lorde maps out keenly like the X-ray album cover that examines the opaque metals in a pelvis.
It’s a natural progression for Lorde, and this generation of twenty-something adults is lucky to have her document the bumpy ride.