Lorde Is Growing Up and Letting Go
By Ophelia Mikkelson Jones / Courtesy of the artist
Some people say that celebrities are mentally stuck at the age they got famous. For singer-songwriter Ella Yelich-O’Connor, known professionally as Lorde, that would mean remaining perpetually at age 16 and releasing electropop songs about the pains of growing older. Her smash hit, “Royals,” presented her as "someone who gives very few fucks," and her satirical-yet-genuine persona stuck throughout the Pure Heroine album cycle. Unsurprisingly, she grew a large teenage audience who adored her impassioned critiques of modern pop culture. What happens when it’s time for Lorde to grow up?
“Ribs” was released as a promotional single and has since generated critical praise as well as a cult following. In a review of Pure Heroine, Pitchfork declared that “Ribs” was “the best song [Lorde] has written so far because—even at the risk of seeming uncool—it gradually allows its walls to crumble”. It’s almost unclear whether “it” refers to the song or Lorde herself, as the track was one of the first windows into her authentic self, and it is fittingly paradoxical (like most things associated with teenagers) that one of Lorde’s most beloved songs is also one of her most vulnerable.
Production-wise, “Ribs” is hauntingly chilling, only vaguely reminiscent of any other electropop songs on the radio at the time. The lyrics tell a familiar story of an evaporating late adolescence: “My mum and dad let me stay home / It drives you crazy, getting old”, marking the point when a teenager’s newfound freedom starts to feel like isolation. The next few lines (“We can talk it so good / We can make it so divine / We can talk it good / How you wish it would be all the time”) note the increasing pressure to present your own life as effortlessly cool to other people. Having the most fun and wearing the best clothes — all while not even trying are the asinine indicators of a well-liked teenager. Her voice growing frantic, Lorde admits that “this dream isn’t feeling sweet,” referencing her prior assumptions about adolescence based on the aforementioned presentations of it in the media. Coming-of-age movies make this experience seem much easier, leaving real teens feeling lost and confused.
After this era came Melodrama, appropriately named for an album written by a 20-year-old so immersed in sadness. In Melodrama, Lorde toyed with the pressures and disappointments of adulthood, backing her laments with either manufactured pop-trap beats or solemn piano. It explores themes of love gained and lost, and loneliness through a loose concept of the looming hours of a house party. Apart from the numerous accolades it received, Melodrama also cemented Lorde’s fanbase. She was growing up with most of her audience, and even the younger fans saw her as a model for their futures. They declared Pure Heroine to be the soundtrack to their teenage years (which they hoped would be like the tunnel scene in Perks of Being a Wallflower), and Melodrama to be the soundtrack to their (again, hopefully) wild early 20s. Coined “depression music” by fans, Lorde explored the relatable fluctuating emotions that many other artists could not articulate. For someone without a social media presence, Lorde was well attuned to the collective fears and desires of Gen Z.
One of the most definitive songs on Melodrama is the closing track, “Perfect Places.” Positioned directly after “Liability (Reprise),” a bare-bones reflection of an impending existential crisis, “Perfect Places” is an electropop song that captures the climax of a party. Its lyrics, however, speak to a different kind of existential crisis. Between lines like “Feel the party to my bones” and “Let’s kiss and then take off our clothes,” it speaks to the aching feeling of desperately not wanting to be alone with your own thoughts. This gloomy message of disillusionment is strengthened in the chorus: “All of our heroes fading / Now I can’t stand to be alone”. It begs the necessary question: Where do we stand when our world and the people we look up to start changing?
Ending a four year hiatus, Lorde released her long-anticipated single, “Solar Power,” which will appear on her upcoming album of the same name. The reviews were mixed; some fans delighted in the change of aesthetic and sound, while others longed for something more like Melodrama. “Solar Power” is lighter, breezier, and soaked with the kind of genuine happiness that Lorde only parodied in the past. While it is arguably lyrically weaker, it’s clear that a larger reason for dissent amongst her fans is that it isn’t her familiar “depression music.” After years of looking to Lorde as an emotional beacon, many listeners found themselves even more lost as Lorde began a journey of healing. They’re still depressed and now, almost resent Lorde for finding her own happiness, or at least for refusing to nurture their sadness. Tumblr-era teens often conflated darkness for depth, and while Tumblr has died down in popularity, that sentiment still rings true for many. In the past, Lorde’s consistent defiance of any expectations of her always translated to edginess, but now, we can see that sometimes the greatest defiance is to exhibit happiness in a world that only wants you to be sad.
Humorously titled, “Stoned at the Nail Salon,” the second single off her upcoming album is a stripped-back confessional that advances themes Lorde has explored in the past. The vivid imagery in the first verse — “Got a wishbone drying on the windowsill in my kitchen / Just in case I wake up and realize I’ve chosen wrong” — verbalizes never being totally satisfied, a feeling both teenagers and young adults know well. Like many people exiting young adulthood, Lorde realizes her “hot blood’s been burning for so many summers now” and that “it’s time to cool it down, wherever that leads.” Stability is both craved and rejected by teens and young adults, with that demographic wanting to quell their constant emotional fluctuations without settling into domesticity.
In “Stoned at the Nail Salon,” Lorde embraces that feared domesticity with a fresh wisdom. The times will change; people will change; you will change. She lets herself express the grief of losing her juvenile perspective, admitting that she would “ride on the carousel” of her current life forever, but immediately reaffirms that healing is an adventure of its own. In the second chorus, Lorde notes that “all the music you loved at sixteen you’ll grow out of,” nodding to the age her career started. It’s a message to both herself and her audience: Lorde is letting go of her sadness. This is her way of saying goodbye to it. ◆