Likewise, the outro to ‘White Teeth Teens’ is a master class in subtlety, as Little lets a lonely vocal play out like a folk choir. The first minute of ‘Royals’, now a stonewall hit, is staggeringly spacious, with just vocals, percussion and threadbare bass. His less-is-more approach is stunningly minimal at times, and it’s vital in accentuating Lorde’s vocals and creating a focal point. The actual music isn’t bad either, and her partnership with producer Joel Little has yielded some glittering, forward-thinking pop soundscapes. In no time, she’s tackling schoolyard stereotypes (“Baby, be the class clown / I’ll be the beauty queen in tears”), impending fame and adolescent complexities with snappy couplets: “It’s a new art form showing people how little we care / We’re so happy even when we’re smilin’ out of fear.” With her debut single, ‘Royals’, she comes pretty close to birthing a ‘Common People’ for Generation Y, dressing down the 1%, glorifying the ordinary, identifying the fear, and dropping lines like grenades that burst into a million personal connotations in your head.Īnother single, ‘Tennis Court’, opens with vocals, a reverbed synth and an electronic pulse that’s not dissimilar to The xx’s ‘Together’. It’s these moments of sharp satire and sentimental brevity that are defining Lorde. Intentional or not, it’s cleverly ironic that she uses such dramatic metaphors to mock a culture she feels has become excessive. On the former, amidst pounding drums and an anthemic chorus, she washes her hands of popular culture before pushing the Black Mirror-esque theme on the latter with blood-stained gladiatorial comparisons to celebrity culture. On ‘Team’ and ‘Glory And Gore’, a pair that feel as if they were written together, she creates a two-part dystopian saga. ‘400 Lux’ (the measurement of light emitted from a sunset or sunrise) is a flawed but worthy paradise that champions doing f*ck all, and the surrounding instrumentation shares sonic similarities with M.I.A.’s ‘Paper Planes’. Comparisons to Lana Del Rey persist, but there is an essence of conviction here that was missing on ‘Born To Die’.Įach track on ‘Pure Heroine’ contains its own semi-fantasy setting, which Lorde utilises to portray her narrative purpose. Lorde’s voice has a cool and smoky timbre, which can become fiery (‘White Teeth Teens’) or serene (‘400 Lux’) at the drop of a beat. Consequently, this isn’t a “you” and “I” album. This is written by someone who’s a kid right now, about what it is to be young right now. ‘Pure Heroine’ isn’t constructed by a group of 40-something, Grammy-winning songwriters second-guessing what kids want from their pop (and, instead, influencing what they want). These harsh moments of clarity she proffers are brilliantly genuine. There is a certain queerness to things that have become commonplace once they are seen from a new angle, and her lyrics specialise in crashing through the looking glass. Yet what will set Lorde aside are her words. Early interviews have seen her champion James Blake and Nicki Minaj while admitting to a retrospective obsession with Burial’s back catalogue.
Her pool of influence is abundant and exciting.
And the fact a writer three times her age can only see that one dimension should have Ella kicking with laughter. NY Daily has already labelled each a “blasphemous stage name” and a “druggy play on words” ( link). ‘Lorde’ itself is her homemade feminisation of the noble noun, and the album title of ‘Pure Heroine’ literally describes a righteous female leader, yet has 90% of the internet quickly assuming the less-savoury meaning. She unloads the bullet 37 minutes later with the final line of the album – “Let ‘em talk” – to complete the overarching motif of ‘Pure Heroine’. With the very first line of her opening track on this debut album, ‘Tennis Court’ – “Don’t you think that it’s boring how people talk?” – Lorde is laying Chekhov’s gun on the table.
As a well-read girl with a strong idea of feminism, her lyrical devices and clever wordplay blend point and simplicity seamlessly without ever leaving the listener feeling left out. Now, we’re not saying Lorde is some sort of 21st century Kiwi Brontë, but it doesn’t take long to realise that 16-year-old Ella Yelich-O’Connor is quite the promising poet.
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