Innocence is a topic often discussed by pop stars. Through the Disney pipeline, child-friendly personalities age with their fan bases and shed perceived naivete. In 2017’s reputation, Taylor Swift proclaimed, “Don’t blame me”, and, in 2025, Miley Cyrus‘ high-fashion endeavors feel like a cover-up for the messiness of the Bangerz era.
On the other hand, Lorde, the New Zealand-born singer-songwriter, never preoccupied herself with guilt or innocence when relating to the culture that produced her. Bursting onto the music scene in 2013 with the Grammy-winning single “Royals“, she represented anti-materialism and angst at a time when pop was too glittery for its own good.
On Virgin, Lorde‘s fourth album, the singer returns to the moodiness of her debut Pure Heroine and its follow-up Melodrama, after basking in the glow of the sun on 2021’s Solar Power. Many critics agreed that the third project went too far in dialing back Lorde’s tense spirit, losing sight of her central appeal. Additionally, middling reviews were a sign that the singer’s creative partnership with producer Jack Antonoff had run its course.
For Virgin, Lorde enlisted Jim-E Stack, known for his work with Bon Iver, and Dan Nigro, known for his work with Olivia Rodrigo and Chappell Roan. Nigro produced “What Was That”, Virgin’s lead single, which Lorde described to Rolling Stone as “a banger… someone’s got to make them”. A propulsive look back at a failed relationship, relying on the momentum of its pre-chorus, “What Was That” signaled that, stylistically, pre-Solar Power Lorde had returned.
In the credits of Virgin’s contemplative tracks, Nigro is substituted with Jim E-Stack. The opener, “Hammer”, sets the record’s course as a look inward. “When you’re holding a hammer, everything looks like a nail,” Lorde says, confessing self-sabotage. This tendency is a condition of celebrity and humanity; when you exist in the spotlight, everything feels like an intrusion. However, throughout Virgin, she also describes hostility in her personal life.
On “Favorite Daughter”, Lorde frames career achievements as a manifestation of a child’s desire to earn a parent’s approval. On “Shapeshifter”, the singer aligns the disparate elements of her public and private lives, revealing that flaws in both areas stem from the same need to please others. “I’ve been the siren, been the saint,” she says.
“Man of the Year” marks the album’s turning point. Reflecting on the end of a relationship with melancholy, Lorde works herself into a regretful clamour, a state encapsulated by jarring drums that thud during the bridge, as she announces, “I didn’t think he’d appear / Let’s hear it for the man of the year.” She refrains from explaining this revelatory moment further, letting the drums trail off, and leaving the listener with the question: Is the “man or the year” an ex who shows up too late, or a version of herself she can finally recognize?
On “Clear Blue”, Lorde recalls a pregnancy scare. Backed only by vocals, the melody’s austerity highlights the singularity of her pain. At its conclusion, a confession uttered in a high octave provides rawness that instrumentation would lack. Similar to the acoustic “Liability” from Melodrama, “Clear Blue” makes its argument through sound alone. The choice to pivot from electronics on a single track represents grief in and of itself.
At 28, Lorde pulls inspiration from different places than she did as a teen. Virgin pokes holes in the facade of celebrity just as Pure Heroine analyzes the monotony of suburban life. The cover of Virgin shows her X-rayed pelvis, with only a belt, zipper, and IUD distinguishing the photo as hers. (The star identified each of these items on The Late Show.) The scan symbolizes the transparency required of famous people; their exposure is our entertainment. Lorde’s loss of innocence stems from an ability to project that very quality to the masses.
On the hypnotic “Current Affairs”, a couple blame their woes on the outside world. Celebrities face an opposite predicament: representing the “outside world” to so many, they often blame their problems on mundanity. In “Hammer”, she describes the absurdity of her career: “I jerk tears and they pay me to do it.”
Although not as well-received as some of her previous work, Solar Power’s sense of peace helped Lorde accept this role. On that record, the singer relinquished leadership, telling fans on “The Path”, “If you’re lookin’ for a savior, well that’s not me.” Leading up to the release of Virgin, she featured on Charli XCX‘s “Girl, So Confusing“, a back-and-forth where the two pop stars reconcile a feud. Both are aloof in different ways: XCX stoned at a party, Lorde trapped in her feelings.
On “If She Could See Me Now”, Lorde interpolates Baby Bash’s 2003 song “Suga, Suga“, amid joyful synths, remaking the R&B anthem in her image. She knows how to cast herself as different characters, whether it be the tortured teenager of Pure Heroine and Melodrama, the enlightened 20-something of Solar Power, or the actualized adult of Virgin.
Maturity requires sacrifice, which, throughout her fourth album, Lorde discovers by separating herself from the person the world sees and often expects. Such small moments of acceptance are a form of freedom. Without them, the next liability is never far away.
<!–
–>