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Lorde: Virgin review | Alexis Petridis's album of the week

After her last album embraced switching off, the musician returns to pop’s fray to revel in the mess of late-20s angst with a strikingly unsettled sound

Lorde’s last release, 2021’s Solar Power, wasn’t the only album of that period on which a female artist who had become famous in her teens strongly suggested that doing so was a living nightmare – Billie Eilish’s Happier Than Ever and Olivia Rodrigo’s Guts did, too – but it was the only one that sounded like a resignation letter, sent from a beach in Ella Yelich-O’Connor’s native New Zealand: “Won’t take a call if it’s the label or the radio,” she sang at one point. The biggest ballad, Man of the Year, builds to a climax that’s less uplifting than panic-inducing: the weirdly clipped-sounding drums feel too loud, punching through everything else in irregular staccato bursts; the aforementioned distortion soaks everything, including the vocals; the electronics take on a punishing, industrial cast. Throughout, Lorde seems less like an artist cravenly rehashing former glories than one who began her career speaking directly to her fellow teens about stuff that mattered to them – and paving the way for Billie Eilish, Olivia Rodrigo et al in the process – continuing to grow up alongside her fans.

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