‘Virgin’ sees Lorde desperately trying to escape her past self to secure freedom and independence
‘Virgin’ comes as a complete reinvention following the critical and commercial disappointment of 2021’s ‘Solar Power’.
Photo: Press
Whenever an artist sees their work fail to succeed compared to their predecessors, a new mindset and sense of precision must be taken, and here Lorde doesn’t seem to shy away from that. In recent interviews, she openly acknowledges the shortcomings of Solar Power, and Virgin seems to channel that awareness into something far more focused. It’s a record drenched in reflection on personal identity, relationships and disorders, revealing an artist who is trying to move forward from her struggles whilst still being self-aware and in tune with her past self. As the title suggests, Virgin represents not innocence but a complete rebirth as she intends to reclaim her identity as not only an artist but as a human head-on.
Virgin introduces a whole new set of collaborators as well, marking the first time since Melodrama that Jack Antonoff is absent from credits. Instead, production and writing credits are mainly led by Jim-E-Stack, who has famously worked with the likes of Dominic Fike and Bon Iver on their recent records. Additional contributions come from mainstream pop producer Dan Nigro and Dev Hynes, known as Blood Orange. Together, they craft a sonically restrained set of songs, allowing Lorde’s vocals and lyricism to take the forefront. The production throughout Virgin leans minimalist yet integral for the framework of each song, with the breakbeat drums and distorted synths acting as ambient support for the vocals to completely resonate with the listener.
On Clearblue, there’s a complete absence of instrumentation; instead, Lorde’s stacked distorted vocals and symphony of harmonies paint the song’s storytelling of a pregnancy scare. The sense of freedom is a desire shown by Lorde throughout the record and the idea of pregnancy and motherhood clashes with her idea of independence: “I’m scared to let you see into the whole machine, leave it all on the field.” These moments on the record of pure rawness show Lorde’s limited reliance on production to create an attentive atmosphere.
This unfiltered confession continues to run throughout the album with Current Affairs, a track that captures the acceptance of an ending relationship and the emotional contradiction that comes with it: “You’re in the light, then you’re in the dark / But now I’m crying on the phone, swearing nothing’s wrong.” Lorde confronts the tug-of-war between letting go and holding on, between knowing the love has faded and still aching for it to return. Lorde has long maintained a carefully guarded public persona, shying away from the spotlight in favour of privacy. This is what makes Virgin’s unfiltered lyricism all the more striking, though it may be uncomfortable to her, the worldwide exposure to her personal struggles shows the courage and true growth that she has been so desperately wanting.
Though lyricism is clearly the focal point of the record, that doesn’t mean Virgin is without moments of instrumental euphoria. Tracks like lead single What Was That begin with restrained, minimal production and tightly focused lyricism recollecting shared memories with an ex: “MDMA in the back garden, blow our pupils up / We kissed for hours straight.” Then the track erupts into distorted synth dance-pop, a release that mirrors the timeline of the relationship itself. Much like the drug she references, the romance is initially intoxicating, masked by the intensity of its early passion, only to find it inevitably fades leaving only the comedown and sadness to follow.
These eventual build-ups and sudden explosions into distorted synth-pop also occur in album opener Hammer, a track that captures Lorde at her most uncertain and her most willing. It’s a reflection on identity, desire and the emotional chaos that comes with not having the answers to your own life. “When you’re holding a hammer, everything looks like a nail,” she sings, framing her approach to love as both reckless and relentless. She’s intrigued by someone who is “truant” and emotionally distant, yet she still longs for their love. The production mirrors this internal tension, with verses restrained by subtle synth layers until the chorus hits with walls of distorted synth dance pop, a sonic rupture that embodies the confusion she’s learned to live with. Hammer is easily the album’s standout moment, with Lorde being at her peak as a lyricist and a surge of pulsing drums in the chorus to follow it.
In the end, Virgin doesn’t chase pop perfection; it trusts that imperfection can be more compelling. The result is an album that may occasionally stumble sonically yet still stands as Lorde’s boldest statement since Melodrama. It’s a record where vulnerability takes the forefront and, in doing so, it delivers her lyricism at its very best.
Virgin is out now via Universal Music.