Album Review: Virgin by Lorde
- Salvatore Guimaraes
- Feb 6
- 4 min read
By Salvatore Guimaraes
After a long-anticipated four years since 2021’s acoustic and yacht rock-driven ‘Solar Power,’ Ella-Maria Yelich-O’Connor, otherwise known as Lorde, arrives with ‘Virgin,’ a colossus of emotion packed with striking synths and kick drums à la Dev Hynes (Blood Orange) and electronic producer Jim-E-Stacks. ‘Virgin’ signifies a decisive shift in Lorde’s artistry as it’s the first record since 2013’s ‘Pure Heroine’ that is not receiving a Jack Antonoff assist. The cover art for ‘Virgin’ is an X-ray of Lorde’s pelvis with remains of an IUD, belt buckle, and zipper. The singer describes the decision behind the cover art as “Kind of like a photo of yourself, that you don't love, but captures something true about you.” It’s that very degree of vulnerability that emanates from this record that sets the tone for the metamorphosis that the ‘Royals’ singer has undergone the last four years. At its core, ‘Virgin’ embodies a spirit of unfiltered honesty, sexuality, longing, and triumphant self-discovery. Opener ‘Hammer’ welcomes the listener into what can be seen as the sound of the record—despite its innate versatility—of drum and bass accompanied by ramping chords and Lorde’s haunting vocals that are bent and mixed with autotune and reverb to create unique soundscapes throughout. Lead single ‘What Was That?’ echoes a callback to the strong pop roots that Lorde was once known for, with strong buildups into powerful choruses filled with unbridled rage and confusion, all the while leading to euphoria. Meanwhile, ‘Man of the Year,’ a decisive highlight on the record, is a distorted synth-driven ballad where the singer has declared herself as her own “Man of The Year,” embodying all of the traits of a man that society imposes onto them—with the notion to circumscribe women—“who’s gonna love me like this//who will give me
lightness//let it flow down to me//let’s hear it for the man of the year.” Previously announced in ‘Hammer,’ Lorde contemplates the confines of gender across the record, reflecting a deeper sense of desire to go against the grain. There is a feeling of resistance baked across this record, a feeling that is rooted in the reclamation of oneself, whether that be done through gender, bodily autonomy, or coming into a sexual awakening—one that ultimately leads to a revelation about the connection we have to our own bodies. The spirit of a ‘Virgin’ is not about the purity of abstinence; it’s about the purity of not being confined—or in better taste, owned. Over bubbly futuristic synths and keyboard, ‘Broken Glass’ falls in midway upon the record and captures Lorde in full realism, ignoring the superstition of breaking mirrors, serving as a metaphor for the importance of not watering down emotions for the pivotal discoveries that they can lead to, “I wanna punch the mirror//to make her see that this won't last//it might be months of bad luck//but what if it’s just broken glass?” The following track—and one of the most exciting moments production-wise on the record—‘If She Could See Me Now’ signifies the metamorphosis in question that is briefly touched upon in the earlier half of the record. Strumming in with alt-rock angst, Lorde is shedding the layers of her previous self, a version badly hurt by another, but all the while using heartbreak as a catalyst for further growth and development; followed by an aftermath of pride for oneself, wishing that the once hurt could marvel at who they have now become. However, it is the most rewarding moment on the record in its closer, ‘David,’ a moving power ballad accompanied by distorted synths and vocals that summarize the journey of ‘Virgin.’ Previously toying with biblical imagery in the ‘Man of the Year’ music video, it’s clear that ‘David’ is not the name of a lover or a specific man, but refers to the King in the Bible who overcomes his odds against his battle with Goliath. David embodies the divine sense of individuality and self-love, the degree of which was only reached upon through previous struggles—which the singer alludes to as she opens the track with a question, “was I just someone to dominate?” As the track progresses, Lorde shares these chilling reflections of her previous relationship, illuminating the lack of independence—and even sexual autonomy—she had once experienced, “At the Sunset Tower, you said, ‘Open your mouth’//I did//And what came spilling out that day was the truth//if I’d had virginity I would have given that too.” A haunting confession, but if there is a lesson to be taken from this record, it is that there is power in vulnerability and that no field of green pastures was paved with the absence of struggle. Within the chorus, there is almost a sense of turmoil that is experienced in reflection; can there be independence within an all-consuming love? Lorde wrestles with this question throughout, “Said, 'why do we run to the ones we do?'//I don’t belong to anyone,” all of which challenges the listener to examine their own relationship with love and companionship within their life. For us to feel so completed—so obsessed with another—must it come at the expenditure of our own individuality? Do we have to sacrifice ourselves to truly love one another? As Lorde reels in repetition, she questions her ability to love if she chooses to be an individual, “will I ever love again// will I ever love again?// will you ever feel like a friend?” It is this very sense of individuality and self that is encapsulated within this track, that it can be concluded that there will never be a perfect answer to this question, but only the perfect answer for ourselves; that we will have to trust will guide us. In its closing moments, we are left with Lorde’s final words (for what will be the next four years), that while there may not be an answer that we all uniformly desire, when we find it, share it, as she encourages the listener, “tell it to them.”
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