Lorde can't look at herself yet

Single art for Lorde's "What Was That"

Lorde’s first record, Pure Heroine, came out when I was seventeen. I met Cait a year later, when I was eighteen, on move-in day at the University of Washington. After a 5 minute interaction where mostly our moms small-talked through their anxiety, I sort of wrote her off immediately. Upon a quick assessment of her demeanor and complexion, I decided we had nothing in common. For a kid who’s latest favorite book was Life of Pi because she felt like “all religions were rooted in love” and “we’re not all that different”, I was kind of a bitch like that. Little did I know, we were both on the outs of white teeth teen-hood, we were both kids pretending that the towns we grew up in weren’t as close to their big city counterparts as they are. Cait’s a Jersey baby and I’m a Valley rat, and it only took a few months of quality time and shared excitement over big album releases to figure out that we were meant to be lifelong friends.

I texted Cait as soon as I finished my first listen of “What Was That”. As the resident Lorde stan in my life, I knew she was probably counting down the minutes until someone asked her what she thought. Evidenced by the six and half minute voice memo I received back immediately, I was right. I relished in every thought, question, and prediction she offered. I love voice memos, but sometimes hitting the “Keep” button isn’t enough. I’d like to pull some out of the iMessage black hole of pixels and press them onto parchment with hand-picked yellow yarrows to really keep forever. Instead I succumb to the evanescence of our long-distance conversations these days and I record my response. Funny, mine clocked in at six minutes and twenty-eight seconds.

Lorde’s most recent album, Solar Power, didn’t really work. Released a little over a year into the Covid-19 pandemic, it did not resonate with the (non-wealthy, non-famous) averager Lorde listener. The new-agey project was reflective of her return home to New Zealand, away from fame fodder, and high on weed. Out of context, it could have been received differently — but it’s hard to think about being “high at a nail salon” when most public businesses were closed, and people were putting unemployment checks into their savings accounts. I must confess, this album really threw me off. It was faintly devastating for an artist I once turned to and felt understood by (first as a suburban teen, then as an emotional young adult), be so perceivably out of touch. It’s hard to think Lorde didn’t ultimately clock this dissonance, which she effectively dispelled on her recent “girl, so confusing” verse with Charli XCX. For the last couple years, I’ve been at war with my body… And it’s just self defense, until you’re building a weapon. (!!)

Cait thinks Lorde’s new single is “good enough”, and that the marketing slaps. It’s “messy” and “weird”, she loves that she’s in “basic ass clothes”. I think she wears them like a lesbian (cool). This marketing approach serves what I think is the main purpose of “What Was That”. It’s a way to signal that this is real, that Lorde, as we know her, is back. That’s why the production is so reminiscent of Melodrama (2017). Pop synth with a sober hue, ignore the MDMA. She’s returned to form with her sound in order to stake her claim back in the zeitgeist. As if to say: I’m still here, I’m still that artist you love. And so I get it. Even though it truly is just “good enough”, it’s really effective. What works for me most about the song is the undercurrent of anger it comes with. Since I was seventeen, I gave you everything / Now we wake from a dream, well, baby, what was that? Oh shit, is this play about us? Is she Trojan-horsing her pain and anger with the listening public through this familiar sound we’ve all begged to get back?

All of this reminds me of Cait and I’s friendship. The meandering conversation about Lorde was the first one we’ve had in a long time. I don’t mind, though. Friendship across state lines is finicky. With some friends it’s easy to remain connected through regular text threads and phone calls, but not everybody is built for connection that way. Not every friendship is built for connection that way. For us, me and Cait, we often need a return to form, too. Sending a text to ask about a new single, or an upcoming album, or a voice memo meditation on pop music, is our way of saying Miss you, still love you. It’s our Trojan Horse vulnerability shortcut.

“What Was That”, despite its personally formulaic nature, has piqued my interest. I think it’s really only the artists I’ve grown up with who can challenge my musical arrogance this way. I find myself asking, do pop stars owe us innovation? If they’ve already done the innovation once, must they keep metamorphosing? I’m not too versed in art history, but famous painters like Matisse or Picasso seem to have created their “thing” and are fondly remembered for it. Is pop stardom too new to appreciate in this way? Or too intrinsically commercial to consider through that lens? I don’t know. In a rapidly profit-driven, stream-heavy, increasingly impossible-to-stand-out musical landscape, who really gives a shit about innovation from a certified pop great? I’m down for some easy listening when it’s Lorde. And the best part is, I think I’ll get a fifteen minute voice memo from Cait about it.