Lorde is not the most conventional of pop stars, often lending herself to particularly dark and abstract song ideas: nonetheless, she’s become something of a legend off the back of acclaimed records ‘Pure Heroine’ and ‘Melodrama.’  The singer is looking for something of a comeback, though, after 2021’s ‘Solar Power’ released to mixed reviews— it’s taking the form of new release ‘Virgin,’ which aims to be the singer’s most personal and revealing project yet. At that, the album succeeds, even if the result isn’t the most engaging.

If its pelvic x-ray cover hadn’t tipped you off, we’ll be the ones to break the news: ‘Virgin’ is steeped in weighty, emotional themes surrounding lost love and sexual and generational trauma. The record’s opening suite of tracks are perhaps the most tame on offer here, at least lyrically: Lorde has always been a proponent of love-adjacent themes, and singles ‘Hammer’ and ‘What Was That’ fall right in line with a project like 2017’s ‘Melodrama.’

“MDMA in the back garden, blow our pupils up

We kissed for hours straight, well baby, what was that?

I remember saying then, "This is the best cigarette of my life"

Well, I want you just like that”

This is no feel-good album for the summer though: ‘Virgin’ intentionally twists these conventional themes into something much more harrowing and upsetting, detailing the an overpowering sense of detachment and fear that haunts the record, and the singer herself.

Everything I want speeding up my pulse

I don't sleep, don't dream at all

Give 'em nothing personal

So I'm not affected

The record also makes reference to Lorde’s mother, who plays a key role in the experiences and narratives being worked through here. There’s an uncomfortable apathy running throughout the lyrics on ‘Virgin’ that clashes with the record’s vulnerability in a fascinating way: Lorde can be seen bashing her head against her own insecurities and defence mechanisms through these eleven tracks, making the rare moments of self-assuredness and strength that begin to creep in towards the end of the album that much more satisfying.

“And what came spilling out that day was the truth

If I'd had virginity, I would have given that too

Why do we run to the ones we do?

I don't belong to anyone”

Granted, Lorde doesn’t always explore these themes through the most evocative or expressive lenses, with a number of her lyrical choices hampering the delicate balance between emotion and detachment at the record’s core. Nonetheless, that conflict is a fascinating one that comes to define, and consistently elevate, ‘Virgin.’

The introspective journey Lorde is undertaking is expressed via some of the most despondent soundscapes you could hope to find of a musician at this level of fame: even despite its more dance-centric moments, ‘Virgin’ shows off a cold exterior. The record often feels empty, using a plethora of hollow synths and moments of pure silence: on tracks like ‘GRWM’ and ‘Hammer,’ the intent feels very clear and deliberate. Nonetheless, this focus on musical despondence deprives the album of all too many standout moments. There aren’t many crescendos to be found here, and the ones that do appear (like the industrial drums that crash their way into ‘Man Of The Year’) don’t feel all too climactic or momentous— for the most part, ‘Virgin’ overcommits to its off-putting aesthetic, pushing way the very listeners its trying to appeal to. Just look at interlude ‘Clearblue,’ which attempts to capture a very specific mood, but does so via a monotonous stream of dull vocal parts.

The best moments of ‘Virgin’ aren’t too obvious: the record skulks around its most interesting melodies, often leaving them feeling under-appreciated. ‘Shapeshifter’ rides an oddly infectious dance beat across its four-minute runtime, building in a supremely cautious manner: though the track is quite frigid in its presentation, Lorde’s vocal performance and superb melody writing make this a true standout of a cut. ‘Virgin’ toes the line between pop and dance music, though both are drenched in melancholy— ‘Broken Glass’ has all the makings of an anthemic hit, though is more likely to have you reaching for the tissues. That uncomfortable feeling is ‘Virgin,’ that is what the album is capturing: for the most part, the results are a little disconnected, a little too indistinct to really stick with you.

As we said, Lorde is not your typical pop superstar: if anything, ‘Virgin’ sets the singer further apart from the industry than ever. It’s a claustrophobic record, full of intense lyrical dissections and artificial soundscapes: though the album surely means a lot to the artist, ‘Virgin’ feels like a party we’re not being invited to. Lorde ultimately fails to bridge the gap between musician and listener here, leaving us to look in to the story, rather than immerse ourselves in it— even if that were the intention, the execution leaves us feeling very little.