Lorde: Green Light

By age sixteen, she was already numb to juvenile concerns (and well on her way to a No. 1 single). She seemed to float above her peers, thoughtful and sensitive and filled with malaise: “It’s a new art form showing people how little we care,” she sang on “Tennis Court.” Her sound suited this attitude—“Pure Heroine,” her improbably savvy début album, from 2013, could have been called “Pure Restraint”: light finger-snapping, lyrics sung in a hushed whisper, synth and drum lines slowed to an ice-cold pace. There was no kid stuff there.



This week, after a long hiatus, Lorde has returned, as a twenty-year-old who’s no longer so aloof. Heartbreak has given a much-needed shock to her system on her new single, “Green Light.” In the video, which was released today, she’s writhing outside at night instead of staring coldly out the window. Her pulse has quickened, and the jadedness of adolescence has given way to earnestness. “I know about what you did and I wanna scream the truth,” she sings in the opening verse. “She thinks you love the beach, you’re such a damn liar.” Even desire is permitted in the new world of Lorde: “I’m waiting for it, that green light—I want it,” the chorus goes. Co-written by Jack Antonoff, of fun., who helped Taylor Swift put a modern twist on eighties synth-pop on her last album, “1989,” the song races forward on the back of a rapid piano line, building toward an anthemic peak. It’s a giant exhale that explodes into a gratifying, unself-conscious shout.

"We order different drinks at the same bars..." Here's to hoping that this, one of the opening lines of Lorde's new single "Green Light," isn't a sign of volatility in a relationship. The pop star, currently in full-bore promotion-mode to support her upcoming new record Melodrama, hit the notoriously unforgiving Saturday Night Live stage over the weekend. It's usually enough not to embarrass yourself on Studio 8H's stage; Lorde, in fact, did a great job.



First up was "Green Light," a relatively straightforward breakup anthem that's been called "house-y" but is actually, with its propulsive piano line, more movie-montage-y than anything else (and will no doubt serve that purpose by year's end). Lorde's camera stares may have been disconcerting, but her voice, rich and creaked like cut wood, was present and her dancing, bad and with abandon, is the sort we could use more of on America's premier stages.