Monday Melodies: Lorde – “Melodrama” (2017)

One of the most difficult things in the world for me is to openly admit what my favorite albums are. In some respect, I can tell you what movies or books have inspired me throughout my life, but there’s something that still feels too personal about this question. For one, I’ve gone through periods of loving pop songs to punk records to film scores and now… a little bit of everything. Obvious those who have read The Memory Tourist for more than a week will recognize how curious my mind remains. Even then, it’s a question that bothers me not because I don’t have faith in my tastes, but that it’s one of the few things I’ve tried to keep to myself.

It’s because the idea of music is often as rewarding as the sound of it. While I love that piece of human connection, I want to preserve those notes for the moment when I need them most. The song always sounds better in your head, and I fear that overexposure will take something away. It’s why I try to preserve albums like Billie Eilish’s “When We Fall Asleep Where Do We Go?” and Lana Del Rey’s “Norman Fucking Rockwell” (now among my Top 10 all-time) for “rainy days.” To me, they convey something ideal in modern pop that few others are. 

With that said, I have been known to go off the deep end with Lorde’s “Melodrama,” itself a follow-up to another album I like called “Pure Heroine.” To me, there is something very impressive about her young career, and it has to do with how she expresses herself. When you look at her debut and realize that she wasn’t even 17 at the time, you become impressed that she’s able to convey emotions so richly and create these songs that stick with you. I envy those who can write a song as poignant as “Royals” while I was writing dumb poetry about Mall Santas.

But “Melodrama” is on another level of greatness. It’s clear that the effort in-between albums went to maximizing her sound, bringing something fuller to the experience. Having recorded a song for The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 1 (2014), she was on track for greatness and I’m impressed how she hasn’t worn herself thin. If anything, she’s a bit understated right now and it makes whatever her next move is more anticipatory by the year.

I could probably spend 2,000 words here discussing why “Perfect Places” is a perfect pop song. Whenever I’m feeling down, I put it on and just dance around, feeling the positive energy flow through me. The transition into the chorus with the quiet “ch-ch” is one of the best pop moments of the past decade. While I don’t love Jack Antonoff’s band Fun, I have to give him credit. He did produce two of my favorite albums, and I think he really elevated Lorde to her full potential. It’s one of the few times that my first listen was immediately followed by the second, not even taking a second to breathe.

Doing research, I discovered that there are varying theories as to whether this is a concept album or just a collection of songs. In all honesty, I’ve always approached it as the latter, but finding people suggesting that it’s a study of loneliness and anxiety begins to make things obvious. With exception to the opener, “Green Light” (a traditional break-up song), every song features some form of introspection with Lorde often singing from the first person, a departure from the third person of “Pure Heroine.” If you asked Lorde, it’s even more abstract than that, finding a loose collection of songs about people gathered at a party. 

Though to be honest, a lot of it has to do with the production. As the title suggests, this whole thing exists as a melodramatic album, and that shines through in every minute. This isn’t just Lorde singing another song critiquing materialism. This was going to have her playing with clever harmonies. To start with “Green Light,” it’s interesting to deconstruct the first verse where she slowly builds, establishing the premise of a cheating boyfriend. It’s slow as if observing the action unfold. When it transitions to the bridge, her vocal doubling on the line “hope they bite you…” speeds things up, finding the harmonies becoming more flexible.

Then, you get into the fun instrumentation. Having been subdued up to this point, the upbeat piano comes in during the bridge as she sings “But I hear the sounds in my mind…” Again, her vocals are reaching higher gradually, finding backing vocals chiming in like a choir as she sings the chorus. What starts as a deeply wounded observation of woe turns into a celebration as she declares “I’m waiting for it, that green light, I want it” as if symbolizing her own independence. There are other music tricks going on here, with her voice sometimes sounding submerged or the harmonies growing woozy, and it all creates a perfect distillation for what this album achieves.

It’s going to be the exploration of Lorde through a more theatrical take. Countless times throughout the experience, you’re surprised by the decisions made. On “Sober,” she opens with frantic vocals, sometimes breaking into whispers and cutting the melody off entirely, and all to convey her inner turmoil. The chorus is especially acrobatic, finding the vocals exploring range so perfectly that you can imagine one pitch is her inner monologue. Another is her personal anxiety that breaks closer to the surface. Add in a curious horn section and it becomes an interesting song about “what do we do when we’re sober?” 

The fantasy on the album is compelled by the fact that Lorde is reflecting a stage of maturity that is right between her childhood and the uncertain adult years. She is starting to learn how actions have consequences and it’s unfair how perfectly she conveys those life lessons with intellect. There’s a good reason that during the “Pure Heroine” era when she met David Bowie, who claimed that she was the future of music. Once you realize that, you begin to understand this form of self-expression. It’s not like others who encapsulate emotion in high concepts. This is unbridled and real, managing to accept the pain as real, finding the right orchestration to make those notes echo in your memory. 

The first half of the album is so joyous that you can forget that there’s despair underneath, a reflection of nostalgia that is at times sweet or destructive. “Homemade Dynamite” is another excellent song that finds the chorus sounding like firecrackers are constantly exploding around the fringes of eventful vocal harmonies. 

The following song, “The Louvre,” is a shift towards something more intimate and sweet, finding Lorde beginning to reflect something optimistic. What it lacks in manic production it more than makes up for with this cute fantasy of being aspiring artists, dreaming of having their work enjoyed by the world. It also features one of my favorite lines on the whole album:

Our thing progresses, I call and you come through

Blow all my friendships to sit in hell with you

But we’re the greatest, they’ll hang us in the Louvre

Down the back, but who cares? Still the Louvre

Things shift with “Liability,” this feeling of being too much of a flight-risk for someone. It fades into an excellent stretch of quieter songs, finding an insular dive into Lorde’s emotions. There’s “Hard Feelings/Loveless” followed by a shift into outright tears with “Sober II (Melodrama).” These songs are a journey, traveling from the mindless destruction of youth to revelations of joy and sadness, eventually, lead to a back run that is even more incredible than the first half. Every song gradually moves the listener through the emotional struggle, but it’s getting ready for the main events, two of the best songs that are presented back-to-back, and rank among the very best that she’s ever done.

“Writer in the Dark” features another high point in the lyrics with “Bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark.” With just one line, I again feel that Lorde conveys so much detail in such a short space. It’s the idea of loving someone and hoping to maintain anonymity that they’ll disappear and not be able to be noticed. The writer is sensitive, chronicling these moments so intricately that you become a part of their work, even if involuntarily. You may be gone, but the writer will keep drawing inspiration from you for their work. It’s the struggle to cope and move on, able to move as freely as the kisser. She later asks “When you see me, will you say I’ve changed?” It’s the insecurity shining through, realizing how vulnerable we truly are sometimes.

Had “Perfect Places” not existed (and even still), I could argue that “Supercut” is the greatest song that Lorde has written so far. It’s the imbalance of fantasy and reality, the desire to call back to a moment in your life that was beautiful. Again, everything overwhelms the chorus, finding so many ideas clashing. It is, after all, “a supercut of us.” Nowhere is that more splendid than on the refrain where she sings:

'Cause in my head (in my head, I do everything right)

When you call (when you call, I'll forgive and not fight)

Because ours are the moments I play in the dark

We were wild and fluorescent, come home to my heart, uh

It’s the regret that everyone faces at some point in their life, and to have such a transparent view of it is amazing. The way that everything spins takes the listener on a journey that is uplifting, making those moments feel alive for us all, capturing eternal youth in every section of the song. It overwhelms, making you feel pulled into your own memory, preparing for the finale, which fades out in a blur, the only way that actually makes sense.

And then we return to “Perfect Places,” which is an incredible production. The drums abruptly forming the beat as Lorde begins singing “I hate the headlines and the weather.” It’s the ecstasy of being caught up in a moment, “spent off our faces” and looking for some center. The song alludes to the passing of figures like Bowie and Prince, feeling this insecurity inside that everything can crumble at any moment. I know that the song is about realizing that addictions aren’t going to cure the problem, but boy is it ever catchy.

It’s how the Pre-Chorus feels like a lengthy drum roll, finding Lorde once again building from a slow rumble to something louder and louder. As she sings “I’ll blow my brains out to the radio, oh,” the following “ch-ch” that explodes into the Chorus is like nirvana, finding a choir singing along, talking about how “we are young and we’re ashamed” and “now I can’t stand to be alone.” It’s the desperation to believe that parties and social gatherings will cure the desperation inside of us, and it ultimately builds to the revelation that puts the whole thing into context:

What the fuck are perfect places, anyway?

I understand that I was 27 when the album came out, closer to my 10-year high school reunion than any feeling reminiscent in this song. However, it’s the quest for eternal youth that speaks to me, this sense of being unsure of yourself and wanting to find a perfect place. Also, everything is so big, finding these small quirks that take the listener on a journey. This isn’t just a pop song. Antonoff wants to make a harmonic representation of each emotion, and he does so expertly here. The drums are amazing, the quiet piano accentuates tenderly, and the whooshing quality makes you want to get up and dance. How they managed to stick the landing is surreal.

Like most people, I am curious to know what the future of Lorde looks like, especially since it’s been three years. How does one follow up an album that is so personal that every instrumental choice feels selected to reflect something subconscious? At times this puts an orchestral quality in pop that is melodramatic, finding the aches and pains of life perfectly reflected within the structure, but with deeper meaning. How she did that all before she was 25 continues to amaze me. I am thankful that this record exists, a high point in modern pop. I can only hope she continues to stay there.