Sour is sweet for new Lorde
POOR, young Olivia Rodrigo has nowhere to go but down. In January, her song Drivers Licence broke all Spotify’s records for most streams in a single day. Fifteen million spins. In a day. Aged just 17, the next day she broke the record again. Seventeen million plays.
In late May, her debut album Sour went live and secured nine of the streaming giant’s top 10 songs – she would have got away with them all, if it wasn’t for those pesky kids (BTS).
So how did she do it? First, she already had a profile. She’s been a successful actor for the Disney Channel for years and mobilised millions of Instagram followers, extensively teasing the song and building anticipation for months.
Second, the song is so good, it’s ridiculous.
We also need to talk about Lorde. Rodrigo cites her as an influence, an idol growing up and, yes, there are many times during this record you are reminded of ex-teenager Ella Yelich O’Connor.
Her phrasing, little vocal gestures and self-aware snide asides, but the most similar thing is that it’s really good.
Lorde’s debut at 16 was so accomplished, South Park made jokes implying she was a 45-yearold man. Gross, but we all got the sentiment: How can anyone be this good, this young?
Part of it is pure talent – and the same goes for Rodrigo, but it’s also the internet’s fault. It’s making us better, younger. Tony Hawk skates his whole life to pull off a previously-thoughtimpossible 900-degree aerial spin and now 11-year-olds can do it.
Pure Heroine came out when Rodrigo was 10. She absorbed all its power at a transformational time in her life and now that power is hers. The circle is complete. Lorde’s influence on a generation is manifesting.
Sour reeks of a recently broken heart, but thankfully isn’t all carbon copies of the sad piano ballad that started it all. There’s plenty of that, but also, ‘‘I want it to be like, messy,’’ she says right at the top, before Brutal blasts out a crunchy, grunge guitar that sounds like Elastica circa 1995.
It’s a stunning opener to a despicably good record that bounces from style to style as genre-agnostic 17-year-olds are prone to.
Actually, she’s 18 now, and it’s time (for me) to stop harping on about her age, because it’s an impressive body of work by any metric. I also apologise for the extensive Lorde comparisons, but it’s her own fault, she set the benchmark.
Speaking of, Pickle Darling tweeted the other day, wondering if Lorde had heard of them. Sadly, we can only speculate (Twitter misses you, dear Lorde), but I like to think if she was still active on the platform she would have been swift to reply to roundly endorse the little-known pop prodigy. She used to champion little-knowns all the time, it was awesome.
Their first album Bigness is full of densely packed melodies, offbeat humour and innovative production and, despite having no promotion, it garnered critical success and huge support from BandCamp, which named it Album of the Day. All very impressive for an understated singer-songwriter from Christchurch who makes music in their bedroom.
Cosmonaut, a suitably ambitious follow-up, is more universal. If Achieve Lift doesn’t sweep you off your feet and charm you right out of your chair, you may want to check your pulse. And it does what the title suggests. It takes a simple riff and lifts, elevating you to a happier, better place, making you feel safe, loved and held. Plus, there’s banjo.
Blushing takes the sweetest turn halfway through, gradually taking off from slow, sad strums up to the stratosphere, where their voice warps into androgynous, robotic tones, as snares snap and twinkling synths ascend. It’s beautiful.
A delightful journey, start to finish. The final notes of Everything is Flammable hung in the air for mere seconds, before I reached over to start the whole thing again.