“All my life I’ve been obsessed with adolescence, drunk on it. Even when I was little, I knew that teenagers sparkled. I knew they knew something children didn’t know, and adults ended up forgetting.” – Lorde
Growing up with Lorde on the radio, her music morphed from a catchy tune to something that cut deep. At five and seven, my sister and I’s biggest fight was simply whether the lyrics of Lorde’s Royals were “You can call me Queen B” as she swore, or “You can call me Queen Z” as I insisted(I was wrong, obviously). But when I got older, I realized Lorde wasn’t just writing pop music, she was perfectly encompassing the reality of teenage years: the mental struggles of “Bravado”, the nostalgia of losing your youth in “Ribs”, the feeling of not belonging in “White Teeth Teens”. She got everything so right.
Going to her concert this September, I knew it would be a night to remember, but I could have never expected the raw and intimate performance I was about to witness. My sister and I had bought nosebleed seats, but a worker with the Xfinity Mobile Arena switched us to the floor section, an unbelievably lucky turn of events. Wearing Nike Pros, a baby tee, and a Columbia jacket, she stepped on the bare stage, accompanied only by two dancers and a cameraman. She took us from her first album “Pure Heroine”, which she wrote at 15, to her hit album “Melodrama”, her feel-good “Solar Power”, and her latest album “Virgin”. I felt 12-year-old me come out for Melordrama, yearning to belong in middle school, and Covid-era me, basking in the comforting glow of Solar Power. The camera followed Lorde closely as she danced wildly across the stage, belting songs that carried her life’s emotion within them. It didn’t feel like she was performing for us. Rather, it felt like she was dancing alone in her room, far from the public eye. But she still let us in, letting the crowd witness something raw, almost sacred. Every movement and breath felt unfiltered, like she was sharing not just her music, but the soul behind it.
Towards the end of the concert, she moved to a second stage in the back of the floor arena, right near my upgraded seat. My sister and I rushed to her barricade and luckily got a front row view right as she stepped onto the stage. Here, she sang her last songs, two of her fan favorites: A World Alone and Ribs. It felt surreal watching Lorde sing one foot away from me next to the girl I had once fought over “Royals” lyrics with. After the lights went up and the crowds dispersed, I didn’t feel that usual post-concert sadness. Instead, I felt whole; the woman who had narrated my youth relived the ups and downs with me once more.
