At the age of sixteen years old, Lorde traded her New Zealand suburban-teenage existence for one of a cultural heroine the moment that Pure Heroine debuted. Much anticipated due to the previous overnight success of her single “Royals” and The Love Club EP, the genius of Pure Heroine solidified Lorde’s role as a trailblazer in pop music and culture at large.
Ten years later, listening to Pure Heroine is as close as one can get to obtaining a time machine that can show the most quintessential memories of one’s teenage years. Such an experience would be intensely bittersweet, and that is exactly where Pure Heroine’s superpower lies.
The record weaves through teenage experiences such as driving aimlessly with your first love in songs such as “400 Lux” or yearning for the simplicity of life you felt as a child, exemplified on “Ribs.” These core memories recounted through Lorde’s low-register vocals and accompanying electro-synths set the scene for the listener to reflect on the way youth passes by – as well as how that teenage charm and innocence that was once the epitome of their existence is now gone.
Besides the fact that Pure Heroine does not feature skip-worthy tracks, it is worth mentioning its strongest moments.
In terms of innovative production and storytelling, “Glory and Gore” takes the crown. The song steps away from the relatability of other songs in the record to describe the concept of stardom as gladiation. The track is moodier and darker than most songs in Lorde’s discography thus far, and surely a defining characteristic that the record could not have survived without.
Another stellar moment in the album is its closing track, “A World Alone.” Starting with a melancholic guitar note and Lorde’s isolated vocals, this song reflects Lorde’s most private thoughts and feelings. The escalating sound effects in the song are reminiscent of being stuck in one’s thoughts while the rest of the world is moving, making the song incredibly intoxicating. Additionally, while the song manages to cover complex themes and emotions, the lyrics remain clever and at times humorous. A quirky instance in the lyrics is when Lorde sings “I feel grown up with you in your car / I know it’s dumb.”
As Lorde herself said when reflecting on Pure Heroine’s 10th anniversary, “A lot of stuff isn’t good after ten years, but I am still totally touched by this sweet record. I have deep respect for the vision of the little one making it.” Clearly, her work in Pure Heroine still has a heartfelt space in Lorde’s life, and arguably an even more meaningful role as an influential work in the pop scene.
Pure Heroine’s concept of evoking teenage experience and its overall artistry is hard to replicate, and therefore twice as hard to forget. Having reached its ten-year anniversary, the record is still as relevant as it was when it came out and increasingly harnesses a bittersweet maturity to it as the years go by.
