Pronunciation is underappreciated in pop music. For Lorde, it’s an endearing strength. The New Zealand vocalist, born Ella Yelich-O’Connor, never wastes a word, using her soft whispers to hang on to every lyric she writes. The result is endlessly listenable, and it makes “Melodrama,” O’Connor’s sophomore effort, a sin to miss.
Make no mistake; her magnetism isn’t new. Lorde crept into the public consciousness in 2013 with “Pure Heroine,” a soft and contemplative record that captured small moments of her youth. Understated instrumentation coupled with her idiosyncratic voice helped the then 17-year-old girl capture the attention of millions. But even after earning two Grammys, her true potential felt untapped. “Pure Heroine” hinted at a talented storyteller and pop star, but whether Lorde had longevity remained in question.
Audiences would have to endure a nearly 4-year wait to find out. After a number of lengthy tours and side projects, Lorde all but disappeared from the eyes of the world. She kept busy during the break: writing, turning 20 and dealing with heartbreak. Finally, she returned in March with “Green Light.” The single, produced by Bleachers frontman Jack Antonoff, hinted at a fuller, pop-influenced sound, and signaled an evolution for the artist. “I hear brand new sounds in my mind,” she coos in the track. Then, a rhythmic piano line slowly emerges like a sunrise, driving the track forward.

“Green Light” sits at the start of  the album’s track list, inviting listeners into Lorde’s new world. While the textures and sounds on “Melodrama” are similar to the artist’s previous work, producer Antonoff does a remarkable job keeping things fresh. Tracks like “Sober,” which features chopped up samples and synthesized horns, offer peeks into the heights of a drunken house party which the album is reportedly based. “Supercut” replays the memories of a relationship in montage, using pulsing bass notes and an ethereal outro to connect it to the surrounding tracks. “Liability” is a piano ballad that showcases some of Lorde’s greatest lyricism, recalling the times when she felt unwanted by everyone but herself. It’s heartbreaking and relatable.
The musical variety simultaneously exists inside and outside chart-topping summer pop. There are dark undertones scattered in between every scene-stealing anthem. Lorde’s party isn’t censored by any means, and her accounts of each scene seem almost confessional. She dances, downs drinks and hooks up with strangers, all the while remembering and trying to forget who broke her heart. “We’re sleeping through all the days / I’m acting like I don’t see,” she whispers. “But what will we do when we’re sober?”
It’s a question without easy answers. As Lorde looks back on her time as a teenager, it’s easy to hear longing. “The Louvre” captures the most blissful moments she spent young and in love. But while she sings, “Well, summer slipped us underneath her tongue / Our days and nights are perfumed with obsession,” the music won’t let the rosiness live forever. A mournful guitar carries the track to its conclusion.
As she comes to realize what it means to be a young woman, Lorde seems content with the search for a permanently youthful feeling, even if she may never reach it again. “Send us to perfect places,” she sings on the album’s final track, before concluding,“What the fuck are perfect places, anyway?” For Lorde, and others her age, those places exist only in the past.
Follow Dana on Twitter at @AlstonDalston.