A series of memes depicting various young female pop singers passing Jack Antonoff around like a toy recently made the rounds on social media. Over the last several years, the superstar producer has become a golden boy of sorts, the go-to collaborator for the likes of Taylor Swift, Lana Del Rey, and Lorde, who worked with Antonoff on the bulk of her sophomore effort, Melodrama, and its follow-up, Solar Power. In a New York Times interview to promote the new album, Lorde blasted the assertion that she’s part of Antonoff’s so-called harem: “I haven’t made a Jack Antonoff record,” she said defiantly. “I’ve made a Lorde record.”
Indeed, while Antonoff serves as the primary producer of Solar Power and co-wrote no less than two-thirds of its songs, it’s very much a Lorde album. Gone, for the most part, are the droll observations that peppered her engrossing 2013 debut, Pure Heroine, and the dynamic bleeding-heart pop anthems of Melodrama. But there’s no denying that Lorde’s singular voice, both literal and figurative, is the force that drives Solar Power.
On the whole, the 12 songs here are quieter, more meditative, and more grown-up than Lorde’s past efforts. But while Solar Power doesn’t traffic in the booming emotional catharsis of Melodrama, it doesn’t succumb to navel-gazing solipsism either. The mesmerizing opening track, “The Path,” makes for an exhilarating thesis statement: “If you’re looking for a savior, well, that’s not me.” The singer’s vocals—layered with those of Phoebe Bridgers and Clairo, who provide harmonies on several songs throughout the album—are revelatory as she takes stock of her past as a “teen millionaire” who once stole silverware from the Met Gala and who now “won’t take the call if it’s the label or the radio.”
On Solar Power, Lorde presents herself as a pop star in exile, one who’s rejected fame and all of its material trappings. The 24-year-old singer unplugs from her devices on the title track, which boasts an appropriately breezy, psychedelic quality and builds to a soaring hook that some have compared to George Michael’s “Freedom ‘90,” a song that similarly, if more bluntly, explores its creator’s ambivalence about success. On “California,” Lorde literally leaves Hollywood, the geographical epicenter of her anxiety, after acknowledging her replaceability—“Bye to the kids in line for the new Supreme/Don’t want that California love”—and escapes society altogether on the brief “Leader of a New Regime.”
Whereas in the past Lorde’s vocals seemed almost detached from the music, like a disaffected teen passing judgment on her peers at the local shopping mall, her voice feels fully integrated on songs like “California,” of a piece with the live instrumentation. This sense of harmony is emblematic of a young woman, already hyper-self-aware, becoming even more attuned to the world and her place in it. The album’s centerpiece, “Fallen Fruit,” addresses the climate crisis with an almost whimsical sense of wonder, as Lorde softly chastises past generations for allowing such destruction: “Through the halls of splendor where the apple tress all grew/You’ll leave us dancing on the fallen fruit.”
As billionaires attempt to slip the surly bonds of Earth after depleting its resources, Lorde is looking to escape further into it, though her preoccupation with connecting with the planet ostensibly veers into satire. “Let’s fly somewhere eastern, they’ll have what I need,” she quips, conspicuously accompanied by a Middle Eastern lute, on the otherwise seemingly earnest “Mood Ring.” And references to sage and crystals are at least partially a critique of celebrity wellness culture. By the album’s conclusion, though, it’s clear that Lorde’s pursuit of a higher plane of existence is mostly genuine: “O, was enlightenment found? No, but I’m trying,” she sings during the coda of the closing track, “Oceanic Feelings.”
Lorde’s interest in all things earthly extends to Solar Power’s more organic, indie-folk sound, aided in part by the contributions of veteran session drummer Matt Chamberlain, whose crisp percussion provides the thrust of “The Path” and “Mood Ring.” The album’s second half, however, loses momentum, and one begins to miss the 808s that propelled Lorde’s past work. The slow, stripped-down arrangements, unexpected chord progressions, and lyrical stream-of-consciousness of “The Man with the Axe” and “Big Star” evoke Liz Phair’s brand of lo-fi indie-rock. But the former song is somewhat shapeless and meandering, resulting in an enervating listen that’s only amplified by the fact that these tracks are sequenced, along with “Dominoes” and “Leader of a New Regime,” all in a row.
At least a few songs on Solar Power could have benefited from more of the aesthetic hallmarks that Antonoff brings to most of his work—and which Lorde reportedly tried to keep in check—like the rumbling bassline on “Oceanic Feelings” that sounds like it’s rising from the depths of the sea. When Lorde’s ruminations on fame and the environment are allowed to directly converse with the music itself, though, the results are as immersive as an ayahuasca ceremony.
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