Somatic therapy for youthful memories: The power of Lorde’s ‘Ultrasound’ tour
In a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, Lorde emerges onto the stage of The O2 for her second sold-out night of 20,000 fans awaiting her. For an artist who has never made any secret of her intense stage fright, this is likely the moment where her heart skips a beat. But clearly she’s learnt that there’s power in simplicity – she needs no help, she needs no theatrics.
There is something truly magical about the presence of Lorde in music, in culture, and clearly in the lives of so many of us in that room. Around me, people are adorned in merch spanning the years and eras. My own friend is where a Melodrama tour t-shirt, but talks proudly about her original t-shirt, bought at Lorde’s debut UK show before Pure Heroine had ever been released. She barely dares to take that one out of storage, it’s so precious.
But it’s precious partly because Lorde, or Ella Yelich-O’Connor, is only a few weeks older than her. She’s not even two years older than me. So when she dives into ‘Shape Shifting’ singing, “I become her again, visions of a teenage innocence,” we’re all there together because we always have been.
It’s an experience shared by a good proportion of her fan base – we’ve been through it all together, and her music was the hand-holding soundtrack. From her teenage loves and rebellions on Pure Heroine, to the first heartache of Melodrama, into the growing pains of adulthood on both Solar Power and Virgin, Lorde and her fans have had the unique and bonding experience, so sharing it all together feels profound on this poignant stage.
“How’d I shift shape like that?” she sings, and the question lingers throughout the show. Diving into an era-spanning setlist that gets the old uber-hit of ‘Royals’ out of the way quickly to go all in on fan-favourites, she makes it clear that this is a show for those who have been committed.
It’s reflected in the simplicity of it all. Lorde’s stage is basically empty beyond a few random props like a treadmill she sprints on during ‘Supercut’ as a simple and perfect depiction of a girl chasing memories. She has two dancers who are perfectly unchoreographed and, for the most part, simply look like two fans allowed on stage, moving their bodies like we’ve all done listening to these songs in our bedroom, or like we’re doing now as tracks like ‘Favourite Daughter’, ‘Hammer’ and ‘Perfect Places’ have the ground shaking.
But overwhelmingly, it’s shown in the setlist, which feels so touching in moments that it doesn’t just spark tears, but genuine sobs. I’m usually pretty steely, but it’s hard to stay tough when you feel like you’re on a tour of your youth.
As she plays ‘Buzzcut Season’, I’m 17, going through my first breakup on a bus to town. With ‘The Louvre’, it’s my first year of uni again. But it’s the killer run of ‘Liability’, into new tracks ‘Clearblue’ and ‘Man Of The Year’ that hurts was Lorde begins with a tender speech about teenagers feeling like outsiders and chases it with two new tracks, holding 20,000 hands in a gentle reminder that really, that feeling never goes away.
Life just keeps coming, and there’s beautiful comfort in the fact that Lorde has been there through so much of it and clearly has no signs of abandoning her post as our peer. Ending with ‘Ribs’, returning right back to the first track that connected her to her first audience of Tumblr kids, the whole room is dancing again. It feels like somatic therapy, all of us shaking our bodies, working through the years of memories Lorde songs hold.
From teenage innocence to this embrace as adults, the vision of Lorde there in her jeans and her t-shirt is perfect. Connecting with her on the level that she always has, it’s a reminder that Lorde has always been one of us. She’s always been there alongside us – and the power lies in the poignant simplicity of that.
