I’ll be honest: I was considerably late to the Hearst Greek Theatre for Lorde’s Ultrasound World Tour last Sunday night, Oct. 19.
Due to day-trip dawdling and a longer-than-expected drive home, we completely missed the openers, arriving only 15 minutes before Lorde. Naturally, we just so happened to insert ourselves in front of people who weren’t as casual about the openers, and yes, we did get snapped at. Consider this my formal apology to The Japanese House, Empress Of and the two groups we squeezed between in the pit.
All was forgiven when Lorde came on just a few minutes later. When the woman who wrote the soundtrack to your coming-of-age experience is at arm’s length, how could the rest not just melt away? Lorde wore baggy light wash jeans held up by a plain black belt, a blue baby T-shirt and baby blue boxers peeking out from her low-rise waistband. Casual, dynamic, flirty and, as we’ll find, easily strippable.
Given that Lorde is on tour to support her fourth studio album, Virgin, opening with “Hammer,” the album’s opening track, is only sensible. This felt anticipated. It’s bold, dancy and jolts audiences awake as a tone-setter — this isn’t a therapy session; it’s a dance club. Less expected? “Royals,” a pull from Pure Heroine, as a follow up. We’re used to artists wanting to reinvent themselves with the release of a new album — less used to them embracing their roots.
“I’m ecstatic to be back at the most beautiful venue in the world. We’re going to have fun, Berkeley, I can tell,” she said before going into “Broken Glass.” The song is emotional, and, granted, so was the way she moved. Ragdoll-like, Lorde tugged on her belt as if it were her leash — tethering her, hurting her, even — before pulling it through her jean loops and tossing it offstage. Backup dancers Annalise Van Even and Evan Sagadencky mimicked her movements: limp-limbed yet acutely in control of motion.
Fittingly, “Buzzcut Season” followed. Maybe it is a therapy session after all? Don’t question it. And don’t even think about questioning the massive industrial fan being rolled onto stage. “Perfect Places” followed, and we were back on the dance floor.
It was an extremely technical show. The screen making up the backdrop of the show was a standout, projecting various angles from the dozen or so cameras around the stage. During “The Louvre,” she climbed the gargantuan speakers looming at the back of the stage and lit a smoking flare; I wondered if she’d heard about the heist yet. During “Supercut,” she jogged on the treadmill that had been wheeled on stage.
Sometime post-treadmill, Lorde found herself sitting on the floor, crisscrossed, as she said, “I have a very vivid memory of playing here for the first time. I believe it was 2013,” she said. “The older I get, I feel like it’s really important to come full circle … I sit before you, a woman at peace. A woman excited for the future.” Then, “Liability” played. There were tears too, lots of them.
“Man of the Year,” one of the prereleased singles ahead of Virgin, saw Lorde wrapping up her point. Turned toward the speakers and shielded by her two dancers, she peeled off her baby tee to bare her back to the audience. In this peak of vulnerability, she took a roll of duct tape and carefully bandaged her chest, rotating back around to reveal a metal strip across her bust. Though touching, I’d argue Lorde was most vulnerable when entering the center of the crowd to close the set with “Ribs,” which she called “the oldest and most precious song we’ve got.”
After Lorde had returned to her rightful place, the lights were dimmed and LCD Soundsystem blared through the house speakers to usher the crowd out, I found I’d accidentally stayed to see the pit empty. I’d liked to have thrown an “a-ha” at the angry groups from the beginning, but I didn’t. I suppose that is what being a woman at peace feels like.
