Lately, and only sometimes, I’ll find myself sitting against my wardrobe on the bedroom floor, unsure of how I got there. Other times I’ll wake up and the sheets feel foreign against my body, and I can’t even remember how I fell asleep. It’s just the motions of life. I’m young and unafraid, but in a much more real sense, I’m the oldest I’ve ever been and terrified of the future. Sometimes I feel like I’ve dropped a mirror, each part of myself now fractured, and the shards of possibilities are glistening and cutting my feet.

Maybe I should take a page out of Lorde’s book and “Cover up all the mirrors.”

It is at this exact intersection I meet Lorde, in her newest single ‘What Was That,’ released April 24, 2025, off her upcoming album, Virgin. This arrives four years after her last album Solar Power—which I loved, by the way. Its healed stature, smooth and fixed in its resolute hope. Lorde had then embraced aspects of her reality that once haunted her, sunbathed with them, and came out the other side tanned and powerful by way of the sun.

That’s why ‘What Was That’ is more important than Solar Power. Now, she’s “Fac[ing] reality.” It’s so easy to say that ‘healing is non-linear,’ often cyclical, validating that trauma is something you have to face and reface. To live it—evidently—is another story entirely, and to journal it in such a vulnerable, accurate way is something Lorde is well-versed at.

When we meet Lorde again, she’s far from the open beaches of Solar Power, and she is no longer doused in victory. We’re now in a most intimate space: “A place in the city/ A chair and a bed.” This space is so insular, we jump with great immediacy into the diaristic indulgences of the song, and we, the listeners, become voyeurs. This stark contrast from her previous album also signifies a turn from its acoustic sounds. We’re back in bass-driven pop, diving into the beat and sinking into the synth.

It’s just all too real – like when she croons “I wear smoke like a wedding veil,” or “Make a meal I won’t eat,” there’s this juxtaposition of who she should be at this age, versus who she is. That sense of childishness is a string through the entire song; she’s reflecting on this version of reality she yearns for but can never attain. She should have moved on, she should be past this: but she’s still sinking in nostalgia, asking “What was that?” Like that moment was something so fleeting, it ran past her head—and you know, she knows what that was. It was a feeling so irretrievable that you revert to a past version of yourself for solace. Perhaps under the “Blue light,” she calls on—fancy a Melodrama reference, anyone?

And sometimes, that simplistic nostalgia is all it takes. That’s what it feels like. You’re left in these remnants of something you thought you were over, asking “What was that?” and questioning whether it can ever really be over. Even Lorde referencing something or someone to whom she’d given everything when she was seventeen, still feels like it’s inescapable. Yearning for youth is natural, but it’s more the wanting for everything to revert to what it was. It’s such a perfect encapsulation of an age between young and adult.

This is an undeniable career high for Lorde: she sourced just the right amount of attention, filming the music video at her first public showcase of the single at Central Park. She’s back in her Melodrama-pop heat, that synth-y, bass-y sound with jumpy instrumentals and occasional shouts in the background. And, of course, the lyricism—outstanding. Simplicity compliments the frustrated inner-workings of a poet left alone with her thoughts, shouting into an ether and hoping some voice shouts back. She’s shrouded in this “Indio haze,” a “sandstorm [that] knocks [her] out,” and it’s easily digestible in this sound. An easy song of the summer pick!

But more than that, her honesty is beyond glaring. To essentially admit that aging and growth is frightening you is not an easy task for pop-singers who rely on an eternity of youth and relevance. To admit that you’d like for that to return, it rings in your ears, “The best cigarette of [your] life,” turns quickly, harshly, into something you selfishly want “Just like that.” It’s difficult to describe the depths of wanting to be let go of, but Lorde does it to perfection.

Lorde is SO back—in our ears and hearts, but most of all, in the melodramatic ether of a wound reopened. Life crises of all stages are also back. What can I say? Letting “Whatever has to pass through me pass through” is infinitely easier when you’re navigating it with Lorde.