![]() ![]() “What time is it there?” she asks immediately 5am, I tell her. It’s her mid-afternoon and my pre-dawn, and she looks startled to see me sitting in antipodean Zoom darkness. She’s sitting on a verandah with her screen angled towards a seemingly limitless backyard of trees and hills and rocky outcrops, as if she’s conjured her own wilderness kingdom in the heart of LA. This interview was supposed to happen in Sydney, but now half the country is in lockdown, and she’s in Los Angeles for the promotion of her third album, Solar Power– in the Pacific Palisades, one of the richest residential neighbourhoods in the city, full of mountains and ocean views and immensely privileged, Botoxed coyotes. She’s wearing a pinstriped shirt, and halfway through our interview she puts on an endearing, concertina-shaped grass hat. But she also seems fragile: slim shoulders, long slender neck, hair parted in the middle and drawn back in a low ponytail, exposing large, elf-like ears. It’s the kind of face you might see in a Marvel movie, invariably belonging to a superhero capable of tearing a world apart with her bare hands. She has amazingly emphatic features: strong nose, wide mouth, thick brows, big eyes spaced widely apart, and enough hair for about five people. There’s still no one like Lorde, now 24, whose real name is Ella Marija Lani Yelich-O’Connor. No one in the whole wide world of pop music who looked like her (pale skin, clever face, Medusa hair) no one who captured the yearning and precocity of being 16 years old like her (because she actually was 16) no one who became a global pop star while living in her parents’ house in the Auckland suburbs like her. When Lorde was a teenager, there was no one like Lorde. Normal text size Larger text size Very large text size
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