The first time I heard the music of Ella Yelich-O’Connor, I was transfixed. Here’s what I knew: her voice was haunting, like Laura Nyro had huffed gasoline. Her lyrics were deeply emotional and witty as hell. Everyone would soon be singing “Royals”, grandmas and toddlers alike announcing that they didn’t care, they were driving Cadillacs in their dreams.
Here’s what I didn’t know: she was 16 years old at the time, and living about as far from the world’s hipster music enclaves as humanly possible, in a place more famed for its hobbits and whale-riding than producing Coachella favourites. This, my friends, is the magic and contradiction of the girl who calls herself Lorde.