Of all the pop stars—or rather “anti-pop stars”—that have come out in the wake of Britney Spears, Lorde seems to have the least in common with the erstwhile teen sexpot. In fact, a recent article about Lorde being among the first (before Billie Eilish somehow became the spokeswoman for the twenty-first century ideal of a sexless pop star) of the ever-growing number of newly-minted female musicians to shirk any kind of spotlight on their body positions Spears as a girl who couldn’t have less in common with Lorde. Not just musically and in terms of Spears being the last of a generation with no real agency, but because Lorde would never do something like appear onstage suggestively wielding a snake (taking it only so far as appearing on her album cover with her snatch “playfully” out—as opposed to “tackily” out like Spears in a tabloid photo).
In contrast, Spears’ entire brand was built on sex. At first, the temptation element of her “nubility,” and then the gradual yet sudden “deflowering” of her by the public. The record company was happy to oblige the trope as Britney was billed and bolstered as the ultimate “forbidden fruit” when she first arrived on the scene—which is perhaps what makes it so poetic for Lorde to use the term and song “Fallen Fruit” as part of an homage to her. For, yes, while the song might ultimately be about the legacy baby boomers have left behind for subsequent generations, it also works as a nod to how the media has sucked many a female pop star dry, from plum to prune. Spears being no exception to the rule, as her Instagram showcases her vacillating between “little girl antics” and randomly flashing her tits or ass like it’s a reflex she can’t shake from years of performing this sort of sexuality.
Incidentally, Spears would repurpose the phrase “forbidden fruit” for herself on 2011’s Femme Fatale, with a track called “Sealed With A Kiss” during which she sings, “Love the risk of getting caught/Wanna taste forbidden fruit/And seal it with a kiss.” As though speaking from the perspective of all the gross men who ogled and judged her, Spears reclaims such a sentiment for herself, even if it was already too late by then, when she was twenty-nine (Femme Fatale having been released on March 25th, several months before her thirtieth birthday on December 2nd). The age in Hollywood that still signals some sort of knell, even among the most “progressive” minds. But, like Madonna on certain songs (e.g. “Candy Shop,” “Girl Gone Wild” and “S.E.X.”), Britney would go on singing about being a girl, and a sexual one at that. Because evidently, if she has to choose between being a girl or a woman, she still chooses the former. As most women can’t help due to the mind fuck of society’s conditioning to make the female population believe they’re irrelevant at thirty.
At this point in time, Lorde is still twenty-four (to reach her “quarter of a century” milestone on November 7th). Yet she’s already reflecting on her life as though she’s an old woman who’s seen it all, manifested on songs from Solar Power like “Stoned at the Nail Salon” and “Secrets From a Girl (Who’s Seen It All).” This “wisdom beyond her years” shtick is not necessarily an act, for women in this industry who start out in it during their teens are forced to grow up at an extremely accelerated pace whether they want to or not. Spears was subjected to the same, tenfold. Yet because her entire empire was built on “Lolita innocence” and its dismantling, she maintained a more “not that bright” persona in comparison to Lorde, who was always seen as “shrewd”—and, initially, goth. Little did the public suspect, so-called goths listen to Britney too.
Lorde would have been eleven at the time of “Break the Ice” being unleashed as a single in March of ’08 (a month after Spears was placed under her now infamous conservatorship). It was the following year, at age twelve, when she was discovered by her record label at a school talent show. Britney, too, was twelve when she made her debut on The Mickey Mouse Club—another odd correlation between the two pop songstresses in terms of securing their big break. It seems obvious that Lorde is seeking to highlight that connection by opening her forest performance with this single. Crouched above a radio, she turns it on for us to hear Spears faintly whispering, “I’m here now” as though she’s Mother Nature herself whispering in the trees, calming us all. Removing her pink jacket to reveal a coordinating red halter top with red pants that allows for plenty of Britney-inspired belly exposure (even though, let’s be real, Madonna was exposing her belly button before anyone), she then delves into her own rendition of “Break the Ice.”
The rotational movement of the camera work, which operates in a circle around Lorde from a low angle to provide a jarring, yet arresting effect, continues as she croons, “I know it’s been a while but I’m glad you came/And I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout how you say my name.” The opening lyrics are quite appropriate for Lorde, considering her four-year absence from music and the way in which her stage name is so often manipulated for religious effect (which is why Vogue—the entity for which she made the video—titled her latest cover, “The Year of Our Lorde”… because how could they resist?). This is why Lorde claims on “The Path,” “If you’re looking for a savior/It’s not me.” Of course, that’s not going to stop her or her fans from playing into the worshipping reverence that takes place between stan and star.
“Break the Ice,” in Lorde’s hands, becomes an eerie song that sounds like it’s about climate change and thusly transitions quite seamlessly into the motif of “Fallen Fruit.” The idiomatic expression about “breaking the ice” also plays into her decision to open with this track before transitioning into a much darker composition. And that’s what’s also so telling about the starkly divergent personae of Lorde and Spears. Where Lorde makes “Break the Ice” sound like a sexless number told from the perspective of Mother Nature warning Earth’s residents, “Let me break the ice/Allow me to get you right/Let you warm up to me/Baby I can make you feel/Hot, hot, hot, hot,” in Spears’ canon, it’s all part and parcel of her seductress image that remains ingrained in the brain.
But maybe that’s why this cover is so transfixing. We’re watching Lorde erase the sexual connotations that were projected onto Spears as much as she was radiating them outward (all as part of the conditioning she was given while growing up a millennial). It is the signaling of a different sort of transference, one in which Lorde seems to be offering some kind of healing, as best she can, to the trauma of Spears. Though, alas, there is certainly no healing for the Earth to be had.
