Art Retrospective: Why ‘Melodrama’ by Lorde still feels like growing up

In our column, Art Retrospective, writers get the chance to reflect on one of their personal favourite pieces of art, and discuss why it is still relevant to university students today.

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There are the albums that you outgrow as you grow up, and there are albums that seem to grow up with you. Meldodrama by Lorde was released in 2017, and even now, almost ten years later, it continues to resonate. Not because it captures one specific moment in time, but because it captures a feeling. The feeling of trying to figure out who you are when everything around you is overwhelming and constantly changing. On the surface, this album might be seen as a breakup album. But even though heartbreak plays a role, going more in-depth shows this album is about learning to be alone, leaning on friendships, making mistakes, and being chaotic while figuring out grown-up life.

This message feels especially relevant for university-age individuals who, for the first time, are making decisions completely on their own. Maybe even leaving home, meeting new people, experiencing new relationships and heartbreak that they haven’t felt before while facing the uncertainty of a new life. Melodrama doesn’t try to solve those feelings, but simply recognizes them.

The very first seconds of “Green Light” don’t dwell in sadness. Pounding piano and explosive chords bring out a euphoric feeling while telling a different story. This song is not simply about heartbreak, but about the impatience of wanting permission to move forward and let go of the past. Whether it is leaving home or friends, there is a point in life wherein you must move forward, even when your emotions haven’t caught up yet.

“Sober” follows with glittering production that feels like being at a house party. The song asks what happens when the music stops and everyone goes home. Young adulthood is full of moments where we chase excitement to avoid sitting alone with our thoughts. The song quietly wonders whether our happiest moments are real or simply temporary escapes. 

“Homade Dynamite” brings the excitement with production of bright synths and booming percussion. It captures those simply unforgettable late nights spent with the right people, the kind that feel like we are going to live forever. This song celebrates the friendship that helps us survive periods of uncertainty.

“The Louvre” slows things down, replacing energy with dreamy guitars and layered vocals. It is cinematic, mirroring the way love can make ordinary moments feel larger than life. Capturing the tendency to believe every emotion is the biggest emotion you will ever experience. Then comes “Liability,” the emotional heart of the album. Only piano and vocals, there is nowhere to hide. Lorde sings about worrying that she is too much for the people around her. It’s a fear that quietly follows many of us through friendships, when new environments make us question where we belong. 

“Hard feelings/Loveless” marks a turning point in the album. The first half aches with the feeling that some endings can’t be fixed. The production is sparse and creates space for grief. Then, without warning, the song transforms into a playful beat, like forcing yourself to laugh so as not to cry. This whiplash is like the experience of having to pretend to be fine when you are struggling to get over someone you love. “Sober ll (Melodrama)” acts as the morning after. Reality quietly returns. It uses dramatic orchestration to emphasize that life isn’t segmented into neat chapters. Instead, it highlights how we are forced to wake up and press on even after moments that feel life-changing. 

“Writer in the Dark” builds slowly before exploding into a powerful performance. It’s the sound of someone reclaiming their voice. Instead of asking someone to stay, she chooses to tell her own story. It’s finding your own worth and finding out you can’t depend on another person’s approval while still feeling like you feel this way about them forever. 

While “Writer in the dark” looks forward, “Supercut” looks backwards. It demonstrates how memory edits our lives like a highlight reel, only remembering the best parts while letting the bad ones fade away. Growing up often means realizing that nostalgia tells an incomplete story. 

“Liability (reprise)” is a quiet breath before the conclusion of the album. The insecurity hasn’t disappeared yet, but it no longer feels overwhelming. Sometimes maturity isn’t about solving every problem, but learning to carry them differently. This feeling leads to “Perfect places,” where pounding drums and synthesizers create the feeling of endless motion. 

Throughout the album, Lorde searches for happiness in parties, relationships, memories and excitement. She finally asks the question: what are perfect places anyways? Constantly searching for the perfect way to go through life, the perfect relationship, perfect studies, the perfect friend groups, or the perfect future. Melodrama reminds us that perfection isn’t waiting somewhere ahead of us. Life is messy, uncertain, and emotional, but also meaningful. 

Melodrama continues to resonate with listeners because it understands something timeless: growing up isn’t a straight line. It’s loud and quiet, joyful and lonely, confident and uncertain. There are no answers in this album, but something just as valuable is the reassurance that we are not alone in trying to figure it out. That’s why Meloldrama isn’t just an album of hurt, it’s about becoming.