Towards the end of her precise hour-long set, Ella Yelich-O’Connor takes five minutes out to tell the audience about the aftermath of an “astronomical” house party, in which a horde of teenagers raided the freezer in her parents’ house and left defrosted food all over the floor. It was the inspiration for Ribs, which, she says, she wrote in a day just a year ago – a reminder of how quickly Lorde’s star has risen, and, as she bids farewell to a packed three-night residency at New York’s Roseland Ballroom, how high.  It seems in keeping with her humble teen schtick that despite walking off with two Grammys last month, the Lorde stage show is as sparse and targeted as her music. There is no arena-style showiness to be found. This is pop after the xx, full of space and effect; like her album, Pure Heroine, the performance employs a limited bag of tricks with pinpoint elegance. Her band is a drummer and a keyboard player, who are only revealed after a dramatic opener of Glory and Gore, which sees her alone on the stage, surprisingly commanding against a vast dark backdrop, a spotlight bleaching out her face.  The drama, when it does appear, rarely feels overcooked, and most of it comes from a truly spectacular light show that unfurls as the night goes on, alternating colours, patterns and beams of light. At times she’s hopping around inside white beams, at others, she’s drenched in a blood-red aura, which seems particularly appropriate given the number of rapt goth-girl lookalikes in the crowd. In fact, it’s so mesmerising that Lorde herself often disappears into it: look away from the stage, and it takes a few seconds to find her again.  But there she is, dancing like she’s in her bedroom, rather than standing up in front of 3,000 people. She frequently apologises for being ill, and her voice occasionally strains and cracks, but the crowd is in love with her, cheering every move she makes. She takes off her coat – scream! She kneels down – scream! She puts her coat back on again – screaaaamm!  In fact, it is only monster hit Royals that falls a little flat, perhaps because of radio overkill, or perhaps because there are simply better songs tonight. Buzzcut Season is beautifully composed; Team, with its “send the callout” kicker, feels like a pop monster; and, most intriguingly, Easy, a Son Lux cover, becomes spectacularly odd, collapsing in on itself in a tangle of beats, modulated vocals and horns. As she puts it in Still Sane, “I’m little but I’m coming for you.” On this form, I can believe it.
Review: The New Zealand pop star rounds off a three-night residency with a minimal yet dramatic live set that highlights her oddness