Pop stars are so engrained in our society that we don't even notice the gag of it all anymore. We are willing participants in their sugar-coated, leather-studded, disco ball-swinging fame machines. We choose our fighter and happily dawn the house colors, be it as little monsters or swifties or members of the bee hive. We are so hyped on being cogs in the fame machine, that we beg for it like the potty trained consumers that we are. But it feels different when we're consuming pop music. Pop is an escape from our existential dread. Our queen mothers of pop tell us how much they care about us all of the time, that they do it for us, that our happiness is what keeps them going. It's fifty percent saccharine joy in escapist fantasies, and fifty percent soulless worshipping as the world burns. And Luckily Lorde is here with her third studio album to throw a proverbial wrench in the dreaded system.
