Lorde Strips Down, Gets Vulnerable at Chicago ‘Ultrasound’ Show: Concert Review

While widely regarded as pop’s modern-day mystic, Lorde is equally a master of decreation—the conscious unraveling of her artistic identity. Midway through her Chicago "Ultrasound" concert, she halted the music and requested the house lights be raised, illuminating the entire arena. Stripped of theatrical shadows, her face fully visible, she addressed the crowd as Ella Yelich-O’Connor—the person behind the persona. “These songs live because of you,” she affirmed, adding, “This has never been about me. It’s always been about you.” The audience responded with thunderous applause.

The performance artfully wove together deconstruction and renewal. Drawing from all four of her albums—including a surprising early rendition of her 2013 breakthrough hit "Royals"—the setlist placed special emphasis on her latest release, "Virgin." Throughout the night, Lorde executed onstage costume changes, at times undressing in full view. She lowered her jeans to reveal black Calvin Klein underwear, kicked off her shoes during "Current Affairs," and lifted her dark blue shirt just before "GRWM," her glistening torso projected onto the massive screen behind her. The emotional zenith arrived during "Man of the Year," where she applied silver tape across her chest and performed shirtless, embodying the fluid and reclaimed vision of gender that defines "Virgin."

These vulnerable wardrobe moments were underscored by a meticulously crafted lighting design that frequently washed the venue in cool blue tones, reinforcing themes of exposure and honesty. "Virgin"—an album whose cover features an X-ray of a pelvis adorned with an IUD, zipper, and belt buckle—explores troubled intimacy, body acceptance, and the pursuit of authenticity. As Lorde shared with the audience, “To truly live, you have to taste everything—the sweet, the sour, the bitter. Only by shedding the layers can you find what’s real.” This search for purity through vulnerability has been central to her work since her 2013 debut "Pure Heroine," an album that captured the raw clarity of youth with startling poetic insight.

Yet such acts of unmasking carry risk in an era where identity is often splintered by digital mediation. The staging mirrored this tension, fragmenting Lorde and her two grey-clad dancers through rapid projections and layered visuals. In one pointed sequence, a dancer assumed the role of a paparazzo, aiming a camera and microphone toward Lorde—a sharp commentary on performance under constant scrutiny. This self-aware critique culminated during the penultimate song, "David," a haunting reflection on a past relationship. Wearing a jacket lined with light panels, Lorde descended from the stage and moved deep into the crowd, which parted to let her pass. “Why do we run to the ones we do?” she sang, arriving at the far end of the arena as the song swelled. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Following a brief blackout, she reappeared wearing a blue sweatshirt, standing alone under a single spotlight to perform "Ribs" from "Pure Heroine." As the final notes lingered, she reached upward as if to grasp the light itself. For a moment, her palm glowed red—then the light vanished, leaving the audience in silence and bringing an evening of intimate revelation to a resonant close.