“Don’t be afraid to fall the fuck apart,” she said, standing under a wash of light in Brooklyn. “Let yourself feel everything… swim naked, have crazy sex, do drugs, dance, do it all, stay alive.”
It was one of those moments where an arena goes quiet not because it’s waiting for the next song, but because everyone is collectively holding onto the same breath. During her Ultrasound Tour, Lorde didn’t just perform music, she offered permission. Permission to unravel. Permission to be seen. Permission to exist in full, messy honesty.
I saw Lorde twice on this tour — October 1 at Madison Square Garden and December 16 at Barclays Center but the experiences don’t live separately in my memory. They blur together as one long, continuous night, stitched by waiting, by strangers, by music that feels stripped to the bone.
The first time began at 2 a.m. outside Madison Square Garden. I hadn’t even made it to the barricade yet when I ran into two fans already camping: a boy who had traveled from Panama and a girl from Boston who came to New York just for this show. By the time the sky began to lighten, we were singing Lorde songs to each other on the sidewalk, swapping stories, passing time in that very specific way only fans do, like we were all part of something quietly sacred.
When morning came and the venue doors finally opened, the exhaustion turned electric. Lorde’s team surprised the first 15 people in line with customized hoodies, an unexpected, generous gesture that felt less like merch and more like a thank you. That set the tone for the night. Nothing about Ultrasound feels transactional.
Inside MSG, the show was breathtaking in its restraint. The stage was bare. The production intentional. Everything was stripped back so completely that there was nowhere for emotion to hide, not for her, and not for us. Lorde moved through her discography with a physicality that felt instinctual rather than choreographed, like she was dancing alone in her room and we were just lucky enough to be invited in. It didn’t feel like a concert; it felt raw, exposed, and almost uncomfortably honest.
And then, as if the night hadn’t already felt surreal enough, I ran into girl in red in the bathroom after the show — one of my favorite artists, whose poster hangs above my bed. She was nothing short of kind, grounding the entire night back into reality with a moment of simple human warmth.
By December, the tour had grown, evolved and somehow felt even more intimate.
At Barclays Center, I reunited with the same fan I’d met months earlier. We camped together again, as if no time had passed at all. Standing in line that day, I met people with wildly different lives and identical devotion: fans who had followed multiple dates, photographers who had turned their passion into a profession.
That night, with 2hollis opening and the crowd buzzing, I barely touched my phone. Seeing the same show twice didn’t make it predictable; it made it deeper. I knew when to let go. I knew when to just stand still and take it in.
During “Team,” Lorde came to my side of the barricade and locked eyes with me. She sang directly toward me, not past me, not generally outward, but straight through. She smiled. She pointed. It felt impossible and real at the same time, like the room had briefly shrunk down to just the two of us.
Later, during “David,” she descended into the crowd, the moment fans wait for all night. As she walked past person after person, she stopped directly in front of me. Our eyes met, and there was a spark of recognition, something that felt like memory. She reached out, held my hand, and rubbed her thumb across it gently. I barely managed to say “I love you” before she moved on, leaving me in absolute disbelief.
The only reason I bought tickets to see Lorde twice was because she added my favorite song, “400 Lux,” to the setlist. All day in Brooklyn, I silently begged the universe to let her play it. When I heard the first strum, those unmistakable siren-like notes my voice broke before I even realized I was screaming. Tears blurred my vision as the song washed over me. It felt like time folding in on itself. I was completely undone.
Both nights felt out-of-body in different ways. At MSG, she mentioned how she started the U.S. tour on her period. In Brooklyn, she laughed and said she was ending it the same way. It was a small, offhand comment but somehow it encapsulated everything about Ultrasound. The body matters. The mess matters. The reality matters.
Lorde’s Ultrasound Tour isn’t about spectacle. It’s about presence. It’s about stripping everything back until what’s left is undeniable. Watching her perform feels less like observing an artist and more like witnessing someone actively choose vulnerability, night after night, in front of thousands of people.
And somehow, she makes it feel like she’s doing it just for you.
When the lights came up in Brooklyn, I didn’t feel the usual post-concert emptiness. I felt whole like I’d been allowed to fall apart and put myself back together in the same breath. Ultrasound wasn’t just a tour. It was an invitation to feel everything.
