Teenage sensation Ella Yelich-O'Connor, known the world over as Lorde, has been an inescapable pop tour de force these past few months, besieging the planet with her mesmerising take on high school hierarchies, kid-thug life and complex tales of growing up. It's not your usual Top 40 pap, it's a worryingly mature reflection on modern adolescence, encased in a candy shell (bittersweet is probably a more succinct term). Smack down the weary Lana Del Rey comparisons for a second - LDR ain't got shit on Lorde.

Many have been waiting with bated breath for her debut LP, which goes by the provocative title Pure Heroine. Featuring super-hit 'Royals', 'Tennis Court' as well as a slew of fresh tuneage, it's probably a foregone conclusion of this full-length's platinum status. Lorde isn't just a marketing execs wet dream though, she's also one of New Zealand's brightest exports - raking in awards, accolades and shattering records - before an album was released.

The material that's already released, such as the aforementioned 'Royals' and 'Tennis Court', have been extravagant forays into class systems and ruminations on superficiality. "I've never seen a diamond in the flesh/ I cut my teeth on wedding rings... in the movies," Lorde croons on the former. Hip-hop snaps and the gargantuan echo of hydrochloric finger-clicks fizzle through synthpop sheen; it's a sprawling, sparse effort of Tumblr-friendly underdog noise, perfectly content to guzzle White Lightning in shop alcoves rather than sup Bollinger in limos. 'Tennis Court' mines a vein of disenchanted youth. Quasi-rap vox stutter over trap beats and maudlin pads, and as she sings of "teen boredom" - you can't help but marvel.But Pure Heroine isn't all quirky blasé electropop. 'Ribs' is enveloped in a dreamy haze. There's tinges of Brooklyn songstress Empress Of within the burbling trance backing synths, and of cyclic layer-fanatics in the sampled choirs. '400 Lux' squeals upon opening. Kate Boy-esque percussion duels with new-wave guitar-y synths and a gently Alice In Wonderland tick-tock ratatat. There's bruised basslines and hushed mature-before-her-time lyrics from Lorde - "We're hollow like the bottles that we drink." Not legally, of course. There are plenty of name-drops to intoxication in all its forms - alcohol, narcotics and tantric fuckathons - which, from someone not yet legal to do all those things, can tend to feel a bit like a 12-year-old puffing his chest at a Bacardi Breezer, or patronising. It's not always the case, but there's definitely the potential for that to come across, that's indeed if she's not just pulling these things out her ass.

Lorde definitely has a clear-cut target demographic, but, and it's a big but, she's got major appeal outside of that. She does, through all the bravura and brand checks, wield some byzantine ruminations on growing up, a state of ennui and the role of youth in society. The fact is, she does it with a decidedly teenage approach, which is double-edged: on one hand, she's in a great position to preach a sermon directly to her audience in a way poignant to them, but on the other, it's an almost-arrogant swagger with callous disregard to the effects and unintended meanings. She might get where she wants to go or say what she wants to say, but she's probably going to piss people off in doing so.

Pure Heroine is a compilation of ace single-worthy tracks - 'Glory and Gore', 'Still Sane' and 'Team' especially so. Every single ditty on the record has the potential to make a beeline for the top spot; laying somewhere between tantalising, honeyed post-pop and the gothwave murmur of languor. She's got a gleaming pop facet, with adorable hooks and singalong motifs, but she's also got a beefier musicality, dabbling in fringe genres and sonic experiments. She sings of accessible emotions and rotund discussions. She straddles two worlds with aplomb. The minor problems here are forgivable, as for the most part, Lorde is on pristine form. Where she goes next is anyone's guess, but she'll be watched by the entire world as she does so.