REVIEW: Mission: Infiltrate rally of notorious Millennial rabble-rouser, Lorde (aka Ella Yelich O'Connor) at major emblem of Baby Boomer hubris, Wellington's Michael Fowler Centre, on Saturday night.

Cover: Mild-mannered Gen X, slightly befuddled by all the fuss/bemused parental type accompanying much younger person to view cultural touchstone.

Objective: Observe "rally"; assess danger to Gen X way of life, i.e. being in charge, telling Millennials they don't know what good music is, deciding what's hot and what's not etc etc; report back to HQ on likelihood of political/social upheaval.

KYLIE KLEIN NIXON By the time Lorde's Green Light flickers on at the end of her three-act Wellington show, the locals are long past primed to stage a cultural coup.

Report: I'm across the wire, deep inside enemy lines when I realise Lorde couldn't give two hoots what "demographic" makes up her audience. She loves us all equally, but music most of all.

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KYLIE KLEIN NIXON Lorde: Millennial queen.

This is about 10 to 15 minutes after the second of her three costume changes, when I've managed to pull myself back together after her flawless rendition of Liability.

It's a cringey, Live Journal post of a song, that one; oversharing of the worst sort - the kind of thing us Gen X's love to roast Millennials for.

But tonight, it's a tender serenade from a lover to her beloved, the audience that lets her keep doing what she does. Perfect.

GEORGE HEARD/STUFF Lorde: "My thing this tour: I will give you absolutely everything that I have, and you will give me that in return."

(Note: reports that this freshly 21-year-old diva is an electronically enhanced one-trick pony, no-talent, bedroom-dwelling Janey-come-lately may in fact be false. Set threat levels to critical. We've lost control of this situation.)

Before Liability comes a long, slightly uncomfortable preamble Lorde delivers seated, alone on the stage - her "band", a drummer, a DJ and a bloke who plays guitar and synths, are in darkness most of the night - that's difficult to parse.

It reminds me of the directionless patter Taylor Swift peppers her shows with, interludes that sound more like late-night ramblings with your best mate than scripted performance. It's intimate, but awkward, like the best youthful friendships are.

I don't like it, but that's just me being a cynical old fogey. The crowd eats it up, clinging to her every word.

Perhaps that's because when Lorde talks to this Wellington crowd it's as one being, not as a well-dressed (and this literally is the best-dressed crowd I have ever seen at a Wellington show) cross section of everyone under 40 in the capital, but as her friend "Wellington" - someone who means the world to her, who she wants to raise up for raising her up.

"My thing this tour: I will give you absolutely everything that I have, and you will give me that in return," she says as she begins.

It's a compelling offer. Disconcerting, it makes you lean in. Makes you want to be the kind of friend Lorde thinks you are. Makes you want to be worthy of this gorgeous, tumultuous music.

(Note: we're really screwed, Gen X. This is the absolute antithesis of the disaffection and nihilism we spent the 90s perfecting. We have no defences for this.)

But don't let the fact the show's linchpin is an emo blog post and a cheesy piano ballad fool you. Lorde's here to rattle some teen, tween and twenties-aged bones.

She blows up the opening with Homemade Dynamite, rushes headlong on to Tennis Court, and shares her Hard Feelings, all in the first 10 minutes. It gets the blood up, gets the entire auditorium on their feet.

Super Cut sounds better here than it even does on the album. Sober is the least sobering thing I've ever experienced in The MFC. I'm drunk as after that track rolls through.

By the time Lorde's Green Light flickers on at the end of this three-act show, the locals are long past primed to stage that cultural coup. The revolution has already begun. The winter palace has been stormed and they've already carried Tsar Boomer and Queen Gen X out in chains.

Any idea we have of still being in charge is exposed as little more than a hallucination we're having from the depths of our cultural dungeon. We're done.

Conclusions: It's clear the previous, mostly negative, assessments of my peers have been absolute baloney, caked in nonsense. Lorde is a goddamned legitimate superstar who wants to raise us up, rather than tearing anything down.

This might be political suicide, but Lorde is one tall Millennial poppy I won't condone chopping. I'm handing in my Gen X card and defecting.