Last summer I needed new music. I got in the habit of putting on a couple of playlists on my streaming service at the time, Apple Music – mostly The A-List: Pop and The A-List: Alternative. I found a few bops here and there, and even ended up discovering a new favorite Scandinavian songstress, Anna of the North.
I’m not sure which playlist it was on, but one song captivated me. A woman breathily singing about climbing up the “H” of the Hollywood sign, then a falsetto voice joining her, proclaiming that saying the good die young just ain’t right.
I stopped chopping vegetables to see exactly who was singing this dreamy ballad. It was Lana del Rey and The Weeknd.
The Weeknd’s “I Can’t Feel My Face” was already an established bop. I hadn’t paid much mind to Lana del Rey, though. I mean, I remembered when “Video Games” came out and, sure. It was fine. And I remembered the disastrous Saturday Night Live performance. And there was that one night I was white wine white girl drunk with “Young and Beautiful” on repeat. I didn’t’ get my friends’ obsessions with her. But “Lust for Life” was different. All of a sudden, I was yet another unsuspecting victim of Lana del Rey’s enchantment.
The thing was, when Lana came out, I was told not to like her. She had a fake name and a fake face and a rich dad. She’d done music under her birth name, Lizzy Grant, to little success. Lana was a fabrication. She called herself “The Gangster Nancy Sinatra.” Sure, it was all very eyeroll-y, but you know what? So was my deflection of my original instincts. Truth be told, even though “Video Games” was mediocre, I kinda liked “Blue Jeans.” Unfortunately, I bought into the Hipster Runoff-fueled backlash against a new, young woman who seemingly ascended to unprecedented popularity overnight.
The thing was… no one cared about all of this! And I shouldn’t have, either! I love me my manufactured pop stars, so why couldn’t I love this one?! By the time I came around to Lana del Rey, she was no longer the enigma who came out of nowhere—she was a bona fide pop star. She’d dated Axl Rose and G-Eazy! She was five albums deep, Grammy-nominated and had achieved gay icon status.
I didn’t realize at the time how sexist and silly all of the Lana backlash was. No one cares about Hollywood stars’ plastic surgeries! No one cares about men with stage names like Iggy Pop, Sting and Meat Loaf, let alone women with stage names like Lady Gaga and P!nk. What made Lana so different? Sure, her ~*~aesthetic~*~ was carefully curated, but really, what pop star’s isn’t? What made her old Hollywood noir glamor with hip hop flourishes less valid than Bjork’s avant-garde alien sexuality or the Pet Shop Boys’ geometric minimalism? And Lana wasn’t the first musical guest to bomb on SNL, and certainly was not the last.
I fell in love with the album, Lust for Life, when I’d forgotten my medication while in Niagara Falls for a weekend last year. I was hypomanic, which was better than being depressed, but I had a tough time calming down and an even tougher time trying to sleep. Hearing this beautiful person with beautiful problems helped soothe me, and eventually I drifted off. The next day, while the rest of my in-laws napped, I hummed one of my favorites, “God Bless America (And All the Beautiful Women in It)” while walking the Canada/US footbridge, just to take photos at the borderline and admire the Falls.
Since becoming enamored of Lust for Life, I’ve had the pleasure of digging through the back catalog. I’d say Ultraviolence is her best album, Paradise is great, Born to Die is inconsistent but promising and, other than a couple tracks, Honeymoon is kind of a slog.
My favorite song was “Brooklyn Baby,” because I loved the clever, self-aware, self-deprecating humor in the lyrics. “Well, my boyfriend's in the band/ He plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed/ I've got feathers in my hair/ I get down to Beat poetry/ And my jazz collection's rare/ I can play most anything/ I'm a Brooklyn baby.”
Well, it was my favorite Lana track until a few days ago when she released a 9+ minute epic called “Venice Bitch.”
“Venice Bitch” opens with a slow guitar riff that doesn’t get much faster, but the additional instruments come in gradually and flesh out the sound. It reminds me a bit of Sun Kil Moon’s “Duk Koo Kim,” a song I was obsessed with in 2003/4. Sun Kil Moon is singer-songwriter, Mark Kozelek’s on-and-off moniker over the past two decades. Kozelek’s 90s band, Red House Painters, were pioneers of the sadcore genre, along with other favored artists of my early 20s, such as Low, Ida and Cat Power.
Lana del Rey’s music has been described in the past as “Hollywood sadcore,” which I’d call apt. But with “Venice Bitch,” Lana has finally released a song that can stand alongside the actual sadcore greats!
“Venice Bitch” is the third song from Lana’s to-be-released album, Norman Fucking Rockwell (because, of course it’s called that!) to make it onto streaming services. The album is said to be a co-production between herself and pop production superstar, Jack Antonoff (Taylor Swift, Lorde). The first single, “Mariners Apartment Complex,” opens with piano not dissimilar to Britney Spears’ “Born to Make You Happy,” and continues in a contemplative, but uncomplex classic Lana ballad similar to previous album openers such as “Love” and “Ride.” Second single, “Serial Killer,” is pure Antonoff, with trademark Lana flourishes over a tempo not dissimilar to Taylor Swift’s “Getaway Car” or Lorde’s “Green Light.” If these three new songs are indicative of what’s to come from Norman Fucking Rockwell, my premature evaluation is that it’ll knock Ultraviolence out of my top Lana album slot!
So, forgive me, Lana, for my past sins. Like you, I’ve been misjudged. Like you, I’ve tried and failed. Like you, I hope to succeed doing what I love. Like you, I’ve been addicted to substances and struggle with my mental health. But most of all, Lana, you can bet your ass that this baby Lana Stana, Shaunna Fucking Quin will be seeing you on your next tour!