Disclaimer: contains swearing and non-PC content. Read at your own peril.
Elisabeth “Izzy” Woolridge Grant, better known as the flamboyant Lana Del Rey, has been in the industry for almost 20 years now. Time flies, doesn’t it? While I used to casually enjoy her vibe, I’ve learned to appreciate her work more and more. As the years go by, the absence of stylistic compromises speaks to me. I love her signature sound much more than I used to. I’ve quieted down myself, I guess. I’m not as angry anymore. More sarcastic than before, definitely, but oh well. It’s a defence mechanism, and who’s got the time for therapy?
Bear with me, as this one might get a little messy. After all, she is too, so it’s only fair. Lana’s sound, as defined as it is now, is still messy. It sounds like waking up at 4 p.m. in a trashed hotel suite, with the windows wide open, in a Valium haze, surprised that you’re still breathing, while the drapes are floating in the wind. In a remote area of Los Angeles, of course.
Or is it just me?
It sounds like Hunter S. Thompson getting lost in a 40s film noir. Open up a shaker and pour one part of gin, two of rye, three of grapefruit juice, and a dash of epiphysis. And mint. Way too much mint.
I don’t know. I’m not much of a synesthete (a person who associates colours with music), but for some reasons, Lana’s work has always been very visual to me. Even without watching much of her music videos.
She’s made multiple records over the years (nine so far, I’ve checked), and I’ve listened to them all. Some more than others. Some on repeat for quite a while. Yet, I’d be hard pressed to pick a favourite. Or to distinguish them from one another, to be honest. Now you’re surely thinking that I’m not such a huge fan if I can’t even remember that this record sounds like this, and that one has these songs on it, etc…
I would argue the opposite. I’m more of a fanboy than I think. There are differences from one record to the next, of course, but they are not drastic. It’s different from Taylor Swift’s stylistic leap between each album for example.
Born to Die, for instance, has been highly criticized for its very produced sound. It has stood the test of time, though, and to this day is still one of her best albums, in my humble opinion. It flows well, contains many great songs and has a strong identity. What more could you ask for?
Her sound is very confusing. And it’s not a criticism. It’s a compliment. When I put on one of her records, I am confused myself. And I’m not looking for a way out of it. Quite the opposite. I embrace the confusion. I dive into it fully, into the lush reverbs and the long delays, her angelic vocals telling me to fuck her ‘till she loves herself, or something along those lines. Not that long ago, I wrote a piece about the importance of contrast in an arrangement. But her vision of it is next-level awesome. All these soft, surreal, ethereal layers of sound, including her dreamy vocals, singing these crazy dirty lines… Now that’s contrast! It reminds me of Madsen’s torturing the cop in Reservoir Dogs.
I can picture her having dinner with Haruki Murakami, the famous Japanese novelist. His work is also quite confusing. He carries us into next-door parallel worlds. Nothing too crazy far away, which makes it so much more believable. It’s warm and cosy, because it’s so close. It could almost happen. Sometimes I wish it did.
In the early 90s, his surrealist novels were widely popular in Russia and Germany. The political chaos and general turmoil surrounding these major transitions was great for sales. The writer said it himself: “Confused people like my books”.
This article has zero structure and I’m growing fond of it. I wanted to write about her work, but didn’t know how to tackle it. This somehow makes sense though, doesn’t it? My point, if I had one, would be that Lana makes great records. She shares her universe with us, this whole world that she has created by stealing bits and pieces of everything she loves and wishes were hers. She mentioned several times that she wants to live in a different era. Selfishly, I’m glad she doesn’t, because this way she can bring all of that to us now. And we can dive into it any time we need an escape.
An escape to simpler times, when we could get to the airport ten minutes before boarding the flight. Fly in a suit. Chain smoke anywhere. Spend the day drinking cocktails and whiskey on ice. Fuck our way up to the top, in a country where everything is still possible if you have the balls to reach for it.
Thank you for all your hard work, Elizabeth. Thank you for bringing us along for the ride. Please keep going, because we sure could use another one.
But then again, what do I know…
*****
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