There’s a whole kerfuffle in certain corners of the internet about Lana Del Rey.
Inauthentic, mumble, grumble, fake, lips, grumble, manufactured, bitch, whine.
Much like the whole trve/kvlt metal nonsense, the whole debate is bollocks.
The mental process for appreciating all music is as follows:
1: Is music good? If yes, proceed. If not, move the fuck on.
That’s it, my one-step program for music appreciation. The rest is just bullshit.
Anyway, I hesitate to post the video as, while I like it, it has rather a Pitchfork vibe.
More importantly, it is quite specific in its 1950s Hollywood imagery whereas the song itself evokes more universal and abstract emotions.
Also, the whole gangsta Nancy Sinatra thing is a distraction from a quality cracked pop song.
Nevertheless, here it is. Sup on its honeyed beauty.
Lana Del Rey is damaged goods. Self esteem on the floor. Living purely for her emotionally unavailable boyfriend. She loves him, does whatever he wants but is forced to survive on the scraps he tosses her.
I completely go within myself every time I hear the lines “I heard you like the bad girls honey, is that true?”
It’s not the lyrics themselves per se, it’s the way Del Rey’s voice just aches as she sings them.
It reminds me of Amy Winehouse, who before the death circus, was the doyenne of emotionally raw, cracked and broken soul.
It takes me to that melancholy internal space that I’m always chasing. It’s like metal in many way: pure escapism.
The backing is perfect: reverb-drenched piano that builds to a sequence of really lovely, subtle subterranean bass drops.
I just can’t get enough of this song. I don’t care if the hipsters love it too.