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Lana Del Rey has spent the last 12 years crafting a captivating musical identity that centers on themes of intoxicating love, self-destruction, abandonment, and melancholia. While pop music often embraces reinvention, Del Rey values consistency in her art as she consistently explores her inner darkness through dreamy, lush ballads filled with unique details and a nostalgic nod to the glamour of old Hollywood and the raw allure of everyday American life. Occasionally, her songs are infused with modern trap beats, but it is always her signature voice – characterized by a soft, slightly slurred delivery – that remains at the forefront. In the past, she has referred to her style as “narco swing.”
In her beautiful and unsettling ninth album, Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd, Del Rey continues to explore this tumultuous and symbol-filled emotional landscape with intense passion. If the troubled figure portrayed here does not fit your image of a famous singer-songwriter, it is likely because you have not been exposed to enough tales of celebrity misery. On the hauntingly captivating title track – where she pays homage to her favorite moment in Harry Nilsson’s 1974 single Don’t Forget Me – she strongly identifies with the titular tunnel, which has been closed off for many years. Del Rey is tired of being closed off and fears being forgotten; she longs to be understood. “Open me up, show me you care / Love me intensely, until I learn to love myself,” she sings with melancholic grace.
She yearns for excessive and self-destructive affection, which guides her. She cleverly modernized the popular trope in her hit song Video Games from 2011. The track glorifies all-consuming love, even though it may be willfully delusional. However, on the remarkable A&W, she has lost even that. Over a scratchy acoustic guitar and warbling keys, she mutters about no longer needing someone to love her. Instead, the experience is now about being an American whore. As the song progresses, synths grow louder, a hypnotic trap beat emerges, and the sound becomes hazy, filled with feedback and hints of industrial music. We learn about Jimmy, who only loves her when he wants to get high. The singer herself transforms into a drugged-up choir destined for “the club”. It appears as a desperate plea from a tormented soul, but also has an abstract and conceptual element – a distorted anthem for an America ravaged by opioids.
The first track on Ocean Blvd is not like the others, which often explore themes of dysfunction in a poetic manner. Instead, “The Grants” features a gospel choir and is surprisingly wholesome, although it still has a dark undertone as Del Rey reflects on cherished memories such as her niece and her grandmother’s final smile, which her pastor believes are the only things that can be taken into the afterlife. Later on, she can be heard murmuring and laughing along with a lengthy recording of the controversial megachurch preacher Judah Smith, who has been known for his anti-abortion and homophobic beliefs. This caused confusion among critics – were Del Rey’s actions an endorsement of Smith’s views or a satirical critique?
Ocean Blvd is where Del Rey’s inherent ambiguity is deeply ingrained in her music. In contrast to her popular and unsettling pop songs that gained her fame in the 2010s, she now focuses on impressionistic material that may not immediately appeal to the pleasure center. These tracks require repeated listening, such as the Jon Batiste collaboration “Candy Necklace,” which is filled with Del Rey’s signature themes of idealistic, obsessive, and soul-sucking love. Although it may seem aimless at first, it becomes powerful and unforgettable over time. Investing in Del Rey’s world, with its dark American undertones, portrayal of female pain, and search for temporary transcendence, ultimately pays off. While Del Rey’s music has always incorporated elements of cheap and empty thrills, this album is richly imagistic and intriguingly cryptic, never falling into those same traps.
Source: theguardian.com
