Music Review

Lana Del Rey: Romanticising the Unromantic

23rd Apr 2024 — 3 Comments

One of my favourite quotes comes from actor, Ethan Hawke, being asked “Do you think human creativity matters?”. His response reads:

“Most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about poetry. Right? They have a life to live, and they’re not really that concerned with Allen Ginsberg’s poems or anybody’s poems until their father dies, they go to a funeral, you lose a child, somebody breaks your heart, they don’t love you anymore, and all of a sudden, you’re desperate for making sense out of this life, and, ‘Has anybody ever felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?’ … ‘What is happening to me?’ … And that’s when art’s not a luxury, it’s actually sustenance. We need it.”

This singular quote changed my entire perspective on how I see the world, and in this case, music. It’s such a sentiment that I think underlines Lana Del Rey’s ethos as a musician. I remember when I first listened to her discography, I thought to myself ‘Why would anyone ever want to listen to anything this dreary?’. In light of Hawke’s insight, I have begun to read Lana’s sound in an entirely new way. Her music is to be applied to your own situation, make sense of whatever struggle you have, and guide your hand through the fire and out the other side unscathed. In Hawke’s words “it’s actually sustenance”.

The creation of singer songwriter, Lizzy Grant, known professionally as Lana Del Rey, so often harnesses her emotional trauma in her music, boldly tackling extremely difficult topics such as substance abuse, toxic relationships, physical abuse and submissive naivety. A heady cocktail of sadness that many understandably choose to avoid, Del Rey continues to bravely speak her harrowing truths, wear her heart on her sleeve and explore the realities that so many experience and too few have the courage to broadcast to the masses. Being a unique figure in the music industry, Del Rey is utterly, desperately alone; exempt from any particular musical scene, void of any impersonators and resistant to imitation. This loneliness underpins so much of her sound, yet is oftentimes shockingly romanticised. From the moment her name leaves your mouth, Lana Del Rey has curated her own luxurious aesthetic that musters up visions of lavish ballrooms, opulent colour, and affluent old-money appeal. From her appearance on the ‘Great Gatsby’ soundtrack, to her muse being portrayed on the front cover of Vogue, her image screams success; yet her voice mutters in quiet desperation.

Through her tragically beautiful chords, time and time again Del Rey’s  fluttering, ornate instrumentations have perked the ears of millions, whilst her melancholy vocals have touched the hearts of those adrift. This dichotomy of sound is at its most recognisable on Del Rey’s third studio album Ultraviolence. At her most vulnerable, Del Rey taps into her loneliness and proceeds to suck it dry. The overarching feeling is a sense of seediness, desperation, and a hyper-romanticised focus on brutal isolation and loss. All these themes are blown up to gigantic proportions as Lana rides the blue crest of sadness across the album’s entire runtime. Wholly blending the romantic with the unromantic is the album’s title track ‘Ultraviolence’. An orchestra of hopeful strings thrusts us into a regal amphitheatre of blind romance, whilst the supporting piano chords and buoyant bass guitar add the final flourishes to an instrumentation fit for an angel. The reality, however, is that this instrumentation merely clothes the devil in a new dress, serving as a façade to a song in which love and physical abuse are intertwined. Scattered throughout the track is Lana’s trademark iconography in which love takes on an ugly face, through terrifying utterances like “He hit me and it felt like a kiss” and “Give me all of that ultraviolence”. The harsh reality of abuse is right there front and centre. Yet, blinded by the beautiful soundscape Del Rey creates, the lines of love and violence somehow blur for us just as much as they did for her, causing the “sirens” to sound like “violins”.

Her songs are slow and atmospheric, filled with theatrical melancholy, encompassing familiar themes of women in trouble due to their yearning for abusive men who remain, somehow, toxically irresistible. Off the same album, the track ‘Sad Girl’ further enforces this sonic philosophy as Del Rey acknowledges her own willing subservience at being the “mistress on the side” despite longing for something more. As the song progresses, her initial stubbornness wears away as she reveals to the listener that no matter how much she tries to see this relationship in a positive light, this setup will forever make her a “sad girl”. Such a declaration creates the structure for the chorus, as Lana repetitively hurls this self-flagellation into the ether, emphasising her anguish and engulfing the song in her craving for something real. All the while, Del Rey maintains one cutting line throughout; “But you haven’t seen my man”. Somehow within this mixing pot of sorrow, for me that line holds the most purpose. It negates all of Del Rey’s self-recognition, as even when presented with all the facts, she will still justify being the “mistress” and remain under her man’s irresistible spell casted through his physical allure. 

Off her critically acclaimed album Norman Fucking Rockwell, ‘Cinnamon Girl’ is another deep dive into Del Rey’s experiences with love, as she painstakingly yearns for an end to her damaging history with men, to such an extent that she fabricates a potential future with a present that was never even there. Once again, Del Rey plunges us into a theatre of idealistic romance with a seductive instrumentation, packed to the brim with melodic piano chords, an ensemble of violins, and Del Rey’s quintessential angelic tone as her voice becomes a beacon of hope. Every piece of the music works in perfect harmony to summon up a reality of unconditional love, a reality which Del Rey envisages.  The truth is less melodic, it’s abrasive, it’s dark; it’s unrequited love. From the offset, we are presented with an unbalanced relationship as the subject of Del Rey’s desires continually takes pills to push her away and keep her “at arm’s length”. Whether these pills are used to escape his problems, forget about Lana’s existence or simply scare her away, we don’t know, but she continually finds her “way back in” despite all the warning signs. As we enter the chorus, Del Rey reveals what she has been searching for all along and why she continually embarks on the long journey back to her supposed safe haven:

But if you hold me without hurting me,

You’ll be the first whoever did

These two lines encompass everything she has ever wanted – a passion for closeness, security and comfort – three things which run in contrast with her distant and cold reality at arm’s length. Prior to this declaration the line “There’s things I wanna talk about, but better not to give”, demonstrates her acceptance that she is unable to ask for this closeness. Out of a fear of encroaching on her partner’s freedom and an even larger anxiety of becoming a nuisance to his way of life, Del Rey bites her tongue and deprives herself of what she truly wants. Fearful of isolation and powerless to change anything, Del Rey remains within a stagnant relationship that will forever leave a bitter taste in her mouth – bringing a new meaning to Cinnamon Girl.

Del Rey frequently addresses the emotional suffering and manipulation at the core of so many of her experiences, and never holds back with her honesty. It’s heart-breaking. So why does it always sound so good? To hark back to Ethan Hawke’s quote, it’s sustenance. Music is a portal through which people can engage with and apply to their own situation, not just to validate their own feelings, but to begin to seek a way out of the darkness. Del Rey’s music certainly makes those who have shared similar experiences feel seen, and that undoubtedly helps to overcome those feelings of isolation, but the reason, I believe, Del Rey makes music is to spur on a positive change. Her glamorisation of depression and submissiveness (to name a few) forces people to engage with her songs, sing her choruses and no matter how subconsciously, consider their own experiences with the ubiquitous nature of relationships, both with ourselves and to others. The desperation for mutual connection runs consistently through her tracks and almost disturbs with its frequency and brutality. If listening to ‘Ultraviolence’, ‘Sad Girl’, or any other bleak Lana track, feels like looking into a mirror, then it forces us to look inward. She creates music to entice us into her web, where we are forced to question our own situation before her angelic falsettos cut viscerally into our very soul, warning us to stay any longer. 

With Lana’s tendency to dive headfirst into deeply disturbing and uncomfortable topics, you absolutely have to be willing to go with her and be open to uncovering the reality of her situation and perhaps in turn your very own. To have such misery reflected back at oneself should result in one thing – change.

Ceremony: From the fire a phoenix is born

26th Sep 2023 — Leave a comment

More often than not a song will incite some personal response within me, causing me to tumble down a rabbit hole of thoughts as I try apply the tracks messaging to the wider scope of life. Rarely however, I act on that instinct straight away, set up in front of my computer and let my fingers loose. New Order’s terrific ‘Ceremony’ however, did exactly that. Sometimes a song just finds you at the exact right time. Everything aligns, each punchy lyric hits harder than ever before, every pluck of a bass reverberates throughout your very being and you hit the repeat button time and time again. When this happens, you absolutely have to engage with that feeling.

It’s no secret that the sound of life is music. From the helplessly minute to the terrifyingly large, each shade of human emotion is portrayed in its own unique way, and in the words of John Keating from Dead Poets Society, this is because “The human race is filled with passion!”. New Order’s Ceremony is overflowing with raw, complex, relatable passion, a passion which is evident not only in Bernard Sumner’s vocal performance, but the track’s recognisable desperation to be seen and listened to. It wants people to relate, it wants people to consul it and say, ‘yes yes I know what you mean’. Phil Cunningham opens the track with the guitar’s equivalent of a cry for attention. Only 28 seconds in and he’s already seemingly wrestling with this emotional beast, as you can almost picture it writhing in his hands, begging to be let loose. It grabs your attention, not only with its mesmerising energy but its tragically recognisable desperation.

So where is all this desperation coming from? I think the answer is found both in the lyrics and the songs haunting backstory. Previously Joy Division, New Order are a band who begun because something ended. They fly, because someone fell. After just two albums, the mystical lead singer of Joy Division, Ian Curtis, tragically committed suicide having struggled with epilepsy. At just 23, his family lost him too soon, the world lost an absorbing talent, and Joy Division lost their identity. Questions for the band ran rampant; How could he be gone? What do we do now? Should we go on? Who would be the vocalist?

What do we do with Ceremony?

Before Curtis died, the band were working on Ceremony and Curtis was writing the lyrics. Frozen in time, the original track was never finished, as the true lyrics got lost into the void. To this day only 3 versions of Curtis’ edition remain, each as haunting as the last. Seemingly thrusting a desperate hand from the abyss, these versions eternally remain unfinished, unclear and ambiguous, yet you can’t help but feel that Curtis was trying to tell us something. One final ode to the world he operated within. The remaining band members simply couldn’t leave this desperate wish unfulfilled. Everyone needed closure.

Metamorphosing into something wholly new but comfortingly similar, Joy Division restructured with Bernard Sumner stepping into the heavy shoes of lead vocalist, and Gillian Gilbert joining as keyboardist and guitarist, as Stephen Morris, Phil Cunningham, and Peter Hook remained in their existing roles. From the brink of extinction, New Order were born. It was perhaps fitting then their first release encompassed this notion that occasionally in life, the final note of a beautiful melody gracefully ends, paving the way for a symphony of new beginnings. Ceremony bridged the gap between what Joy Division had been and what New Order would become, it was about endings and subsequent beginnings.

The crushing lyrics and Curtis’ baritone howl had defined the band. But under the surface had always been a whole world of swirling synths, dancey disco-inspired beats, and melodic bass lines that would soon come to define the direction of New Order. From the fire came a phoenix, as Ceremony is not only dangerously upbeat, but more hopeful in its lyrical content, even when faced with such a harrowing past. They took something tragic, the death of a friend, and turned it into hope for the future. Up to Bernard Sumner to decipher Curtis’ lyrics from terrible audio recordings, the lyrics take a natural ambiguity, and that only plays into the tracks meaning even more. Nothing is certain within Ceremony. Is it sad? Is it happy? The song blurs the lines between emotional conventions. Just as events from our own lives blur the lines between tragedy and opportunity.

Heavily disputed on the internet, the lyrics suggest a number of possibilities – with the two most popular being that the track is about either a wedding or a funeral, both clear demonstrations of a ‘ceremony’. Two powerfully antithetical realities, such vague imagery is intended to intertwine and overlap so the track can become whatever you need it to be. It serves as an outlet of hope, or heartbreak, for your own situation, allowing your own ambiguous experience to be seen by another. With this messaging in mind, the opening lyrics read:

Notice whom for wheels are turning

Turn again and turn towards this time

For many, the song opens with the scene of a hearse snaking its way up towards the cemetery gates. Inch by inch the wheels ‘turn again’, as ‘this time’ it is the narrator’s partner’s time to leave. Their time has come to move on, and the wheels of change turn for them. Later on, the line “Avenues all lined with trees”, further reinforces this scene of a funeral procession moving towards their destination. The metaphorical nail in the coffin soon follows as Sumner, with his unwavering acceptance of life’s vicissitudes, utters the line “Picture me when you start watching”. Such a line achingly conveys the profound desire of the grieving lover that their departed soulmate continually pictures their muse as they watch down from above in their next chapter. A heart-wrenching request which brings the shattering reality of loss under the spotlight, whilst simultaneously working as a testament to the possibility of an eternal connection that transcends the bounds of mortality, as both the bereaved and deceased stand by “Forever watching love grow”. Equal parts tragic and hopeful, the double-edged nature of Ceremony demonstrates an understanding that these events are part of life, no matter how much they scar us, and must happen for new experiences and growth to stand in their place.

This poignant message is emphasised further, by viewing the track through an alternate lens. To focus on the same opening passage, the wheels turning could also allude to a much-needed change happening in someone’s life. After harbouring so much hope for a positive future, for so long, at last, the wheels of change are moving, as “this time” the individual’s efforts will be rewarded. Throughout the track, the phrase “this time” is repeated, suggesting that the narrator has tried tirelessly to achieve a certain outcome, and it’s within this very moment that their efforts finally accumulate into everything they ever dreamed of. Some have read the track as being an ode to the complexities and longing for love, with one passage hammering home our determination to express and receive love:

Oh, I’ll break them down, no mercy shown

Heaven knows, it’s got to be this time

Personally, I don’t see the wedding imagery some people do; however, these two lines certainly convey a recognisable resilience to pursue love, despite the prior hardships faced. The clause “it’s got to be this time” suggests a steadfast resoluteness to express oneself to the person they love the most, even if they’ve done it before, even if they’ve failed before, this time it will be different, “heaven knows” this time love will finally be found. Maybe the narrator has listened to their romantic interest’s needs, perhaps they have banished their inner demons, maybe they have just tried so many times their partner to-be has simply been ground down to settling for them. Nobody will ever truly know. But what we as the listener can see, is a door close, and another one open. The icy existence of solitude has melted away, beckoning in a warmer present, co-inhabited by two individuals, stood side-by-side “Forever watching love grow”.

Ceremony isn’t saccharin sweet; it operates within the confusing, ever-changing realm of life. Off the back of Curtis’ death, the remaining band members were forced to look inward, do they buckle under the weight of tragedy, or come to the understanding that not all closed doors result in the end of the road. Stemming from the track’s flexible ambiguity, there’s a happiness to Ceremony which derives from the knowledge that all good things must come to an end, in order for something better to stand in their place. We are reminded that life isn’t as black and white as we perhaps hope it to be sometimes, and it’s down to us as the consumer of life’s experiences to seek out the endless shades of grey which float in the middle. They may seem ambiguous and elusive to us now, but the more we focus our gaze, the more we see the black in the white, the white in the black, and a spectrum of hope, rage, suffering, and tranquillity in-between.

It’s songs like Ceremony that scream out into the world, pleading to be listened to. Answer the call. You will find something in return.