Carlos Sucre-Parra/Columnist
Photo Courtesy of Lanadelrey.com
The music industry rarely offers a second chance, which makes Lizzy Grant’s return, this time under the moniker of Lana Del Rey, a rare occurrence. “Born to Die,” the highly anticipated album from the singer, presents her efforts to justify the great buzz she has received online over the past months.
After several high-profile televised appearances, both nationally and abroad, much controversy has arisen over her music and persona, questioning her legitimacy as an artist and her abrupt appearance in the spotlight.
Yet, none of this matters if the material she presents is a lackluster effort, seeking to appease the already rabid fans of her work, rather than truly embrace the new followers and display a signature sound and image past a pseudo nostalgia facade she has projected in her music videos.
The problem with Del Rey and her album, in particular, is that it does not quite offer proper material to draw conclusions on her artistic abilities.
While the album itself is an hour of material and 15 tracks, some of these are simply rehashed versions from her previous EP. This, in itself, would not be a problem, except for the fact that those same tracks are the only highlights of the full-length album.
“Video Games,” “Born to Die,” and “Blue Jeans” made a strong impression last summer (even the far weaker track, “Off to the Races,” makes a comeback), but none of the new 11 tracks are truly worth listening to in their entirety.
Attempting to listen to the album in a single session quickly becomes a chore after the fourth track, as this haphazard approach to music-making starts to take place.
Random harp flourishes, awkward rapping and laughable stories of being a bad girl start to appear to try and set a nostalgic feel of the “ride or die,” Bonnie-and-Clyde-pseudo-fatalistic, “love will do us part” narrative makes weak attempts to grab the listener into a nostalgic feel of ‘50s grand Hollywood-portrayed love, and singers such as Nancy Sinatra as the strong female in charge of her destiny.
Del Rey is none of those things. While her idea of being a bad girl is skipping school, staying out until late, drinking and smoking, Sinatra threatened to destroy your heart, overcome your senses, and quite literally, step over you, if you crossed her (these boots, anyone?).
Del Rey’s passive persona does not fit into that same character she is trying to portray, leaving her with little more than the visual appearance of years past, but no real identity to work with. The song “Diet Mountain Dew,” both an awful track title and mediocre attempt at mainstream pop, best reflects the album overall.
An overtly simple melody, weak hook, and vocals drowned off by the instrumentation serve only as a reminder of a far better song with a similar melody: Gorillaz’s “19-2000.”
In the end, it is a difficult situation to find oneself on either side of the spectrum with regard to Del Rey. As a piece of independent music, which is debatable, it truly serves very little to further the craft and often sounds awkward and push—a pandering to the demographic, which has worked to some degree.
The sheer mention of Pabst Blue Ribbon on ice as a determinant of nonchalance and being cool in the song is one of the most cringe-worthy lyrics I have ever listened to, and it strongly pushes me towards deleting this album off my iTunes.
On the other hand, as a marketing device created by a major record label, it is a capable effort, and a brilliant effort on the public relations front, but not compelling music.
I guess we will have to wait until her third album for a real verdict.
Radiate Reviews is a weekly music review column.
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