Del Rey’s American dream doesn’t get much more honest than that. So when she gets a shot to trade religion for “Money Power Glory,” a hymnlike highlight, she grabs hold and doesn’t let go. Lana Del Rey’s second album of the year is a sweeping survey of her talent as a songwriter, stripped of the aesthetic borders she often places around her work. Most of Del Rey’s lovers are unlovable, her battles unwinnable. On “Old Money,” she vows, “If you call for me/You know I’ll run to you.” Del Rey has declared feminism “not an interesting concept” but toys with sexual power on “Fucked My Way Up to the Top.”
The title track – which quotes the Crystals’ controversial “He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)” over Auerbach’s liquid wah-wah – describes, with an ethereal chilliness, clinging to an abusive relationship. Compared to her previous albums, especially its somnolent 2015 predecessor, Honeymoon, Lust for Life is positively ebullient in tone, if not in tempo.
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The album wraps desire, violence and sadness into a tight bundle that Del Rey doesn’t always seem sure how to unpack. Lana Del Rey knows perfectly well her Lust for Life sounds sleepy in comparison to Iggy Pops full-blooded roar, but that doesnt mean the title of her fourth album is ironic. But Del Rey does allow herself to be coaxed into one striking departure, for the single “West Coast” – a deep groove that kicks her from chanteuse into frontwoman for a few glorious moments. It’s true that much of Ultraviolence, like Born to Die, rams the same sonic guidepost over and over. The slinky standout “Sad Girl” is essentially Del Rey’s theme song: “I’m a bad girl/I’m a sad girl,” she announces, her voice slipping from childlike coo to sedated swoon. “Shades of Cool” – a waltz featuring a searing Auerbach guitar solo, swollen strings and Del Rey’s operatic soprano – would be perfect for a James Bond film directed by Quentin Tarantino. Auerbach introduces dashes of bad ass blues and psychedelic guitar, but Del Rey – who co-wrote every song but the closing cover of Jessie Mae Robinson’s 1950s hit “The Other Woman” – holds tight to her pouty, cinematic aesthetic: the epic schmaltz of Ennio Morricone, reflected through the haze of a thousand dramatic selfies.ĭel Rey muse Chris Isaak gave us 1989’s “Wicked Game” Lana answers with “Cruel World,” where a reverb-drenched riff lurks behind seductively kvetched lyrics about love and madness. She has pulled back on nods to hip-hop and hired a new gun: the Black Keys‘ Dan Auerbach, who produced most of the LP at his Nashville studio.
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