Lana Del Rey‘s Norman Fucking Rockwell! is a dazzling and, at times strange, artistic triumph. Listeners will marvel at her many undeniable talents, even during the album’s meandering and tonally discordant moments.
Release Date: August 30, 2019 | Polydor/Interscope Records | Facebook | Twitter
Like many others, I first came to know Lana Del Rey during the fall of 2011 with the release of her breakthrough single “Video Games.” An unlikely hit in a pop-music climate dominated by upbeat hits from LMFAO, Maroon 5, One Direction and Nicki Minaj. With its shimmering sadness, the world was hit with a left-field anthem of malaise that would go on to help propel its maker to the top of the pop stratosphere for the rest of the decade.
Many tags have been thrown around when describing Del Rey’s music. Most curious to me is ‘Americana,’ a term that seemingly means a lot, but when held up to scrutiny doesn’t really mean anything at all. It’s partially used to frame her output as an exercise in tapping into a bygone era of iconic American music… but which era? Throughout her career, her musical reference points have been often cited as the 50s and 60s (two decades quite culturally distinct from one another), but there is so much more to her than that. Speaking strictly in terms of genre conventions, her music has at various points encompassed trip-hop, trap, 60s psychedelic, and more. The inability to meaningfully pin her sound to any specific movement or place, while it simultaneously evokes a familiar and deeply American moment that never really existed, is what makes her so compelling to me and i’m sure to many others as well.
It’s within this context that her latest album Norman Fucking Rockwell! arrives to further complicate the narrative. The album is a musical behemoth, with a relatively lengthy 14 tracks, and a run time that clocks in at over an hour. Artists in the current musical landscape seldom get away with that, and yet here this is in all its uninhibited glory… largely to stellar effect, though occasionally marked by creative choices I found challenging to digest.
Things start off with the title track, and perhaps the record’s finest lyrical moment: ‘Goddamn man-child/you fucked me so good that I almost said I love you.‘ I say this not because these are the most poignant lyrics on the album, but because the placement up front lands like a slap to the face. It’s classy and trashy all at once, and lingers in the memory long after the album is over. The track’s set to a backdrop of lush piano notes, stripped down without sacrificing memorability or theatricality, and as such, serves as the perfect introduction. Afterwards we’re treated to “Mariners Apartment Complex,” which is essentially the title track with the keys swapped out for acoustic guitar. Rounding off the album’s beginning nicely is “Venice Bitch,” a 9-minute epic that combines elements of the first two tracks – wrapped up in a dreamy 60s folk sheen – complete with wild retro synths and fuzzy guitar solos! It’s a brilliant track and a bold move to make so early on.
It’s Del Rey’s cover of Sublime’s classic summer tune “Doin’ Time” that proves to be the album’s boldest and most complicated moment. The track was released earlier this year as a single, and was a summer playlist staple. It’s the quintessential cover, reinvented into Del Rey’s own piece of art while simultaneously remaining recognizable to those familiar with the original. It hones in on a subtle aspect of Sublime’s version – its smooth trip-hop glaze – engorging it so that it becomes the defining feature of the entire cover. Towards the end of the song, it briefly and seamlessly fades into an exact replica of the original, before casually dipping back out and coming to a close. It’s one of the finest covers i’ve ever heard… and sounds nothing like anything else on the record. It’s so jarringly out of place that I didn’t know what to make of it. Conversely, it was a palette cleanser of sorts that allowed me to view the remainder of the album from a fresh perspective – highlighting points of strength and weakness that might not have been apparent without such a break.
After “Doin’ Time” we get “Love Song” – another piano ballad that falls flat given the more effective execution of the opening title track. Fortunately, “Love Song” is followed by a collection of tracks that regain the album’s momentum by functioning as a sort of stylistic ‘best of Lana Del Rey‘ collage that includes: “Cinnamon Girl,” featuring darker synth elements juxtaposed against sweet haunting vocals, reminding me a little bit of Chelsea Wolfe; “How to Disappear,” with its slow waltz that eventually gives way to shades of 60s surf; “California,” characterized by a cocktail of 60’s trippy strumming and strings, washing over Del Rey’s slurred delivery of the lyrics and evoking her Ultraviolence era; and finally “The Next Best American Record,” which splits the difference between the album’s characteristic piano balladry and trip-hop swagger of “Doin’ Time.”
By the time track 11 “The Greatest” arrives, we’re back in piano ballad territory. However, like the title track, Del Rey has landed a hit here. It’s grand and cinematic, like something sung in a bar before the violent climax of a neo-noir flick. It’s everything that makes Del Rey a star, and is a perfect balance of the album at its most musical and lyrical. If I had to pick one track to represent this record, it would probably be this.
The remaining tracks retread earlier piano ballad territory and feature little of the flourishes that make the title track and “The Greatest” stand out. In fact, the final tracks are the most stripped down songs on the entire album. Upon further reflection I realized that they were crafted as a platform to showcase the story told within the lyrics. I seldom gravitate towards the lyrics of the music I listen to, unless they are particularly attention grabbing – for good or bad. As such, the stripped down minimalist nature here proved initially challenging for me to unpack. It was only when I stepped back from evaluating the album solely as a music record and more as a work of performance art that things fell more comfortably into place.
A recurring lyrical theme throughout the record is reflections on loss. Loss of good times; loss of bad (yet reassuringly familiar) times; and people, places, culture, seasons, and time. In the way that the best poetry always does, the lyrics engage and are familiar without betraying the explicit meaning of the author. As a work of storytelling, Norman Fucking Rockwell! is a brilliant accomplishment. The music reflects the story, whether its accompanying it in layers, or simply propping it up with minimalist keys. Del Rey should be commended for producing the finest story of her artistic career thus far.
Norman Fucking Rockwell! is a tremendous record with a definite identity that staggers from time to time. I would have enjoyed it more if it were a bit shorter. I would have preferred it if the tracks had been arranged so that the final piano ballads were spaced out more evenly. I would have liked it if “Doin’ Time” had been removed entirely, or other similar tracks been added to the album to compliment it. Despite my nitpicking, it’s a gorgeous artistic achievement and a testament to Lana Del Rey’s talents as a vocalist, lyricist, and captivating conceptional visionary. Existing fans will feel comfortable with the material (it sits nicely beside Honeymoon in her discography). The uninitiated will appreciate the craftsmanship, wit, and authenticity… if nothing else. It’s not my favorite Lana Del Rey album, but it will be many people’s favorite. Ultimately, it’s a record that defies easy critical assessment and is something to be discovered for yourself. It will be time well spent.
