Gowns: I tend to dislike Lana Del Rey singles. Seven years after “Video Games” horrified me, I’ve come around to her way of thinking. So sure is Del Rey’s writing that she could’ve written “Venice, Bitch” and come up with yet another song. But “Venice Bitch” earns its longeurs on the third play, and she deserves the credit, not Jack Antonoff. “Mariners Apartment Complex,” which gets from A to Z with less fuss, offered a subtle portrait of a woman offering sympathy to a man who nevertheless still categorizes her as a gold digger, slut, and harridan. Concede her talent for inhabiting the gold diggers and sluts and harridans of a century’s worth of Hollywood and pop music culture portraiture at least sixty percent of the time. Yeah, you need to get through the day and there’s reasons to live blah blah blah but oh god, I miss you on my lips.Īlfred Soto: Skeptics, grant her this: she writes the best titles in the biz. I enjoy how inconsequential everything other than, oh god I miss you, is to this song.
#Lana del rey sexy ass cracker#
To be fair, I have to ignore a lot of the lyrics, which have got to be intentionally on the level of Cracker Barrel decor in terms of referential pastiche, but I like laziness. It’s got everything: layered surf rock-ish guitar, vocals that are have arrived 20 minutes late with Starbucks, and a self-effacing, lovingly delivered hook. Lilly Gray: This could almost be a parody of a Lana song, but if you, like me, are down for pretty much anything this valium haint makes, it barely matters.
So as this song spreads out and closes it eyes I’m not sure if it’s a particularly expertly crafted onslaught of nostalgia or just one pinpointed perfectly for me, but job done either way. Iain Mew: I couldn’t count how many times I fell asleep in my childhood bed listening to Camel‘s Landscapes compilation, appropriately named for which orientation of their sweeping synth-prog it focused on. By the time we come back down to Earth, all that’s left of Lana is an old transmission while she herself is off somewhere in the cosmos, and we can only feel grateful she had us along for the high. Matias Taylor: This is the sound of leisurely riding off into the sunset, actually reaching the sun, circling around it a few times while its golden rays flicker around you, and on to strange wonders beyond. The song is ten minutes long but because of all the repetitiveness and boring mood, it feels like a friggen half hour.
Ten minutes is especially too goddamn long when you’re Lana Del Rey, who has absolutely no emotional range in the tone of her voice, lyrics that are fake deep, and musical stylings so dull and dreary that they’re the aural equivalent of Novocaine. Katie Gill: Unless you’re a stadium rock band with a convenient jam session in the middle of the song, you’re Meat Loaf, or you’re Loreena McKennitt, ten minutes is TOO GODDAMN LONG for a song. To paraphrase the actually good, actually dynamic Los Angeles song with Jack Antonoff involved: it keeps running, and running, but never moves. Unfortunately, she then adds 7 minutes of soporofic monotone back in. Katherine St Asaph: Lana Del Rey finally manages to break out of the soporofic monotone that has flattened her career for seven years.
It’s easy to get lost in a song when it doesn’t seem to know where it’s going. And then Jack Antonoff grabs the wheel, taking the scenic route through a meandering synth solo that drifts from wistful to wallpaper depending on the timestamp. The first few minutes are peak Lana, an impassioned meditation on the fragility of love and childhood through the ashes of a lost America. Similarly, the song feels like an exercise in wish fulfillment: Lana Del Rey makes her epic, not because she needs to, but because she can. Julian Axelrod: When “Venice Bitch” dropped, fans rejoiced their prayers for a 10-minute LDR song had finally been answered. Donnie Trumpet & the Social Experiment.Email (song suggestions/writer enquiries).
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