In her videos, Lana Del Rey collages the iconography of American glamour: neon lights, swimming pools, sunglasses and skateboards. Her culled images are mostly “vintage”, some modern. She mashes exotic americana to create tragi-glamorous tone poems. Del Rey’s stories are insubstantial; she is after ambiance, not substance. It’s a belles-lettres approach, rife with melodramatic images and little actual story. If there’s any theme to the videos, it’s that they relish loss and corruption. Del Rey adores the elements of glamour: money and manipulation and excess. It’s the school of “since it’s pretty and sad, it must be pretty because its sad.” Her videos titillate my sensibilities, while leaving me feeling sort of empty and bamboozled. But it’s an effective titillation that has me coming back for more. In fact, I get a pleasant, boozy high, buzzing around her pop culture bouquet.
And the songs are hypnotic:
She calls herself a gangster Nancy Sinatra. I think she’s a Youtube Julie London: