Lana Del Rey
Ultraviolence
13 June 2014
UMG Recordings
4.5 stars out of 5
Pieces of trivia like “more than one million copies sold”
and “debuted at number one on the Billboard 200” usually cause me to ignore an
album, as what tends to move the most units is usually the lowest common
denominator of bland, but Lana Del Rey’s third LP, Ultraviolence, despite fitting both of those descriptors (units
sold and chart position), is pretty much impossible to ignore and doesn’t
contain a single bland moment. Musically, the record occupies a world where
Elliott Smith and Neko Case might intersect, incorporating Smith’s emotive,
reverbed vocal style and Case’s sense of theatricality and melody. As a concept
album about the lust for money, power, and glory in the music industry, it
succeeds in both intensity and cohesiveness.
From the opening few bars of the monster that is “Cruel
World,” it’s clear that Del Rey isn’t fucking around. If you’d thought (like
me) that the whole singer-songwriter genre was over and done with long ago,
tracks like “Ultraviolence” and “West Coast” will quickly make you reconsider.
Del Rey’s sadness could power the entire Eastern Seaboard and still have enough
juice left over to push the razor blade through the skin of her wrists. And
when she’s not revelling in her sadness, she’s savouring the sweet
accomplishment recounted in “Fucked My Way Up to the Top.” In our society of
the spectacle, Del Rey has given us the ultimate conspicuous disaster to devour
with our consumerist gaze. If you buy only one strummy-guitar record this year
(why would anyone want more that one?), this is probably the one that you
should be spending your hard-earned dollars on.
reviewed by Richard Krueger
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