With her 9th studio album, Lana Del Rey sustains her place as an icon of 21st century music. Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Blvd provides a beautiful retrospective take on her life and career, that matures the sentiments she’s been writing about for the last ten years. The record laments on memory and imperfection, as she dives further into herself than she’s ever done before, offering a deeply personal reflection of self that proves to be a testament to her career.
The album opens with the gospel infused track ‘The Grants’, taking us back into Lana’s past focussing on the memories of her family, and the importance of these memories in establishing where she is at now. Memory is established as a central theme of the album, in building her identity and her legacy, it is constantly reverted back to as both a positive and painful influence. The intro to the song, featuring her backup singers making a mistake in the lyrics is a captivating moment, as she demonstrates the importance of finding beauty in imperfection, which is key in the place for her more painful memories. When she sings “my sister’s first born child I’m gonna take that too with me / my grandmother’s last smile I’m gonna take that too with me”, we see the importance of preserving loss and love together within the memories of ourselves, which in turn allows us to reposition the negative implications these memories can have. The image of her grandmother and niece together shows a great sense of hope and maturity, coming to this revelation, as there’s an understanding that all we are is the memories we take with us. And ultimately, Lana is choosing to take all of her memories with her, but reframed in a more pragmatic way.
The transition from ‘The Grants’ into the title track however demonstrates the difficulty in taking this approach, as she still places a fixation on how she is perceived by others from what she has to offer, and the memory of herself she leaves behind. ‘Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Blvd’ is embedded with mournful desperation, as there’s a strong awareness that her desire to not be forgotten like the tunnel under Ocean Blvd is incompatible with reality.
These sentiments however are shattered with the album’s standout track, ‘A&W’, a seven minute epic of Cecil B. DeMille proportions. The song makes it clear that, whilst she is defined by her memories and events of her past, she’s still able to defy the perceptions of her that these create. Split into two parts, the first opens with memories of her mother, before jumping into a presentation of her sexual identity where she indifferently accepts her existence as an ‘American Whore’. The second distorts this narrative, and seems to throw away the importance of it, as the track takes a harsher tone, and indulges in this image of herself she’s taken. The track offers a stronger sense of self awareness than she’s ever offered before, especially in combination with the ‘The Grants’, and the title track, as she drives between complete emptiness and fulfilment, ultimately conjuring a more aware image of the coquette-aesthetic she’s curated. There’s a clear acknowledgement that this is who she is, and that there’s not really much that can be said or done to change that. ‘A&W’ lays all Lana’s cards on her table, with one of her most exciting tracks to date, that accelerates her existing legacy.
The ‘Judah Smith interlude’ that follows sustains this dramatic revelation. This interlude was one of the most fascinating pieces of the album for me. Through the audio recording of Lana listening to a manically passionate sermon, we are placed as outsiders in this journey. It elevates the personal level of the album and the revelations Lana comes to. The sermon touches on identity, as Smith concludes that his preaching has always been about him, and he seems about one sentence short of concluding that he is god. Its inclusion is uncomfortable, both due to the perspective she places us in, that makes her commentary feel like that of the lost audience in a bootleg 70’s live album, but also because of the narcissistic implications that suggest the journey is going down a darker path of reckless overindulgence. The interlude is unsettling in the best of ways, as memories are once again reframed in the most selfish of ways. It’s a shame it’s followed by the most dull track on the album, ‘Candy Necklaces’, which fails to drive any narrative or musical experimentation forward.
However, when we reach ‘Fingertips’, we have a return to classic Lana, as the song forms the core of the album, positioned in the middle, it tackles everything this album is trying to do dealing, with memory and self in the most distinct of ways. The style is reminiscent of her poetry on ‘Violet Bent Backwards Over The Grass’, a five minute stream of consciousness that deals with emotional baggage and where to store it going forward. It’s a raw, deeply personal output. You can’t shake the image of her uncle “Dave who hung himself high”. It’s a beautifully uncomfortable narrative that intrudes with dark, disturbing images of her past whilst still settling on a more hopeful future. Its abundantly clear that she is finding herself within these memories no matter how tragic they appear. This expression of grief is a cathartic centrepiece as the sorrow allows her to move forward and return to “being a serene queen”, letting go of the viewpoints created on ‘A&W’ and the title track.
Perhaps the most interesting non-single track on the album however is ‘Margaret’, a love song about the relationship between the albums producer Jack Antonoff and his fiance Margaret Qualley, featuring Antonoff’s band Bleachers. The song clings to the old Hollywood image Lana has maintained since her debut, but reflected with greater awareness. It’s still a romantic image that’s created but it neither feels over-romanticized like ‘Born To Die’ and ‘Paradise’, or warped like her interpretation on ‘Lust For Life’. There is something quite sad about knowing that what is possibly the most romantic love song Lana has written to date is about other people, but the declaration of platonic love that shines through is a much more satisfying conclusion. There’s a clear ability to move past the failed romances of her own past, that has called the future into question, and instead indulge in the positive experiences happening around her. The future is never more present than in this song, and gives us one of the most enlightening developments that has occurred on any Lana album to date. The possibility of connection and love are on full display in ‘Margaret’ as the stripped back arrangements are coupled with the soft reflections of “when you know you’ll know” and “maybe tomorrow you’ll know” that sustains a glimmering image of hope before bursting into a more jazz based outro that feels intentionally reminiscent of Blue Bannisters’ ‘If You Lie Down With Me’, to elevate this change in outlook.
The album is expertly closed with ‘Taco Truck X VB’, another two parter that delves into herself, it interlopers 2018’s ‘Venice Bitch’ to send off the album. Whilst it can be seen as quite an audacious choice to sample yourself, it’s perfect in allowing her to show the development that she is going through as an artist and as a person, as she combines the folk rock influence of Norman Fuckin’ Rockwell with the trip-hop of her earlier work. It’s playfully chaotic, as she takes pieces of the Lana Del Rey character and aesthetic she’s created and repositions them to new conclusions. ‘Taco Truck X VB’ is unapologetic in demonstrating where Lana is now both personally and artistically. It’s indulgent in the best of ways, saying that she’s going to keep doing what she’s doing regardless of outside interpretation, or criticism. Which in turn, is going to result in some of the most interesting popular music being made today.
Rating: 8.5/10
