Lana Del Rey’s ‘Norman Fucking Rockwell’ is a Beacon of Hope Against The Evasive Darkness
There’s a lot to be said about this Californian, sadcore virtuoso’s eclectic, diverse, and overall impressive musical styling – sure, more often than not her music has been regarded as contrite, unintentionally droll, and jejune, with strained, if admirable, attempts at experimenting within the plains of psychedelia, hip-hop, and chamber-pop, however, Norman F******* Rockwell stretches far beyond anything the artist has reached out towards in the past, whereby with the help of Jack Antonoff’s genius involvement in production, Lana Del Rey has reached a sonic maturity that has hallmarked her legacy in a clarified body of work.
What’s comparatively different from this record to Del Rey’s previous work lays, ironically, in her expected style of being overtly melrose and poetic, but now overcast with the most demure golden halo of hope outlining the overwhelming and gargantuan darkness Del Rey combats with. This is most obvious in the album’s closer Hope Is A Dangerous Thing For A Woman To Have – But I Have It, whereby Del Rey discusses burning out almost entirely in a vapid reality where the lifestyle is as exhausting as it is exhilarating, taking it’s toll on the soul until all hope is gone. Specifically in regards to womanhood in the modern era where everything seems futile.
The entire album encapsulates some sort of hope for happiness, change, and peace, or the need for it whether that be in Del Rey’s lyrics or the composition of the record. Like, in the song Mariner’s Apartment Complex, a classic, yet trippy track about not being as fragile as one once was; about being stronger, resilient; somebody that can be the hero of the story; the guide to safety – as she puts it “your man” – or in the song Happiness Is A Butterfly, in which Del Rey releases herself fully, allowing her voice to flow out like a burning exasperation while being incredibly drunk, but wanting nothing more to dance; to relish in a little moment of happiness that’s as fleeting as a butterfly being chased ceaselessly too far from your grasp. More notably the track Bartender – a light song with lyrics about escaping to a simpler place even just for a moment of peace to some dive bar where no one knows your name so you can drink Bacardi and flirt with the bartender.
Of course, this album still has those Del Rey staples of waning ballads, and in spite of the record’s concept as a whole these tracks are just, in my opinion, emotional filler. With songs like Love Song, California, Cinnamon Girl, or the album’s title track lulling me almost entirely to sleep if it were not for the fantastic instrumental accompaniments, like scattered and clacking percussion, sliding guitar riffs, gritty and distorted synths, and really sombre keys – It shows fantastic layering and editing from the production team as each separate component in these sleepy ballad paints the most ear bursting image.
Take the song The Greatest – out of all the ballads del Rey’s thrown into the record this is by far the most sonically powerful, with pronounced rock guitars, beautifully poetic and dignified lyrics about reaching the peak of one’s life, followed by the most sombrely enriching chorus, ending with a surprisingly slow and stripped back outro that makes a point about today’s culture falling apart but ironically being the lit-est it’s ever been.
Even the track How To Disappear offers a fresh perspective and insight into the lives of Californians, where Del Rey’s abhorrently bummy lyrics about relying on substances to disappear from the sadness of reality are sung so beautifully you forget about that pain. Although, something interesting about this track, that actually is very telling of the entire album, is that I’m almost always wrong with where I suspect Del Rey is going composition-wise, where I expect her to end off she continues on, where I suspect her to go low she goes high.
There are actually many songs on this album that surprised me still, such as the song F*** It, I Like You, with the pre chorus offering a melodic suspension that happily hangs on a string until suddenly snapping and falling into a transcendent and repetitive prison like cycle, or her soulful and mournful cover of Sublime’s Doin’ Time, with a body shaking beat, and tonality so aimless yet cool that it almost makes the original sound lame. Even one of my least favourite tracks, The Next Best American Record – a track that’s arguably misplaced on this album – has an arrangement that’s a well crafted amalgam of Norman F****** Rockwell’s sound and the booming styling of Del Rey’s debut Born to Die.
However, its Venice Bitch that is /the/ song on the album. Del Rey’s longest track to date starts with a beautiful folky acoustic riff, Del Rey’s soft, and unpredictable vocals demurely singing in tandem, eventually reaching a pinnacle where it becomes some psychedelic infused track trailing off for 5 minutes with some eerie, distorted synths coming in and out of focus – every so often some gritty and distorted classic rock guitar screams, suddenly stopping and returning to the base line melody. Such a well thought out track with consistent surprises that still as I listen to it now, I can hear the subtle nuances Del Rey and her production team have delicately interwoven into the track.
Overall, Del Rey has always been a songstress for the people focusing on poeticism that somehow resonates with almost everyone to the point where they understand the troubles and tribulations that the artist has gone through, because they have gone through something similar – they just couldn’t put it into a language as tragically beautiful. And, Norman F****** Rockwell stands solitary to all its predecessors as a beacon of hope against the evasive darkness that makes Lana Del Rey’s work all the more captivating.
By David Lazarevic
