I know, I know, I’m a bit late on the release of the album but honestly, I do not rush to listen to her every time she comes out with something new, it always takes me a while before I decided to “get me a dose of Lana”. This time, however, as often happens actually, a friend wrote to me on fb waking me up at 6:00 in the morning (maybe she doesn’t remember that here in NY we are 6 hours behind).lana_del_rey_-_honeymoon_official_album_cover

“Did you hear the last album of Lana yet? Listen to it and write a piece, please.”

So here I am, I listened and I write a piece. ‘Cause I have to say something about the dear Lana Del Rey but with larger considerations because it’s inevitable.

The first song aired by the radio day by day was High By the Beach and honestly, after listening to the whole album, if all you want is ” get high by the beach ” no drug is needed.

Because Lana is like a drug, not a heavy drug, but one of those that make you feel good, that make you feel relaxed and with the brain in a daze. One that’s addictive ‘cause, mysteriously, somehow you can’t stop listening to her, it gets in your head and when she is not there you miss her.

Because Lana has the angelic face and a sophisticated look from the 70’s but her songs are about drugs, violence, jazz and blues, cars and sadness, sex and dark colors… and her voice seems tired, like one that you have when relaxing on a swing at the end of the day, with the sun setting behind your shoulders, warm light, eyes half closed and fingers in your hair.

The more I listen to her the more I picture her in California of the late 60’s singing for and with Charles Manson as one of his adepts, with her red hair and sad Bambi eyes, committing crimes of unprecedented violence justified by love.

Although it may seem attractive to live in a commune, with brothers and sisters interweaving each other’s hair, smoking joints and dancing in the sunshine singing the love and the passion and the inner demons that devour you, and those outside that must be fought, there was something insane in them and somehow there is something insane in Lana’s songs. And this path of violence, sex and torment, sunny and sleepy is crystal clear in old songs like Ultraviolence (“He hit me and it felt like a kiss, I can hear violins“) but comes back, perhaps more tired and weary but always alive, in this latest album with double meanings even too clear as in Religion (“When I’m down on my knees, you’re how I pray”) or Honeymoon (“There are violets in your eyes, There are guns That blaze around you, There are roses in between my thighs and fire That surrounds you “).

The truth is that in contrast to the smiling and timid girl that many describe from her concerts, from listening to her songs the portrait of Lana is the one of a charming and depressing figure, who exhaustedly drags herself with fatigue on hot and deserted California highways, probably lost and without even much desire to hitchhike to get home.

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