It is hard to believe, but this past October marked the 10th anniversary of Lana Del Rey’s “Video Games.” The song became a sensation, launching a career that would be endlessly scrutinized starting with a notorious performance on Saturday Night Live. Along with questions surrounding whether or not her image was manufactured, people quickly took sides on whether she was sincere, reflecting an anti-feminist agenda based around abusive relationships and objectification. There’s no denying that on the surface it looks that way. She was the “gangster Nancy Sinatra,” singing about an Americana that had long passed. Who was this woman who seemed out of time, so infatuated with embodying 60s crooners while singing so candidly about depression and sex?
By all accounts, her previous album “Chemtrails Over the Country Club” could’ve just been a victory lap of her survival. It was a perfect antithesis to where her journey started, reflecting a road trip through America that opened up her sound, adding folk elements and this underlying optimism that she was accused of not having. It felt like a break from the glamorous lifestyle she had made a career out of imitating. If anything, the announcement of her pregnancy more than legitimized the idea that this was the last that we’d hear from her for at least a few years.
Add in deleting her social media accounts, and it felt like a grand shift. She was removing herself from the conversation, not allowing anyone in and very little out. It may be why “Blue Bannisters” as an album feels under-promoted, barely registering on the radar compared to her past few albums. Outside of a laughable original album cover, not a lot was known. It’s a shame because the one thing that’s abundantly clear is that where “Chemtrails” could be accused of being understated, “Blue Bannisters” feels like her most masterful album in eons. Those worried that she’d fully remove herself from the pop landscape will be relieved to know that she is back to her cinematic and operatic stylings, making every song a shamelessly towering ode to human existence.
It can be argued that every work that Lana Del Rey has released exists behind some level of artifice, a character that isn’t being entirely honest. However, there is a sense that these walls have slowly been coming down. There are story songs, but there’s also more evidence of her incorporating aspects of her life, past and present, in more direct ways.
To play off the title, this is her “Blue” period. The color evokes a mellowness, possibly a channel of water flowing through life. It’s a theme that comes up repeatedly throughout the album, reflecting something significant. Much like the best of her work, it could be that blue starts as a sad emotion and eventually becomes symbolic of a new day. Things may not look like they have changed, but that’s from the perspective of the outside. This is one of her most insular albums, so full of self-reflection and asking herself “Who am I?”
It is true that she cannot change the public image that she’s acquired over the past decade, but this is her attempt to rewrite the narrative, take ownership of her own story. It may be why she decided to open the album with “Text Book,” a song that features a lot of regrets, singing “Do you think if I go blonde, we could get our old love back?” in-between lines of loving her father, fighting for civil rights, and realizing that she has changed. She is not the girl we’ve thought she was. If she doesn’t start living now, then when?
Gone is the focused clarity of Jack Antonoff’s production on her last two albums. Between “Norman Fucking Rockwell” and “Chemtrails,” there was a tidiness, a compact nature that found her at her most direct. With “Blue Bannisters,” she presents anxiety that can be downright self-indulgent but reflects her desire to challenge the soundscape. Over the opening five minutes, she exudes confidence as a singer, at times invoking Amy Winehouse in a verse before singing in a higher pitch over the chorus, the tempo changing like a sped-up heart rate. The progression is in constant flux, eventually including a choir that overwhelms, building these emotions that shine in her timbre. If she’s not being sincere, then at least she’s really damn good at being the glue for a production that constantly risks falling into pure chaos.
And that is what “Blue Bannisters” ultimately has going for it. Even if it has periods of being overlong (especially near the end), there are moments where she is in her truest experimental form. She is rejuvenated, not entirely sure what her sound needs or wants to be. At times, this is the most she’s flirted with Top 40 theatrics since “Lust for Life,” most notably on the interlude “The Trio,” which is essentially just a piece of Ennio Morricone’s score from The Good The Bad and The Ugly (1966) with a few trap beats and hi-hats thrown in. It’s idiosyncratic, never fitting in with another track. Even then, this winking misdirection feels like a sly smile forming in Lana Del Rey’s face. The music video (tagged onto the one for “Arcadia”) finds her flipping off the camera, embracing the carefree attitude. This is who she is, and she’s done answering to execs and critics.
If one wanted to play music theory with “Blue Bannisters,” it would be easy to see this as a concept album, that “The Trio” embodies a clean divide between the prelude and the bigger story. The tracks “Text Book,” “Blue Bannisters,” and “Arcadia” establish character, reflecting the woman that will be experiencing love and heartbreak across the remaining tracks. The title track in particular is one of her most entertaining, featuring a story of riding a John Deere and jumping into the pool. She is telling an evocative story, reflecting a private glance into her inner circle, exploring the loyalty of her boyfriend based around if he’d paint her banisters blue. It’s a story filled with characters, symbolism, reflecting a life in California that makes her feel so alive. The symbolism of her banisters turning grey is itself some form of emotional decay. Along with “Arcadia” declaring “My body is a map of L.A.,” there is a sense of home that’s being recontextualized, of feeling displaced in more ways than one.
Lyrically, this is the most accomplished album that she’s maybe ever released. It’s the culmination of a career determining how she fits into a grander narrative. In a world where every song is a cinematic journey, she is finally feeling real. Even with instrumentation that may be her most jagged, at times completely baffling, there is a maturity that makes her swings feel more confident. Sure she still sings with a campy wink at the listener, but there’s more depth to her heartbreak, her story songs having more weight that rewards additional listens.
Songs like “Beautiful” are gems that find her trying to tear herself free from the past while finding a small fondness. With a bare piano starting the song, more notes are added as her voice rises, filling out as lyrically she becomes more aware of the themes. Her harmonies have a bittersweet quality, a longing that is restrained, as if holding back tears. Others like “Black Bathing Suit” and “If You Lie Down With Me” have tearful backing vocals that only add to the soundscape, rewarding headphones that help the voices echo, attacking your soul. Even if there’s at times minimalism to it, Lana Del Rey has incorporated an operatic sound that perfectly digs into the emotions, elevating simple heartache into an epic four minutes at a time.
The most noteworthy departure on the album is “Dealer,” which starts with male vocals singing in a warped style reminiscent of Devonte Hynes, swaying as if intoxicated. It is melancholic, subdued. Given that he’s not credited, it makes the initial listen a bit jarring, but only tees up Lana Del Rey’s most impressive vocal turn on the whole album. It’s far from the best produced or even cleanest. If anything, the unpolished, scratchy texture works to accentuate a pain as she sings about this metaphorical addiction, finding herself codependent on a drug that she’s used to escaping the pain of her break-up with her boyfriend.
As per usual, the track ends with a small moment of levity. For someone known exclusively as conveying “sad girl” energy, Lana Del Rey is a master at scathing lyrics that undercut emotions nicely. In this case, a simple utterance of “You’re high” both symbolizes the themes of the song as well as the audience, who are in their own euphoric state, surprised by how well this captured the feeling of a bender, a codependence on something that is hurting us. Her vocals ache in ways that they’ve never been allowed to, distorted as she tries to protect her dealer, believing that it’s the only thing keeping her stable.
Yes, this album is in some ways another spin around the depression merry-go-round. She is once again wallowing in despair as she looks back at life. At times she feels aimless, lost, even digging up tracks like “Thunder” and “Cherry Blossom” from her previously unreleased demos and giving them a texture that compliments the rest of the album. It’s as rooted in her past as an effort to move forward. Songs like “Violets for Roses” reflect the gradual shift, finding her experiencing self-love, claiming “A simple life, I chose this.” Every piece is of a larger tapestry, capturing a spiritual journey of acceptance, reflecting a constant emotional shift before reaching the end where there’s a sense of optimism.
With “Sweet Carolina,” she once again brings up the blue imagery, this time singing:
Baby blues, baby bluesIf things ever go wrongJust know this is your song and we love you
Gone is the codependence on painting blue banisters. In its place is something she’s personally built, a family that will hopefully be there to make her feel fulfilled. Again, she paints a world of characters entering and exiting her life, such as a stupid boyfriend named Kevin. Even then, she sings affectionately about what she has, of loving every freckle. There is nothing to lose. With the album ending on a swelling, humble melody, it feels like the end of a long journey that far exceeds the grounds of this album.
Maybe the proverbial road trip that made up “Chemtrails” was what Lana Del Rey needed to revive her career. There is a constant sense of pushing boundaries, challenging the idea of what she is capable of. She is no longer simply going for the most precise pop structure. She wants to go for bigger, more sincere emotions while evoking aspects that made people love her on “Born to Die” and hasn’t been nearly as forward since. “Blue Banisters” feels like a full universe, so detailed and unique in its structure. Maybe it’s because of her goal to rewrite the public narrative. Maybe it’s the reality that even if some of her comments may turn people against her, she is still aching for simple pleasures while proving how much she wears her heart on her sleeve.
Again, it’s not the most direct of her albums and there are a few tracks that come across as filler. Musically, there are points that are a bit repetitive. Even then, there’s no denying the talent and passion thrown into this. Her melodic structures change often, the tempos throwing the listener out of comfort. What is all this abstraction for? Maybe it’s a reflection of her own instability in the lyrics. Maybe it’s just an artist trying to prove that there’s more to music. Whatever it is, this is a perfect way to show growth. For an artist who never fit into a conventional box and got constant flack for it, there’s some relief in knowing that she’s still not comfortable in settling. Even in 2021 when she could’ve stopped at one album, she had one of her most prolific years on record. Thankfully, it also produced some of her most beautiful and accomplished music yet. It may be imperfect, but it’s not from lack of trying. Stick with it, listen again and again, and slowly the magic will begin to appear more clearly. This isn’t just a reminder of where she is 10 years on, but where she’s probably going to go in the decades to come. Just wait and see!
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