It doesn’t take much for me to celebrate new Lana Del Rey music. It’s a habit that I picked up back in 2013 and have been doing every time a new album drops. Without fail, I’ve listened to every album since “Ultraviolence” on the opening weekend, committing it to memory and admiring one of the most interesting pop stars of the 2010s. While nothing has matched my infatuation with “Norman Fucking Rockwell,” I still love that period where you dive into a second or third listen and really pick apart her artistry. She’s someone whose playfulness hides secrets inside an already expansive soundscape. People who don’t get it may call her self-indulgent, but I choose to see it as more performative, creating something cinematic on wax.
Much to my surprise, I discovered on Valentine’s Day 2023 that she not only had a new song out, but maybe one of the most amazing singles she’s released in a long time. How could it not be? It was a two-part seven-minute song that sought to encapsulate an entire career in the most beguiling nature possible. Its halves are discordant, jumping from a piano ballad to a free-formed interpolation of “Shimmy Shimmy Ko Ko Bop.” Not only that, but the harmonies are exquisite and the lyrics have the penchant for memorability. Opening with the line “I haven’t done a cartwheel since I was 9 years old,” it’s the type of unassuming moment that doesn’t prepare you for what’s to come. If anything, this is the warning that she’s about to prove just how flexible she still is.
The truth is that while I love Lana Del Rey, there’s usually not enough to make me want to write 2,000 words on a new single. Going down the line from 2022, I was indifferent to “Watercolor Tears” and “Snow on the Beach.” I think I mostly appreciate “Did you know there’s a tunnel under Ocean Blvd” knowing that it’s about somewhere in Long Beach, CA. While she’s been consistent, I think it’s been a while since “Blue Bannisters” where she’s truly blown me away. There was an experimentation to that record that even in its accomplishment found her overeager to alter the form entirely. Is she destined for a Frank Zappa period? If you listen to something like “Dealer,” I’m willing to bet she’d take on that cosmic challenge in a heartbeat. After all, who would add a trap beat to an Ennio Morricone song? “A&W” moves us closer to that potential and I’m excited about how almost immediately it challenges our expectations.
This isn’t a radio friendly song. The seven-minute length alone requires patience that nobody has. Add in that the song begins by talking about having sex and becoming an American Whore before transitioning into a more opaque discussion of how she’s telling Jimmy’s mom about how he’s fucking up big time. What does it all mean? Who is Jimmy? Why are these two halves together anyway? This is the type of song that Lana Del Rey fans would adore just putting on for people who never listened to her recent output and expecting them to make sense of it. I think we’re moving into something esoteric. It’s accomplished, but like the back half of “Honeymoon,” this is more of a reward for fans who want to hear her give into every impulse and just make music that is out and out confusing and weird.
What makes the release of “A&W” such a momentous occasion for fans is that it wasn’t just the single. Accompanying this was a conversation for Interview Magazine with Billie Eilish as well as various behind the scenes materials for the accompanying photoshoot. Those who missed the old days reveled in her provocative images as she wore a wedding dress standing next to a bad boy in some seedy parking lot. There’s something shameless about it that hasn’t been seen in a long time. As she says in the interview, this era is about to be all about vibes.
The greatest thing about the Interview Magazine feature is realizing that two of pop’s greatest performers deeply admire each other. Lana Del Rey openly admits that she only wanted to be interviewed by either Eilish or John Waters (there’s still time for that!), which really runs the spectrum of how things could play out. The conversation is as much a chance to pimp the upcoming album as it is a chance to hear Eilish spill her adoration, claiming to have performed “Brooklyn Baby” as a child on YouTube with hopes of finding an audience. There’s so much joy in the surrounding language that it immediately deconstructs the sad girl trope and finds women breaking down public perception in ways that feel like actual meaningful discourse.
There’s enough here to spin a whole news cycle and revive interest in a singer who has largely been simmering. To listen to her break down the iconography of her latest work doesn’t prepare one for “A&W.” Even if one can argue that this is the amalgamation of everything that came before, it’s so bold and crass. The repetition doesn’t make the cryptic lyrics any more comfortable. There’s something here that demands some zooming in on the macro. What is she saying when she randomly talks about cartwheels? What’s with that line about rape? Again… who is Jimmy and why is he fucking up big time?
To be totally honest, I don’t think that I could do a thorough breakdown of this song justice. Even after six listens, I’m still struggling to piece together a greater meaning. Maybe that’s the point. It’s supposed to be a vibe on par with the album’s original name “Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd Pearl Watch Me on Ring a Bell Psycho Lifeguard.” I don’t know what it means, but “Ring a Bell Psycho Lifeguard” would be a fun song title (then again, the closing track is currently called “Taco Truck x VB”). With all of that said the joy this song gives me every time I press play is unmatched. I may love a lot of her music more, but this is the work of a confident artist who knows how to push boundaries and challenge her own potential. She’s not settling for predictable here.
Even seconds into the song, the way that the acoustic guitar transitions into the piano feel a bit off-putting. There isn’t a conventional harmony until a few bars. There’s a rustic quality. The sliding fingers on the guitar streak across the record. It’s gross. The beauty of the piano covers it all up nicely before the over-produced vocals enter. The way that they echo with that flat tone makes it feel like a dissatisfied observation like this is the story of someone exhausted. And yet, she sings this song hoping to find some greater meaning in these conflicts.
The first half (“American Whore”) is the more conventional of the two, though don’t expect that to excuse a lot of moments that will make one want to rewind. It’s there in the lyrics discussing the objectification of her career, where everyone considered her the worst thing to happen to feminism solely because she sang about toxic codependent relationships. It’s a song attacking those who criticize her for having a different view of sexuality. She’s allowing herself to be sensual, going into frank detail about her passion. Even then, by the time the chorus reveals the gut punch that she is an American Whore, there is a sense of playfulness. Maybe there’s secrets hiding that won’t be found until weeks and months later.
Then there’s the breakdown that transitions the listener into Part 2 (“Jimmy”). It’s like if “Venice Bitch” descended into hell. If the first half feels reminiscent of “Blue Bannisters,” then this bridges her sonically to her past. The pulsating, jerky beat may not be the catchiest melody on the track, but it is a curious piece. One has to wonder how a song that never fully commits to a grander hook gets away with so much. It’s a scrapbook of moments taped together, and it shines beautifully as a harmonious cry that sounds a tad autotuned breaks into the back half. Gone is any meticulous messaging and in its place is Lana asking Jimmy to get high with her.
It’s a lovely exchange if just because it’s the least formed moment she’s recorded possibly ever. What melody is there creates a vibe, but it doesn’t last. The quick tempo is occasionally interrupted by a choir of vocals singing “Your mom called, I told her you’re fucking up big time.” It’s a jerky piece of music made more compelling because of the cryptic nature of that closing declaration. A lesser performer would possibly make this part overlong or too short, never allowing it to resonate as well as she does, finding a mix of classic song interpolations to clash with a greater message. Is she talking about herself here, or is there some greater Jimmy that is actually fucking up big time? The cherry on top happens abruptly toward the end. There’s a moment where the vocals go absolutely insane for a split second as three layers feel like they’re hiding some subliminal message about losing one’s mind. By the time one has to wonder “Did that happen?” the song has returned to its normal, which is still the subliminal numbing we’ve been experiencing for a few minutes now.
Whereas her first single was more of the same, I am thrilled by the potential that “A&W” offers. It’s the most antagonistic and nasty thing she’s released in a long time. While I’m sure the record around this will be more organized, I’m still hopeful that we’re about to get her “Artpop.” Maybe everyone won’t appreciate it, but there will be a dive into her psyche that is unlike anything she’ll ever release. I want this to be corners of her mind that are so unformed that they produce endless thought. I don’t want the organized perfection many strive for. If anything, an extension of her previous record will be fine by me.
Just when Valentine’s Day 2023 felt like it would be another holiday, I checked the news and discovered this gem had entered our lives. I’m grateful that even after so much time she’s still capable of surprising audiences. I don’t know if everyone will like where this song goes. I’m sure it’s one of those moments only fans will really adore. With that said, it’s amazing to know she’s capable of trusting herself that much. She freefalls into potential nonsense to find something meaningful. Most would be too self-conscious to make “A&W.” Not her. After years of criticism, she’s finally fine with you not getting it.
Comments
Post a Comment