Lana Del Rey live review: An impressive observance of girlhood
For me, preparations to see Lana Del Rey close out Hyde Park’s BST start a week before her Sunday slot, with the purchase of a black lace bridal veil. A weeks-long deliberation on what to wear ends with me and my sister sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, rummaging through our wardrobes for anything white, red, or covered in cherries. Anything that looked loosely Priscilla Presley-inspired was a strong contender.
When I looked at the crowds of women in heart-shaped sunglasses dancing with their friends in the sunny fields of London’s Hyde Park, I imagined their morning rituals being similar to ours, spent crouched in front of mirrors touching up eyeliner, helping each other do their hair.
So you’d tell them their outfits were beautiful, but not in a drunk-in-the-bathroom sense, but in a very sincere, earnest way, because you know exactly how much thought went into choosing them. I could pick out the eras they were emulating based on accessories alone – Lust For Life: daisies hanging from loose curls, Ultraviolence: heavy eyeliner, bridal, Born To Die: racer jacket, Converse.
It speaks to the aesthetic power of Del Rey that you can pick these out so easily, as well as the dedication of her fans to get the details right. Her cultural hold is so strong it’s almost bizarre, so when I hear about the fans who camped out at 6am to get a glimpse of her up close, I’m not surprised. Midway through her 90-minute set, she stops by the barrier to say hello to the ultra-dedicated, stopping for selfies before launching into the next song. All she has to do is vape on stage, and everyone’s screaming, so speaking to her must’ve been a religious experience for the fans at the barrier.
Her set started with a blistering ‘A&W,’ and into the cinematic ‘Young and Beautiful,’ by which point everyone, myself and my sister included – is sobbing. I think about that the entire way home, knowing I’m writing this review. Do impartial music journalists sob to songs performed by the singers they’re critiquing – is that allowed? And then I think about the kind of journalists that call her ‘songstress’ over ‘songwriter’ and decide that having a reverence for an artist is better than misunderstanding them completely.
Would those journalists have picked up on the diss to ex-Sean Larkin on her new outro to ‘Chemtrails,’ when Del Rey sang: “He’s born in December and got married when we were still together,” and would they know that her having her hair done on stage was not a Glastonbury diss – but just part of the choreography that’s been part of the set since the first shows in Brazil? Probably not, but they’d definitely mention that she was 20 minutes late.
Being part of the highly emotional crowd gathered to see her felt like a celebration of femininity and sisterhood, which her setlist amplified tenfold. Hits like ‘Summertime Sadness,’ ‘Pretty When You Cry’ and ‘Cherry’ charted heartbreak and romance and were crooned by the patron saint of sad girls as she swung on a flower-covered swing.
The entire day felt like an observance of girlhood and all the complicated emotions that come with it, which nobody can do as well as Lana Del Rey.
