Lana Del Rey – ‘Ultraviolence’
When Lana Del Rey released Born to Die in 2012, the singer became an international sensation. Songs like ‘Video Games’ and ‘Summertime Sadness’ were always on the radio, and images of the musician or her lyrics were plastered all over sites like Tumblr. She reinvented the pop wheel, unafraid to depict a vulnerable and intensely romantic persona. She sang about men she couldn’t get enough of, despite them being “no good” for her, and promoted a ‘live fast, die young’ sensibility that attracted keen fans.
However, by 2014, she was ready to release her next studio album, Ultraviolence. The record saw Del Rey lean into a different visual aesthetic, defined by black-and-white images of the star wearing more casual outfits compared to the glamorous attire associated with Born to Die. Simple white T-shirts, leather jackets, and smokey eye makeup formed her uniform, reflecting a sense of maturity while also evoking connotations with the rock genre.
Ultraviolence was a departure from the hip-hop beats that formed the basis of most of the songs on Born to Die. Instead, she sang to the backing of 1970s-inspired guitars, working with instrumentation that largely echoed the hazy late-summer sun, doused in psychedelia and nostalgia for a period before her time.
Working with Dan Auerbach from The Black Keys, whose discography contains many nods to ‘60s and ‘70s blues and garage rock, the guitarist proved to be the perfect collaborator for Ultraviolence. He co-produced the album alongside Del Rey and a handful of others, such as her longtime guitarist Blake Stranathan and the Grammy-winning Paul Epworth. The sound that Del Rey and her producers crafted inhabits a certain space in time and place. It is heavily vintage-inspired but still distinctively modern, bouncing between the dark Los Angeles streets and smoky New York jazz bars.
The album begins with ‘Cruel World’, which is almost seven minutes in length. It’s a sprawling epic that could be interpreted as a tale of addiction and a meditation on a relationship with a difficult man. The drums fizz with tension that matches Del Rey’s voice, which also seems to trap some of this tense energy in the delivery of lines like “Get a little bit of bourbon in ya”.
This tension is released in the next few lines, delivering “You’re dancin’ circles around me/ You’re fuckin’ crazy” with a dizzying sense of freedom. Subsequently, the way she sings the lines “I shared my body and my mind with you/ That’s all over now” feels like a moment of peace and clarity. The whole song is full of emotional releases and dramatic instrumental swells that instantly engulf the listener and create the perfect intimate opener.
The title track comes next, which blends a sense of melancholy with twisted seduction. As the dreamy psychedelic guitars play out, Del Rey is frank in her lyrical confessions. “He hit me and it felt like a kiss,” she sings, borrowing lines from The Crystals and using them as a centrepiece for a story of domestic abuse that Del Rey finds it hard to walk away from: “I love you forever, I love you forever,” she repeats.
Del Rey’s exploration of such weighty topics, honesty and vulnerability, makes Ultraviolence feel so personal. Even if you can’t relate to the severity of some of these themes, there’s something to be found in her open admissions of falling for troubled men, being caught up in cycles of abuse, or trying to navigate such a complicated world as a woman. In ‘Shades of Cool’, she expresses her frustration at being unable to help her lover, who is stuck in his “blue” mood. “But I can’t help him, can’t make him better/ And I can’t do nothing about his strange weather,” she declares before the song descends into a sexy guitar breakdown – an instant album highlight.
Infatuation and utter devotion – a theme in Born to Die – continues here, with Del Rey referencing her lover’s God-like qualities in ‘Sad Girl’, where she admits to being one of many mistresses that this man engages with. She knows it’s a toxic set-up, but she falls in deeper. Still, in tracks like ‘Brooklyn Baby’ and ‘Fucked My Way Up to the Top’, Del Rey asserts herself with more dominance, often with an air of playfulness, reminding us that “My boyfriend’s pretty cool/ But he’s not as cool as me”.
Every track moves with gloriously silky instrumentation, from guitars which inspire images of palm tree-lined tarmac and swimming pools to atmospheric synths that tie everything together. Del Rey is daring with her lyrics, offering ironic and self-aware lines among hard-hitting revelations of abuse and pain. The singer allows the darkest facets of life to be explored here, not romanticising pain but rather showing how easy it is to fall into its grip and not necessarily want to leave. Del Rey is looking back here, attempting to move forward from toxic relationships and battles with sobriety by reflecting on and channelling her experiences into a cohesive and extremely beautiful body of work.
