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The drugged sexuality of a mannequin come halfway to life
on November 17, 2012
It's hard to describe Del Rey's music. It's a fairy-dusting of harp laid over top a hip-hop cadence. It's lush instrumentals alongside precise vocal transitions from low and jazzy up to high and girlish. Del Rey has called her own music "Hawaiian glam metal." Others have called it "Hollywood sadcore."
Others have described it in less complimentary ways. One reviewer called it a thin bundle of Lolita imprecations and sun-baked poolside sexuality. Another called it the epitome of a faked orgasm.
Del Rey's music neither soothes nor satiates, but it captivates. One reviewer nailed it: "These are the disturbing movies that you watch because of the intensity behind the storytelling."
That's why I think the most accurate description of this music is "Lynchian," as in the filmmaker David Lynch. On this EP she performs a deadened rendition of a song from his movie Blue Velvet. In the hands of Del Rey, it's even more Lynchian: twisted and disturbing, the drugged sexuality of a mannequin come halfway to life.
Del Rey, like Lynch, is "the perfect mirror of our time" and "the artist we deserved." She neither soothes nor satiates, but she certainly warrants our attention.