The Story Behind The
“B
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Singer
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Lana Del Rey
The trend of dream pop—the happy melodies similar to The Beach Boys combined
with edgy lyrics—is monopolizing music
with an Armageddon-like fashion.
The redheaded 26-year-old, Lana Del Rey,
was virtually unknown before 2010—really
2011 when she released the first version of
the album Born to Die. Yesterday, the Born
to Die-Paradise Edition hit store shelves,
blogger pages, and social media streams as if
we needed an almost
carbon copy of her
previous one.
In an expansive, gilded suite in the famous Hôtel de
Paris, Monte-Carlo, Lana Del Rey, dressed in a simple
grey hoodie, skinny dark-blue jeans and a crisp white
T-shirt, sits down on the floor next to a perfectly vacant couch, lights a cigarette as slim as a Mikado stick
and explains how pretty she thinks this part of the
world is. “It’s just the most beautiful place,” she enthuses, breathlessly. “I knew it from the moment I saw
it.” Funny, I say, as Monaco’s reputation for being a tax
haven for the world’s filthy rich brings with it a certain,
well, contention. “Yes,” smiles Del Rey, sharply. “But
some people don’t make any money.
I’m told Del Rey is prone to doing this - cutting unashamedly to the quick, speaking her mind no matter
the consequences, not biting her tongue, laying it
on the line. Some, like this writer, find it refreshing,
others a little too confrontational. This isn’t her intention at all; she’s as sweet as a peach deep down. Reserved, even. If not a little weird. I don’t mean “kooky”
weird. Kooky is the wrong word as that makes her
sound
like the
sort
of girl
who
collects
“I just didn’t think that
Hello
this was going to happen. Kitty
lunchboxes,
wears Not any of it.”
American
Apparel
body
stockings
and draws pictures of unicorns all day long - or someone like Lena Dunham from HBO’s Girls. No, Del Rey
is weird weird. Odd. Eccentric. Remarkable. A proper
pop star. Not like you or me.
She’s also exceptionally beautiful: the cascading, auburn hair, those blown-out lips, the thick kohl-dipped
lashes. Del Rey is sexy but with a dreamy apartness,
like an old-fashioned movie star whose name you can’t
quite remember from a film whose title you can’t quite
place. Forget the Day-Glo cartoonish eroticism of
Nicki Minaj, the geisha-cyber-punkiness of Lady Gaga
and Rihanna’s rude-girl swaggering - Del Rey is a very
different sort of modern pop star. Her sex appeal is
more refined. Grainier. Vintage-looking. Cloaked in a
veneer of prissiness. She’s beauty, Instagrammed.
Part of Del Rey’s charm is how such a projected innocence jars against lyrics that drip with a desire to be
corrupted: “I heard you like the bad girls/Honey,
is that true?” she sings. For a man, that sort of
tease is magnetic.
Now she’s been crowned GQ’s Woman Of The Year.
The re-relase of her
debut album “Born To
Die” with 7 new tracks,
including “Ride”.
Available Now.