Album review: Honeymoon, by Lana Del Rey
Lana Del Rey
While Lana Del Rey’s premeditated image may be the subject of continual scorn from some critics, there is no denying that she conjures (alongside producers, the fellow American Rick Nowels and the UK’s Dan Heath) immaculately constructed torch songs simmering with nostalgia and regret. That modus operandi doesn’t change in her fourth album, Honeymoon. It’s all bleak stuff; there is ominous piano, foreboding synths and Del Rey’s spectral vocals that’s equal parts resignation and passive aggression.
The cinematic opener Hollywood begins with shrill strings and a mournful cello before Del Rey knowingly sighs: “We both know it’s not fashionable to love me.” In God Knows I Tried, she examines the comedown of celebrity. Over a spidery guitar riff, Del Rey laments that she’s “got nothing much to live for/ Ever since I found my fame”. The ice queen thaws a little in Salvatore, with its Ennio Morricone-esqe wide screen strings and subdued Latin swing. While nothing new, Honeymoon shows Del Rey in such command of her craft that you can’t help but be sucked in.