Listening to Ultraviolence is akin to watching a slow black and white film. One that is paced so cautiously such that you could feel the breeze and hear raindrops pelting outdoors. That imagery formed in my head with the type of publicity photos that accompanied her sophomore release.
Lana Del Rey still charms, but the songs in this album sit you back and do not tease you outrightly like how Born to Die did. Do you remember her flirtatious demeanour for Off to the Races?
Her sultry vocals take on a less playful disposition, except for Brooklyn Baby, which retains some of her girlishness that was very apparent in her debut album.
West Coast stands out as a hit, and reinforcing her style in singing and songwriting. Tracks such as Guns and Roses and Ultraviolence, and pretty much the rest of the album, which are overdriven on reverb fade to the backdrop while you close your eyes to the moving picture in your mind.
I wouldn’t say it was a bad take, but it is an alternative effort from Lana Del Rey that reinforces the fact that she would shove something to your face and can’t give two hoots if you took it or left it. Doesn’t her unequivocal claim of ‘Fucked my way to the top’ mean anything to you?
I’m glad she emblazoned herself with her post-modern songstress identity prior and this manifests as a continuation of what we knew her as. All she wants is money, power and glory. I know she relishes her entourage of bad boys who can play guitars as well.
Ultraviolence is more of a continuation of Lana’s image, and will not arrest listeners on its own like how Video Games or Born to Die did. It is a necessary dose for listeners though, to satisfy nefarious ears that find Miley Cyrus distasteful.
– nateh de coco