Lana Del Rey albums cannot be reviewed with words. It is easy to skim the top of the album and grow yourself an opinion of her. I like to think I understand Lana. But I don't think she's understandable. Which is what makes her so beautiful. Rolling Stones review of UltraViolence takes her at face value. A melancholy songstress. One obsessed with lost American dreams and addictive relationships. But Lana lives and breathes her art. She lives in it. Who is real, Lana or Lizzy, I can never seem to figure out. Lana reminds me so very much of James Bond. Ian Fleming was unequivocally James Bond. Just as Lizzy is Lana. His stories may have existed in his mind or the "real" world. But do the stories not exist if they are only true inside someone's head? They're real to me. And I love them. Lana provides perfect narration to summer nights. Summer nights when everybody drives fast, chain smokes, and drinks to much. I don't know if I've ever felt love in my life. But when were driving fast, and Lana Del Reys "Radio" is blaring, I think I do.
Lana may have been given the name Lizzy Grant at birth. But in every shape and form she is Lana Del Rey. Always has been. Always will be. We are who we say we are. Not who others assign us to be. And I just love listening to her while I vape a cig. Classy as fuck.