Interesting things have swilled around Lana Del Rey (aka Elizabeth Grant) since she released Video Games last year. Her record label made a statement insisting she is not a groomed and packaged product, but a self-made dream pop bombshell (a self-described “gangsta Nancy Sinatra”), which of course just fuelled the blogsphere backlash against her. Her extensive plastic surgery has been revealed in before-and-after-she-was-famous shots, while just days ago she signed a contract with flesh power brokers Next Model Management.It’s hard to take her seriously as an artist, no matter how lush and hypnotic this single might be – partly because her shoot to stardom has been fuelled by her looks and not her music, and partly because she seems like a vacuous tit. As for the music, it’s just too conveniently matched to her look. It’s creepy and suspicious. I think what this song actually reveals is how efficiently the aesthetics of “hip” music – in this case Feist, Joan As Police Woman, Best Coast and Cat Power – can be ingested and regurgitated as something calculated and superficial, which ticks all the boxes but somehow leaves you cold. Beware the fembot.
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