![]() Under Ocean Blvd mirrors Chemtrails (and 2017’s excellent Lust for Life) in its use of featured artists to boost the mood. The album takes a spiritual if not extraneous turn on the over-long “Judah Smith Interlude,” a seemingly phone-recorded sermon from the celebrity pastor, preaching on-topic about “a life contaminated with lust” and begging God to “Help me … I wanna be a man in love, not a man in lust.” The sounds of Del Rey agreeing in some moments and laughing in others can be heard, suggesting she recorded the clip herself. ![]() Moreover, any Swift fans who binged Midnights will find the drum samples and vocal pitching all too familiar. The rhyme should’ve died with Nelly’s “Country Grammar” revamp two decades ago. Del Rey’s take is smooth, working in some breathy chiding - “your mom called, I told her you’re fucking up big time,” but the whole conceit just feels tired. But where producer Jack Antonoff’s inspired work launched “Venice Bitch” into space four and a half years ago, “A&W” reaches for a contrived interpolation of “Down, Down Baby,” the oft-repurposed playground song. “A&W” functions loosely as this album’s “Venice Bitch,” the oversized centerpiece where the first half of the track gives way to thick, bending layers of sound and studio trickery. She rebounds a song later on “Sweet,” declaring with classic Del Rey venom: “I’m a different kind of woman / If you want some basic bitch go to the Beverly Center.”īut then she appears wholly dejected moments later on “A&W,” where she details “fuck(ing) on the hotel floor” of a Ramada Inn, and dolefully exhales: “It’s not about havin’ someone to love me anymorе / This is the experiеnce of bein’ an American whore.” The tone quickly becomes sexual and desperate on the more cinematic title track, with its wild refrain: “Open me up, tell me you like it / Fuck me to death, love me until I love myself.” On the soft-treading, John Denver-mentioning opener “The Grants,” Del Rey is pensive and resolute in her retrieval of memories from a failed relationship a bit of healing after rawer emotional wounds sliced up Blue Banisters. It’s fitting that the title track describes a tunnel with mosaic ceilings, as Del Rey has shaped this record - one of her most personal - as a broken mirror reflecting her multitudes of sorrow and desire. The album is front-loaded with familiar ruminations on immolating love, bubbling infatuations and shifting identities. Yes, Del Rey sings beautifully and will rightfully be recognized as a veritable voice of her generation - both in technique and disillusion - but here the cool distance she’s maintained between herself and listeners feels more expansive than ever. Del Rey has again opted for minimalist instrumentation, avoiding percussive thumps in favor of traipsing piano, acoustic guitar and lolloping vocal melodies that quickly flutter from view. Though a handful of tracks sparkle, Under Ocean Blvd is a chore to ingest across its regularly lulling 77 minutes. Also Read Lana Del Rey Crashes Bleachers’ Festival Set for Live Debut of ‘Margaret’
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