Album review: Lana Del Rey, Ultraviolence

Lana Del Rey is a starlet from another era. In this age of endlessly tweeting pop icons, she has achieved the almost impossible in cultivating an air of feverish mystery. On break-out hit ‘Video Games’ she channeled David Lynch and Chris Isaak, preening and heavy-breathing through a song that, while shockingly unoriginal, washed over you like an exotic perfume.

However, the accompanying album, Born To Die, was attacked as a triumph of pose over craft (no matter that ‘Summertime Sadness’ became one of the most covered tunes of the decade). With criticism of Del Rey upholstered by a fair amount of misogyny, there seemed a very real danger she might be eaten up by fame, destroyed by the very forces that had propelled her to the top.

Her second album, produced by the Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach, doesn’t answer any of the questions that have swirled around Del Rey. Then, who would want it to? Her inscrutability goes to the heart of her appeal and it is quality she works hard at cultivating here. That isn’t to say she has is repeating herself: Ultraviolence contains more guitar than ‘Born To Die’ and Del Rey’s singing has shed some of the Marilyn Monroe affect. The emotions feel genuine, rather than a meta mash-up of reality and artifice.

The stand-out is latest single ‘Brooklyn Baby’, a surprise broadside against the cult of the hipster (who knew Lana hated hipsters?). “My boyfriend’s in the band/ I get high on hydroponic weed,” she warbles with unexpected directness, sharpening talons you hadn’t suspected she possessed.

Elsewhere, it’s very much the Del Rey we already have made our minds up about: opener ‘Cruel World’ has Mazzy Star aspirations; ‘Sad Girl is a companion piece to Born To Die’s ‘This Is What Makes Us Girls’ and ‘Blue Jeans’.

Ultimately, your appreciation of Ultraviolence will depend on the degree to which you are prepared to buy into Del Rey’s darkly cinematic persona. If you find her blank gazes and pillowy pouts inherently fascinating, the record will dazzle. If you think her 15 seconds of notoriety has long since elapsed, Ultraviolence’s soporific sensibilities will frustrate and strain your patience in equal measure.