“That’s how the light gets in,” she chants, using the titular Japanese art of repairing broken pottery and leaving the cracks on display as a hopeful method of transforming sorrow into a strengthening feeling.ĭel Rey upends expectations as soon as the Auto-tune arrives on “Fishtail,” abruptly putting an end to the hushed vocals and abetted by programmed beats. Father John Mistyįather John Misty shows up to support Del Rey’s lead vocals on the lilting country track “Let The Light In,” and while fans of the kindred-spirit songwriter may be disappointed that he doesn’t have more of a spotlight here, his voice is utilized perfectly in the context of the song - assisting her chorus, forming a sense of comfort around the words “Ooh, turn your light on / Look at us, you and I, back at it again.” Sometimes, a guest spot can be great for its lack of showiness.įollowing the gospel flourishes that arrive earlier in the track list, Del Rey approaches “Kintsugi” like a hymn, her voice billowing unadorned above a piano as she prods at her grief.
“Candy Necklace” doesn’t resonate quite as strongly following the blistering first quarter of the album, although it’s worth sticking around for the swirling outro, where Jon Batiste’s murmur joins Del Rey’s own. “Taco Truck x VB” can’t outrun the looming shadow of one of Del Rey’s most towering achievements, but that’s not its intention anyway: the song encapsulates the album’s ramshackle beauty by demonstrating how Del Rey’s past informs her present, like an endless loop that will never stop spinning.Ĭandy necklaces: sugary and addictive, but the opposite of nutritious! They serve as the metaphor for a poisonous relationship on “Candy Necklace,” where Del Rey floats into a falsetto on the pre-chorus before deploying a hypnotic singsong hook. The “VB” in the title stands for “Venice Bitch,” and instead of merely nodding to one of her most iconic songs, Del Rey fully revisits the Norman F–king Rockwell! song in the second half of this two-part epilogue, as if she’s remixed the song “Taco Truck” with her former self as the guest artist. The interlude creates a voyeuristic atmosphere - you feel the two artists’ bond in the studio - but doesn’t offer much as a standalone track. “Jon Batiste Interlude,” which arrives right after the We Are album of the year Grammy winner’s harmonizing at the end of “Candy Necklace,” functions as a playful extension of that track, with Batiste whooping it up and then crooning with Del Rey as the piano twinkling comes into focus. Placing a fiery, four-and-a-half minute spoken-word interlude from megachurch pastor Judah Smith in a prime spot on the album track list is certainly an audacious choice from Del Rey - and while the sermon grazes the central themes of the songs around it, the interlude is a chance taken that doesn’t work within the presentation of the album. Here is our preliminary track rankings for Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd: While all of Lana Del Rey’s new album is worth digging into, we already have some early favorites after several listens. For an album that clearly challenges its creator, Ocean Blvd once again concludes that Del Rey is different, in the best way possible.
From the boarded-up past of the title track to the post-grief forward motion of “Kintsugi” to the giddy friendship of “Margaret,” Del Rey roams across topics and deftly handles them all.
Writing primarily with Jack Antonoff, Mike Hermosa and Drew Erickson, Del Rey conjures images that continue to haunt her and presents lyrics that jangle around the listener’s brain. Yet Del Rey’s pen holds Ocean Blvd together. In an era of the music industry that rewards TikTok-ready hooks, Del Rey has sprinted in the opposite direction: the songs here proudly stretch out, dismissing verse-chorus structures so that Del Rey can travel across another bridge or three. The adventurous spirit of this album flirts with a gleeful recklessness: Del Rey has explored her thoughts on sex, devotion, family and American decay in the past, but never with so many unexpected guests, songs mashed into each other and restless detours. “I’m a different kind of woman,” Lana Del Rey states plainly on “Sweet,” adding a few seconds later, “If you wanna go where nobody knows, that’s where you’ll find me.” The singer-songwriter has spent her career proving the former statement - taking a personalized approach to pop craft, forever valuing honesty and innovation - but Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd, her mammoth and often luminous ninth full-length, indeed exists at a wholly unique intersection in modern music, as the artist’s most singular statement to date.ĭel Rey’s voice has always been unmistakable, but no other artist could have come close to showcasing this 77-minute set of ideas, sometimes mysterious and occasionally shambolic, but always exciting and brimming with integrity.
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