We have categorically avoided the subject of Lana Del Rey in this space, mostly because we are generally of the opinion that no matter how you feel about her/her generated persona/her reflexivity online, to discuss it is to let the
terrorists Lana Del Rey win.
And it's not this weekend's (ahem) lackluster performance on Saturday Night Live that has finally forced us to break our silence. No, it is Clams Casino, who we first took note of carrying Lil B behind him way back in 2009. And Clams, whose 2011 mixtape of instrumentals earned him some highly well-deserved notoriety, is the spaced-out soul mate Lana didn't know she was missing.
The common complaints about Lana Del Rey's actual musicianship tend to center on her zombie-esque vocal delivery and droning song constructions. Backed by weepy orchestras, we tend to agree. But hovering like molasses over a Clams Casino head trip, she is something nearly supernatural. If the interpretation that says she is headed for critique of continuing patriarchy with her love-me-or-I'll-die narrators, then the Casino production sounds like the topsy-turvy confusion and buried rage that goes with it.
Also, we will recreate the scene above, with me (your not-very-concerned music editor) in the role of Lana Del Rey pouting in the embrace of whoever we can get to agree to it if no one comments on this post. Go ahead, Internet -- prove us wrong.
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