Interscope/Polydor
Lana Del Rey has long established herself as a shapeshifting, evolutionary pop star, able to bend and push the boundaries of popular music while constantly remaining accessible. She has existed under many guises, from the Americana-influenced pop queen to the cinematic storyteller, often treading in murky waters without fully revealing herself. 2021’s Blue Banisters was a tentative, loose stab at self-introspection, but Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Blvd is her most personal offering yet. It’s a trip inside the tunnels of her mind, full of twists and turns and the occasional dead end, a little edgy but constantly engaging.
Lana trades in archetypal concepts and vintage aesthetics for quieter, focused songwriting. With pop music’s premier producer Jack Antonoff in tow, the instrumentation is largely dialled down; the strings creep rather than sweep, and the piano notes lurk in the background. The spotlight is firmly on Lana, who arguably provides her strongest vocal performance yet, exposing the full range of her voice. In an interview with Billboard, she described “Family of origin” as the record’s overall theme and Ocean Blvd is littered with familial references.
The slow, dreamy opener, ‘Grants’, is a beautiful, loving ode to her family, as she lists all the memories she would take to the grave with her: from her “sister’s firstborn child” to her “grandmother’s last smile”. Death used to be a trapping thought for Lana, loaded with anxiety, but she seems better disposed to handle it now. On ‘Kintsugi’, she examines it through a philosophical lens, kintsugi referring to the Japanese philosophy of breakage and repair. Breaking down past grief, Lana describes how she repaired her broken heart by letting the light in and allowing herself to heal.
On ‘Grandfather, please stand on the shoulders’, she asks for grandfather to watch over her father while he fishes, its rising chorus and swirling saxophone line providing the record’s grandest moment alongside the uplifting, symphonic ending of ‘Ocean Blvd’. ‘Fishtail’ is wrapped in nostalgia, Lana regaling us with childhood tales of “Skippin’ rope in the bayou” with her sister. While on ‘Fingertips’, she gets all big sisterly on her brother: “Charlie, stop smoking”.
‘Fingertips’ is a standout moment, a whirlwind of unfiltered thoughts that stream out, unpacking several albums’ worth of material into one song. It’s also Lana at her most vulnerable; after almost scorning conventional romance on the piano ballad ‘Sweet’, she suddenly questions motherhood in a slightly heartbreaking manner: “Will I have one of mine? Can I handle it if I do?”.
Elsewhere there’s a duo of unconventional love songs. The beautiful acoustic ‘Let The Light In’ explores an illicit late-night affair between two musicians. Father John Misty’s soft tones create the record’s most memorable chorus in a song that shows Lana isn’t fully ready to shake off her Americana influences. ‘Margaret’ is a gentle romantic dedication to Antonoff’s wife, with the producer providing some vocals to further its authenticity.
Though largely revolving around Antonoff’s piano, Lana still showcases her experimental side. On the gentle ‘Paris, Texas’, she samples SYML, while on the two-part ‘Taco Truck x VB’, she reworks 2019’s ‘Venice Bitch’, showcasing its grimier original form. Lana harks back to Lust For Life on ‘Peppers’, sampling Tommy Genesis’s ‘Angelina’ and giving a slow half-rapped performance. ‘A&W’ might be her best song yet, a tour-de-force of her multi-stringed pop bow, moving from a jittery piano ballad into a fantastic folk trap finish with some brief orchestral sweetness thrown in. In an album full of lyrical depth, “Jimmy, Jimmy, cocoa puff, Jimmy, Jimmy, ride” may not stand up, but damn, is it catchy as hell.
Peeling back the layers and exploring her thoughts to their fullest depths, Lana provides her most powerful, revealing offer yet. Occasionally in the past, her records have sprawled, but aside from one glaring anomaly (The Judah Smith interlude, I’m sure there’s a point in there, but I can’t grasp it), Ocean Blvd’s songs feel necessary and immediate. Always captivating, Ocean Blvd represents Lana’s best work since Norman Fucking Rockwell.