A few months back, Swiss Adam featured a song by Lana Del Rey and I remarked that I can only really listen to her music on compilations, a track here and there, not a whole load of them in a row.
And then, just to prove myself wrong (for the one billionth time), I started getting into her 2019 record Norman Fucking Rockwell!... or NFR! if you don't want to upset your granny. It's actually an appropriate album title, because, as usual, Lana's songs are seeped in the faded American glamour of a bygone era (although, truth be told, I thought Norman Rockwell was the guy who painted American Gothic, so I was surprised to learn that was Grant Wood, and that Norman's work was quite different... call me an art philistine, but I'm still learning) AND because Lana swears. A lot. For an album that's essentially a bunch of 70s Elton John piano ballads with the occasional nod to hip hop, it's quite surprising how many f-bombs she drops.
Am I getting old? Swearing in music used to be quite shocking. Nowadays, everyone's at it. Especially the women! Even the latest Taylor Swift album is full of effing and jeffing. I'm not complaining as such, and I'd be a hypocrite if I pretended to be shocked or said I never used such language myself (get in a car with me and you'll hear plenty), but as a parent and a teacher, I do find it concerning. Sam's getting to the age now where he's drifting away from my music to discover his own pop. I always knew that would happen, and I'm not going to fight it because it's a necessary part of growing up and developing your own identity... but still, swear words are everywhere these days. I'm not even sure they bother with radio edits any more - though what the hell Radio One does, I've no idea. There's an argument: all this means is that the profanities we grew up with have lost their power, and that's natural ("bloody" was still a shocking word when I was a kid), but where do we go from there? Fuck knows.
I spent ages the other day editing a "shit" out of the Yard Act song below so that I could include it on an in-car CD. I'm not sure why I bothered...
(That's looking like being my album of the year, by the way. Just giving you a heads up. Can't see anyone else taking the crown between now and December.)
Anyway, back to Lana and NFR. The swearing isn't what endears me to this record, though Fuck It, I Love You is a pretty good song. Beyond the echoes of Hollywood glamour I mentioned before, I think what I like most about her writing is the way she wallows in self-pity. Always good to hear. In fact, the best two songs on the album come right at the end. First there's this...
If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst
That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?
I'm already hurt
If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed
Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt
He's already hurt
And then comes this, perhaps her finest hour, reaching Morrissey-levels of melancholia, back when that was still a cool comparison to make (how I wish I didn't have to qualify any reference I make to the Stretford Sectarian as I do these days). If I was a teenage girl (hell, if I was still a teenage boy), I'd be playing this one on loop...
No comments:
Post a Comment