Lana Del Rey is a dichotomy, with her internal wavering made apparent simply by the tattoos that grace her hands ("trust no one" and "paradise"). She is connected to reality, but she is a fantasy. I love her monologues - she is a poet with a dark past and a rebellious nature, and she isn't afraid to share these things about herself.
In addition to all of these amazing things, she's also been hailed as having one of the most expansive vocal ranges of any female singer in the present time. You've heard it - the super-low tones as well as the high-pitched wails that would sound like screeching if anyone else attempted it. She took a round-about road to find her passions and talents, but now she is embracing them and connecting to the population through them.
While I, myself, could do without the "dark past" part (I highly recommend you all read a biography about her - they're posted all over the web), I can't think of another woman who I'd aspire to be in my youth. Mysterious and confident, with deep thoughts and a beautiful connection to language - that, I believe, will be Lana Del Rey's claim to fame, even years from now, post-relevance.
To finish this up, I'll post one of my favorite monologues by her - even if you don't like her as a singer or a person, these are worth reading, I promise...
I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer.
At night I fell asleep with visions of myself, dancing and laughing and crying with them.
Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour, and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times.
I was a singer - not a very popular one.
I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.
But I didn't really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I'd been living, they asked me why - but there's no use in talking to people who have home.
They have no idea what it's like to seek safety in other people - for home to be wherever you lay your head.
I was always an unusual girl.
My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean...
And if I said I didn't plan for it to turn out this way I'd be lying...
Because I was born to be the other woman.
Who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone.
Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn't even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me...
We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore, except to make our lives into a work of art.
Every night I used to pray that I'd find my people, and finally I did on the open road.
x Deven
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