Lana Del Rey knows how to work men, metaphors and music to her favor. It took a “Honeymoon,” however, for her to reach a new zenith. She takes the listener on a voyage through various levels of highly relative ecstasy and agony. While maintaining a glamorous façade, she reminds us that the worlds of beauty and torture live dangerously close together.
Her last release, 2014’s “Ultraviolence,” focused on dark depths but hardly ever took a breath to come to the surface. On “Honeymoon,” however, she is able, at times, to explore a more poppy, optimistic aesthetic. She achieves this without compromising the cinematic and romantic sound that has become her signature.
Remnants of her beginnings are scattered throughout the album. She employs the same lyrical structure and approach that she did in 2011’s “Video Games,” the hit single that sent her into stardom. Her latest effort displays her growth as an artist that has stayed true to herself but has hit her stride.
Although “Honeymoon,” her fourth studio album, is a quick turnaround from her last, she returns with a rejuvenated voice. The title track, “Honeymoon,” plays as a dramatic and yearning ballad, exemplifying the more “noir-ish feel” Del Rey told Billboard she “sinks into” on the album.
The lead single, “High By the Beach,” is the first of Del Rey’s songs to feature heavy, pulsing bass. She mixes rhythmic spoken words with layered harmonies alluding to love and rebellion. A dominant spirit emerges from her as she delicately raps, “Everyone can start again, not through love but through revenge. Through the fire, we’re born again, peace by vengeance brings the end.”
She takes a large step towards shedding the submissive film she has worn for the duration of her career in exchange for an alpha-female role. This is further supported in the imagery used in the music video for the single, in which Del Rey’s character appears, at first, to be quite tame. At the end of the video, she takes down an intruding helicopter with one shot of a torpedo and much delight.
A recurring theme of triumphant pain resurfaces throughout. She uses music as a relief from disappointment in “Terrance Loves You,” in which she admits, “I lost myself, when I lost you. But I still got jazz, when I got those blues.”
Midway through, the record builds to a pinnacle. Futuristic trap beats mesh effortlessly with Del Rey’s blissful voice. She calls out to her ghetto suitor on “Art Deco,” a song that is tailor-made for a luxurious party scene.
“Burnt Norton,” taken from T.S. Eliot’s poem of the same name from “Four Quartets,” comes in at perfect timing as a dreamy intermission. This, her first monologue to be featured on an album (instead of in a music video), is an intellectual move for the artist. The concept of time and idea of transcendence push her past her usual games of partying, money and fame.
The album fades out with a soulful tone. Themes of escapism fill “Swan Song.”
“I will never sing again, and you won’t work another day,” she pleads in the irresistible chorus, while making her case for leaving obligations behind and discovering freedom.
Finding a balance of emotion, Del Rey strikes a successful chord. No longer addicted to heartbreak, confidence plays a key role in her songwriting. “Honeymoon” is a collection of anthems for both sunny and stormy days. She appears to have taken control of her destiny and convinces her listener to do the same.
