My obsession with Lana Del Rey & Norman Fucking Rockwell.
I partially awoke at 4:49 am this morning. Earlier in the night, I had listened to a thunderstorm thru my headphones. The sound of building rain carried me away, back to a deep sleep. Return with the thunderstorm? Nah? I didn’t need to go back to sleep. But I didn’t want to get up either. Lazy… plus my wife was still asleep next to me. Time for some Lana Del Ray.
My Lana addiction began when I first hear Summertime Sadness and Blue Jeans.
I paid no mind to all the haters about her rich girl past and whether or not she was authentic enough. I just loved her voice. A voice that entrapped me like Stevie Nicks did decades ago. Stevie kept me hooked with great song writing. Lana, with help from her friends, has risen to that level.
NFR has been described as her “spectral masterpiece”. An apt summation. So this morning, with headphones on, I entered her realm. A magnificent, beguiling album. Each song entwined with the others. Perfect for that twilight of your mind. Not asleep, but not fully awake. Eyes shut, but seeing. Images created on closed eyelids. Floating, scattered dots, then coming into focus, alas quickly vanishing. Random… a forest, a filling cabinet, a plane, colored swirls. Willed into existence, then vanished… as Lana’s voice floats in my mind.
Have you listened to the NFR album? You really should. Headphones on, outside world erased. Laying in bed, on a train, a plane, in the back seat of a car. Magic.