Extended weekend has messed with my sleep cycle,and I love it.
Night has always been my favourite time of the day-the quiet,the stillness of the wee hours has always been where I feel most comfortable.
So nights like these,I seek out music-occasionally movies and books,but most often music,for company and with Lana del Rey,I return to an old favourite.
Maybe favourite would be a misnomer-for I have long had a complex love-hate with her,but I remember the fascination she held me in when I first discovered her-her sultry voice,her Lolita references unintelligible to the younger me,her unconventional videos,her invented persona.
Then she would recede to the backdrop-remain a steady buzz,a background score but always find a way to resurface.
I come back to her again now,I find her ideal company when I’m having one of those sad nights.The subdued sensuality,the potent plaintive tone-it is comfort.
Lana’s music isn’t the kind of sad that you wail your heart out and empty buckets of ice-cream to,there is a certain dignity about her melancholy.
Lana is simultaneously catharsis and escape-there is something so atmospheric and a little fairytale-like about her music.Be it the evocative lyrics,the richly textured sound,the almost other-worldly quality her voice sometimes takes on.Her music has a way of whisking me away-almost as if I am transplanted in some other body,some other time,some other world.
Perhaps what draws me to Lana is what critics have picked her apart for-the way she is fiction,a figment of imagination,a creation.And somehow,that infuses her with an odd old-wordly charm reminiscent of old Hollywood,of Kerouacesque road trips,of decadence,of escape.