The Trouble with Lana

I have a bit of a confession to make, and I feel a bit weird, almost guilty saying this: I kind of like Lana Del Rey. Kind of. I've felt this way for a while now, and despite my normal sense of comfort with my own tastes, I have made an actual effort to keep this fact hidden. I only listen to her when I'm alone, I feign ignorance when she's mentioned in conversation, the very few people I've admitted this to I've sworn to secrecy. For the first time, possibly ever, I have felt a certain amount of embarrassment for liking something. This feeling is new to me.

You can probably tell.

But the fact of the matter is, I can't help it. I like her music, whether I mean to or not, and the sooner I come to grips with this fact the better it will be in the long run. However, that doesn't mean I don't have a few problems with how she does things. After all, the reason I'm embarrassed is because I actually recognize why so many other people dislike her. With all the hate coming her way, I totally get where it's coming from. So what is the problem?

In a nutshell, it's her image. Everything wrong with her career just sort of revolves around her image, but it's not so much what that image is, it's that it's so central to her.

No, really, I just listen to her for the songs.  I swear.

Think about it; despite the fact that she's got a song about how she's on the radio now, I have not actually heard her on the radio. The first most people heard of her is what they saw at the same time in her music video to Video Games. And what they saw was exceedingly obvious hipster bait. From the get go of her career, she was attempting to attract a key demographic through means other than her music. And by the beginning of her career, I'm talking about the album she released, then rescinded, under the name Lizzy Grant. It was available briefly before she bought the rights back, and she has refused to re-release it since. While there's probably a good reason or two out there to explain a move like this, the most obvious possibility is that she was giving hipsters an opportunity to do what they do best: brag about being into something before anyone else. It's just that it's so obvious she was doing it. Throw in her (often sung about) time spent living in a trailer park (after she signed a recording contract for $10,000) and the fact that she's a little white girl from New York going by an artificially exotic name, and you've got all the markings of a singer trying to influence her way into a position of fame and adoration.

But she made a couple major mistakes. One, she estimated her intended audience wrong. She's relied on her image way, way too much, and while it's true that musicians make careers out of good looks or image alone all the time (see American Idol, seasons 1 through 11) it doesn't work quite so well when you want to be taken seriously as a musician. Lana wants to be loved and respected as an artist, and image based careers only work to this degree on pop music audiences. I mean, pop audiences adore Katy Perry and Justin Bieber enough to go to movies about them, they're not overly concerned with quality. She tried to illicit that same level of devotion starting with a core audience of underground music snobs and spread out from there, but she was so obvious about it that even hipsters recognized they were being manipulated. So they turned on her.

Her other problem is in her sexiness. Currently, audiences are completely fine with strong women who are comfortable in their own sexuality (Pink!), which can be empowering, and with women who use their sexuality in a way to attract a male audience (Katy Perry) and exert some level of control over them, which can be a kind of empowerment. Audiences are even fine with whatever Nicki Minaj counts as, and while not necessarily empowering, that certain counts as some kind of kind of self confidence. Lana Del Rey's approach to using her sex appeal consists of a creepily subservient “I exist only for your pleasure” image that I can't quite tell if it's for real or not. On the one hand, I'm not convinced it isn't just a satirical look at the image, on the other hand, she awkwardly flaunts it in ways that prevent me from being convinced that it is.

You see, this. This? This is exactly what I'm talking about.

She might be trying to show how dull and lifeless women are when seen as mere sex objects, or she might just be a sex object who's not all that into it. It's hard to tell. She makes it hard to tell.

Lastly, there's her SNL performance. Yeah, it was just really bad. There's not some greater issue with her persona or business tactics here, it's just that it really was bad. Like, probably not “worst ever” bad, but maybe within the bottom 25.

And all of this is a shame, because beneath the awkward sexuality, the fake name, the obvious manipulation, and the focus on her image and persona over her music, there is a talented musician with good music to perform. I don't care if some of her lyrics seem disingenuous; I only care if she feels the need to make us think they are genuine because then she'd be missing the point. I don't care if she wants to change names or labels; I only care if it starts to affect the availability of her music or if that music is sacrificed for (or worse, created as) a publicity stunt. I don't care if she isn't as good live; as long as what she puts to recording is listenable and good, I'll be listening and good.

What Not to Wear

I’ve tried to mind my own business, but there is a certain problematic segment of society who I believe are ruining it to its core. They are known by many names. Some call them Indie, others call them Hipsters. I myself simply prefer to call them Stupid. And while my normal stance on public displays of stupidity is to live and let live, sometimes the stupidity of others encroaches on my very way of life. As a result I would like to submit a simple law to govern certain aspects of lifestyles of the dumb and proud of it.

Specifically, you cannot wear merchandise ironically.

I think I should probably elaborate on the events that led to this decision. I was very hungry Sunday afternoon, and despite how much I despise hipsters and every hipster friendly restaurant, sometimes food needs to be consumed, regardless of the source. So as I warily made my way through the parking lot at Chipotle, gingerly avoiding any cars with fedoras and tambourines on the dashboard (I am not even kidding), eventually gaining my food and finding an empty table. My goal was to get through this meal as quickly as possible, so as spend as little time in that foul den of irony as I humanly could. Still, the hope that someone of these wicked hordes might indeed have some form of humanity left within their oxidized soul is too great to prevent my eyes from peering at one, then at another, in the vain possibility of some semblance of personality and purity. All seemed lost, until I spied one young man in a group, specifically it was a faint splash of green that caught my eye. Further gazing prevailed upon my doubts to reveal an answer to my hopes; goodness could indeed be found in someone among these denizens, and here it was the proof before me: a man in a Green Lantern t-shirt! Dare I approach? I dare, for the prospect of locating someone else who found themselves so lost among this crowd of barbarians was too great to ignore. Slowly I picked my way across the room, the dismal din of soft cooing backed by repeated acoustic power chords caterwauling against my ears, enhanced by the faux-artistic style of concrete floors and steel walls. Halfway across the arena, I froze. My mouth agape, I spotted a horrible apparition that showed my previous discovery to be nothing more than a hoax. Joining the table, the same as the man who bore the emblem of the emerald gladiator, was some kid in a Thundercats shirt! The horror, the pain, the wretched ignominy! How dare he, HOW DARE HE! Thundercats was all the evidence I needed; no one wears anything Thundercats related in any way other than ironically. And where one person wore ironically, so did others, including he who would defile the mighty name of the Corps! Steadfast and manlike now I strode across the floor, before coming to a halt before the vile wretches at the table. With a look of stern reprimand wrote across my face, I stood with feet apart, shoulders back, and fists on hip as I stared straight at the man’s chest. My worst fear confirmed; his Green Lantern shirt was artificially faded. My lips spread involuntarily in a scornful grimace.

The wretch looked up at me, and confusedly asked, “Can I help you, space cadet?”

I ground my teeth and paused, lengthily, before responding. “Recite the oath,” I ordered.

“Excuse me?”

“Recite the oath, scumbag.”

“What oath?” while, puzzled he still managed to convey a sense of self righteous pride.

“You know very well what oath I’m referring to. The Lantern Oath. The Oath associated with the uniform you wear so callously.” Despite the fact that I did not use any “P” sounds in that sentence, I forced my mouth to spit extravagantly as I spoke.

“Are you some dumb comic nerd?” he asked, haughtily.

“Do not dare impugn the reputation of a Lantern wielder, evildoer. Now recite the oath or remove that sacred uniform from your person.”

“Dude, it’s a t-shirt.”

“This is a t-shirt!” I retorted. In retrospect, that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

“No, that is a Halloween costume.”

“Excuse me?”

“What you’re wearing. Did you buy that at the comic book store?” He must’ve been referring to the green and black body suit I was wearing, complete with green domino mask and ring.

“And what is wrong with the comic book store?” I queried.

“Nothing, if it’s an independent comic book store…” I think that’s how he was going to finish that sentence. He really couldn’t have gone many other ways with that. I’ll never know however, as my fist (again, involuntarily) began to repeatedly punch him in the side of the head as soon as he said the word “independent”. Then I began to punch other people, too. I believe I exhibited a decent sense of self control during the whole ordeal, as I refrained from punching anyone not wearing scarves, converse shoes, or shirts for bands I’ve never heard of. But there were a lot of people wearing those things. I believe the police reports claimed assaults again 27 people, but I swear it was no more than 14.

Either way, this is my basis for enacting this rule from now on. Hipsters, you are no longer allowed to wear merchandise for comics, cartoons, movies, bands, or breakfast cereal “ironically”. From this point onward, any store carrying t-shirts, pins, stickers, or any other form of imprinted clothing or accessories must quiz any customer buying said products, to make sure they truly are a fan who is wearing this for the merit of displaying their affection of something. I know this may seriously damage the sales of certain properties, but if an 80’s cartoon cannot enough to support a thriving t-shirt industry without the crutch of indie people, it wasn’t that good to begin with. Many store franchises may go out of business, but if Urban Outfitters goes under and there’s no other place you can get shot glasses with filthy words written on them in cursive, I think the world will actually be a better place.