Norman Fucking Rockwell!, as a statement in and of itself (appropriate exclamation point and all), feels like a crystallised encapsulation of Lana Del Rey’s aesthetic, and, more importantly, ethos. The 20^th century artist Norman Rockwell is famous for his paintings and illustrations that were reflective of the idyllic American life. Equally so, Lana is famous for being a reflection of another vague and questionable conglomerate of archetypes – The Sad Girl. Throughout her now five albums, she’s has etched herself a firm place in the modern pop canon through hushed, sensual yet sad singing, arrangements bordering on orchestral, and an obsession with nostalgia as expressed through the never ending pool of vintage American iconography she tends to evoke in her work. Never before, however, has this collection of qualities sounded more genuine, and in service of a singular, grand sentiment than it does on Norman Fucking Rockwell!.

The album opens with just about the most characteristically Lana Del Rey sentiment ever, with the punch in the gut that is the line “Goddamn, man-child / You fucked me so good that I almost said I love you”. A heart-breaking, yet darkly humorous and contradictory semi-dismissal of a man too in love with his own poetics and attempt at intellectuality to notice his own glaring flaws. At this point, a master of working off of archetypes embedded into popular consciousness (ever heard of a ‘softboi’?), Del Rey paints a believable picture (“Self-loathing poet, resident Laurel Canyon know-it-all / You talk to the walls when the party gets bored of you”) before re-affirming the emotional contradictions that make her continual detached emotional struggle so resonant: “Why wait for the best when I could have you?”. In its arrangement and mood, the song isn’t too far away from her break-out hit ‘Video Games’, except maybe in self-assuredness.

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Norman Fucking Rockwell! in particular is a collection of Lana-fied folk-rock piano ballads. There’s barely anything that would even come close to qualifying as a genuine pop hook. While there are instrumental frills and hints at grandiose orchestrations abound, none of the songs stray too far from their stripped back versions of piano and vocals, maybe some acoustic guitar, if the mood fits. Yet surprisingly it is, in spite of its seemingly simplistic song-writing nature, an album that benefits from a pair of good headphones. Jack Antonoff sits at the production helm, right after his stints working with Taylor Swift and Lorde. The fears of this team-up making Lana Del Rey sound, god forbid, “bouncy” can be put to rest. Antonoff’s production shines in its luscious arrangements when appropriate – the denser instrumentation subtly weaving in and out of the song structure to good effect – yet never overshadows Lana’s overall presence. This is still clearly her vision.

‘Mariners Apartment Complex’ follows the opening titular track. The vocal line is catchy and pop-ballad appropriate as Lana drops yet another iconic line in the form of “You took my sadness out of context”. However, the song is at its most satisfying when it’s at its peak Lana – the hushed, whispering pre-chorus that casually check-list references everything from other Del Rey songs, such as one of the first singles released in the lead-up to the album ‘Venice Bitch’, to Jesus. Speaking of ‘Venice Bitch’, it may just be a contender for the most mood-indulgent Lana Del Rey song (which is saying a lot), and, consequently, one of the best songs she’s released overall, if not for its sheer audacity to make the listener sit through a 10-minute Lana Del Rey song, a solid five minutes of which is what can only be described as moody guitar noodling. The track itself basically concludes at around the three-minute mark, yet what follows is seven minutes of an instrumental slowing down, speeding up, subtly changing growing in and out of its own general ambience, reflective of the time-skip the narrative of the song implies. It’s Del Rey easily at her most compositionally indulgent, and also at her finest.

While the album tends to meander a bit, and overall lose a sense of steady pacing in its perpetual wistful dreariness, such as the song ‘Cinnamon Girl’, which even upon multiple listens fails to stand out in any meaningful way, there are more than enough genuine moments of Del Rey excelling at her craft to keep a fan or even a casual listener satisfied. For example, the song she was bound to write at some point, ‘California’. Over gentle piano and strings the singer comforts those listening after all the melancholy and hidden snide that pre-supposed the track: “You don’t ever have to be stronger than you really are”. Of course, the song is about her empathising with Damaged Hot Guy no. 11 and telling him she’ll throw him a party that’s “all night long” in California with his “favorite liquor off the top shelf”. An interesting reversal to note here, that unlike the many narratives circling around Damaged Hot Guys she’s penned before, she’s taking the lead and being proactive in this one, a subtle change of the protagonist’s disposition that follows through the entirety of the record.

And then there’s what, for many, stands as the highlight of the entire record, and certainly, it feels like a sort-of emotional crux of her career – ‘The Greatest’. Aside from being that perfect mix of hopefulness and melancholy some of Del Rey’s best songs tend to be, it is also a tapestry of references, or rather stepping stones, of popular musical pillars of the past and their troubled stories with The American Dream. Dennis Wilson, David Bowie are noted, even Kanye West and his rapid decline is given a passing mention. Once again, Lana does what she does best and interweaves archetypal stories into a narrative that’s simultaneously an homage to culture’s past, a reflection of today, and a plead with the future.

On Norman Fucking Rockwell!, more than any other of her previous works, Lana Del Rey feels like a modern oracle, shaman, and whatever other spiritual entity you would look to for counselling and guidance at her most grand, and as a buddy to watch the world burn and recite Sappho to each other at her subtlest. “The most famous woman you know on the iPad.” She’s calm, self-assured, sad, mocking, in love, mischievous, disturbed, and everything in between as she guides the listener through what is her own vision of contemporary Americana. (8/10) (Ellie Wolf)

Listen to Norman Fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Rey here via Spotify, and tell us what you think below!