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Lana: Fears of Fleeting Youth


Reaching tones deeper than the depths of depression, Lana Del Ray is one of the few modern American artists capable of bringing an audience to a point of orgasmic euphoria through a singular sense: sound. Nestled against a symphony of violins with a solo piano, she sings alone, largely in the dark and removed from society (at times physically; others, mentally). The camera – usually an out-dated cinematic contraption – rolls silently, fixated on her lips, eyes and form, voyeuristically reflecting on her life in shades of grey as if it were a world completely removed from reality.

As a young and attractive woman, a set of variables that would seemingly open the gates of heaven, she sings existentially with regret about a world of opportunity, lost. A life of futility in which we are “born to die”. A life of immorality in which we exploit out primate human tendencies by “fucking our…

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