Lana Del Rey to re-release first album in order to extend sick sadomasochistic game with music critics
Lana Del Rey's Born To Die finally arrives in stores tomorrow, though the reviews are already coming in and—to the surprise of no one—they're not very good. (Though "it's the album equivalent of a faked orgasm" could be construed as a compliment among fake orgasm enthusiasts.) If we were feeling thinkpiece-y, we would suggest that the off-putting emotional co-dependency at the heart of the LDR persona has been weirdly played-out vis a vis her relationship with the media, which has relished hating her with a forceful compulsion that's far greater than her artistic merits or commercial prospects would normally warrant. (Born To Die selling 20,000 copies in its first week seems like a stretch.) Del Rey sings about trying in vain to impress uncaring boyfriends in her songs, but it's her relationship with music critics that has taken a turn toward the sadomasochistic in reality.