(There actually is a flag hidden on the back.) She can’t help it: No muse speaks louder to Lana than the promised land, where cities are metaphors, its dead are its gods, and she, its glamorous Orpheus. In 2017, Lana told Pitchfork that the American flag was no longer going to be a part of her live performances for fear of indicating national pride during the Trump era, but there was still one billowing on the cover of 2019’s Norman Fucking Rockwell!, and there may as well be one on the front of Chemtrails as well. Two months later, Miss America’s latest text has emerged, and Chemtrails Over the Country Club is definitely both wild and incredibly American, the twin tenets of her empire. It was remarkable to hear the bard of white American malaise suggest which delusion was gripping the nation. Whether meant to be tongue-in-cheek, a joke, or not one at all, the title’s flawless alignment with the mood and mien of that moment-the conspiracy-mindedness, the radiant gloom, the fragility, and the suggestion of the type of person associated with the words “country club”-was an act of poetry. The original purpose of the BBC interview was to promote her newly released single titled “Chemtrails Over the Country Club,” and the album that shares its name. With time and refinement, Lana Del Rey had mushroomed into what we called the next best American songwriter-emphasis on American. Marilyn Monroe, men in training yards, cherry pies, a Pleasantville middle-class, Coachella, violence-as-romance and romance-as-violence: she offered us a canon of heritage markers recast in ’10s-era drama and became the rare sort of talent that was able to congeal past and present into seductively conceptual cinema. Geographies-the Hollywood sign, the tri-state, California writ large-became mythological playgrounds for her to languor around and smoke Parliaments on. It was Xanadu, built from a blissful, degenerate, high-femme sort of jingoism. In 2011, she emerged as an aesthetic howitzer, exploding a broad but deeply personal index of iconography into her own nation of death-driven kitsch. The first is that, for the past decade, Lana has been an exceptional hunter-gatherer of white American arcana. But Lana’s monologue about the neuroses plaguing the United States was genuinely fascinating-for two reasons. With rare exception, the strange tradition of having celebrities act like talking heads on matters of national politics or domestic terrorism is both a largely pointless and joyless spectacle. In or out of context, this is an entirely fair analysis.
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They want to wild out somewhere! It’s like, we don’t know how to find the ways to be wild in our world….and at the same time, the world is so wild.”
“For people who stormed the Capitol, it’s dissociated rage. “I actually think this is the most important thing I’ll say in this interview,” she underscored. Partway through clarifying how she felt Trump’s “sociopathy” may have unintentionally inspired the deadly siege, she cleared her throat to show her conviction.
Capitol that had taken place six days earlier. Finally, her frisson found a foothold in the psychology behind the insurrection at the U.S. On live radio, the pop star parkoured from thoughts on Trump’s presidency to going to the farmer’s market barefoot to how she’d characterize at least half of her friends as jerks. On the morning of January 11th, as she ate a popsicle for breakfast with a newly broken arm, Lana Del Rey tumbled into nearly 40 somersaulting minutes of free-associative responses to questions from BBC Radio 1 presenter Annie Mac.
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