On Monday, Lana Del Rey doubled down on her controversial comments from last week. Today, we do the same with our own response.
I’m no Ellen Willis or Anne Powers, being a passionate superfan led me to write about music with honest integrity. Early on, I adapted to being a subscriber of the Jonathan Gold ethos, which means that sugarcoating a review (or worse, copying and pasting a PR email) does the artist a disservice and offers no value. It’s about encouraging promising artists and supporting their art instead of overly harsh critiques that aim at stroking the critic’s superiority ego.
Simultaneously, the freedom to express an opinion doesn’t mean that there’s a freedom from consequences.
Critique at its best can provide additional feedback, even a different perspective; it’s a tough pill to swallow but helps to move away from complacency. Also, the critique can make our work stronger or flourish. Constructive criticism is hard to take (myself included); this is something that Lana Del Rey just learned the hard way.
Del Rey’s recent letter (and new responses) aimed at music critics that don’t understand her led her astray from any accountability of realization. The new go-to victim complex of pointing fingers at ‘cancel culture’ runs more profound than the newest culture inquisitive that is Lana Del Rey.
As a nation, we can’t ever come together and be “great” because we never were. Our history of silencing “taboo” subjects such as race is uncomfortable to hear, but it’s a conversation to be had.
In conversations I’ve had with white people, the reaction turns into anger when confronted head-on about their privilege and reply with “playing the race card.” Now, imagine how People of Color feel as the entire deck gets weaponized.
Glossing or dismissing race as a factor is an alarming privilege (perhaps not intentional) and why moving forward is challenging. A singular experience doesn’t compare to that of other women, especially women of color. The all-too comfort in dictating a final say on the nature of representation amongst a group of women listed (who almost all happen to be Women of Color) is troublesome in itself. Hence why fans want to rectify the reach of misconstrued words.
Similarly, it’s a choice to say you’re delicate/glamorous and ergo different than other artists; therefore, your music isn’t as well-received. Feeling under-represented in a multicultural world is NOT suppression.
Nonetheless, saying that the artists listed haven’t faced the same criticism level is the common denominator in fans’ comments. A needless comparison to other women (we’re all guilty, myself included) is internalized misogyny, a thought pattern that every identifying woman should shatter.
Aligning yourself with dainty femininity or vulnerability is just as strong; it doesn’t make you anti-feminist just because your musical styling’s different. Intersectionality isn’t a new concept; there’s plenty of space for strong independent women just like there is for fragile/sad girls with vintage aesthetics, I say as a fan of both.
Alternatively, as a longtime fan of Del Rey, this response is to catapult the discourse further. After all, you welcomed it with the opening line. While we understand the intent to explain the onslaught of constant notes of idealizing and romanticizing Del Rey’s past experiences, her declaration of dissatisfaction with music critics and the inability to look beyond (after a decade) is valid.
Without a doubt, the letter overshadowed its purpose of offering a reflection of HER truth in HER art. That part’s understood; instead, the message stirred up an unwarranted and outdated “not like the other girls” trope. No, you’re not the enemy Lana Del Rey; but you’re also not a victim.
