Album Review: Lana Del Rey Finds Peace Through the War in Her Mind on ‘Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Boulevard’

With a cherry vape in hand and Jack Antonoff by her side, Lana Del Rey’s ninth studio album, Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Boulevard, shows the formative indie singer at her most vulnerable, yet happy.

Written by Adam Cherian

Content Warning: This article contains themes of rape, substance use disorders, and suicide.

Crowned “the best American songwriter of the 21st century” by Rolling Stone, American singer Lana Del Rey recently garnered mass praise from fans and critics alike, a first in her career. Del Rey’s public image shrouds itself in allegations of inauthenticity, especially upon the release of her second studio album, Born to Die. She seldom hides disdain for her detractors, baring all and introspecting like never before on her new album, Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Boulevard.

The lyrics “I know they think that it took thousands of people / To put me together again like an experiment” on the long-winded ballad “Grandfather please stand on the shoulders of my father while he’s deep-sea fishing” delves into the critique of the persona “Lana Del Rey” has built up outside of her true personhood. The 11th track from Did you know… sees Del Rey calling on her family and a higher power to protect her spirit from the pundits that hurt her. The lush and psychedelic instrumentals feel like the self-proclaimed “Brooklyn baby” finally reaching a spiritual epiphany, not letting doubters kill the authenticity they believe she lacks.

Did You Know… addresses Del Rey’s most brooding, contemplative emotions and thoughts. A deeply introspective record, the New York-born singer gives listeners a glimpse into the dark mind of a prolific artist. She explores her different relationships — with fame, past lovers, and, chiefly, family, a topic she does not often put centerstage. Tracks like “Kintsugi” and “The Grants'' show Del Rey appreciating those she holds dearest. Aptly named album opener “The Grants” starts off with a gospel choir’s playful banter and singing, “I'm gonna take mine of you with me / Like ‘Rocky Mountain High,’ the way John Denver sings.” The banter and mistakes in the choir stayed in the song because of their symbolism; in life she has messed up so much, but knows that she can come back better than ever.

“The Grants” refers to her family name; a beautiful ode showing that blood runs deep. Stream-of-consciousness track “Fingertips” further explores family as Del Rey softly croons — in an almost diary entry-like fashion — about her childhood, concerns for her family, and mental health. She worries for her siblings and sings as if she’s already dead: “Charlie, stop smoking / Caroline, will you be with me?” The song cuts deep; she talks about “tracing fingertips over plastic bags” (alluding to drugs) and really dives into the trauma that led her to such dark, addictive places. The 37-year-old singer has experienced addiction since childhood, even going to rehab at the age of 14 for alcoholism. “Fingertips” accomplished what the singer has been trying to do for over a decade: prove that dark themes of drugs, mental illness, and abuse were not just her putting on a persona.

This record can be referred to as Del Rey defending herself; each song embraces who she is, opening every insecurity she has for the world to see. “A&W” perfectly encapsulates every version of the singer into a folk/trap bombastic experimental rant. The track starts off with dramatic pianos and folksy acoustic guitars as the indie goddess sweetly sings about her life from innocent childhood to promiscuous adulthood. Before immaculately switching up toward the latter half, the song highlights a seemingly out-of-place but necessary statement on the complexities of rape culture: “I mean look at my hair / Look at the length of it and the shape of my body / If I told you that I was raped / Do you really think that anybody would think / I didn't ask for it? I didn't ask for it / I won't testify, I already fucked up my story.” The breakdown of the song does a complete 180, shifting into trap beats and sirenic wailing with hedonistic lyrics, all over an orchestral sample from Del Rey’s 2019 song “Norman Fucking Rockwell.” She paints a complex picture of how it feels to be a woman so traumatized by rape that she takes on the moniker of “American whore.”

“A&W” oddly segues into a sermon from homophobic megachurch pastor Judah Smith,” a surprise to the countless LGBTQ fans of the singer. Bluntly titled “Judah Smith Interlude,” the track seems to be a phone recording of a television playing a sermon from the pastor, with Del Rey and her friends sarcastically chiming in with quick quips. Many question why this interlude was included, but the sermon’s last line perfectly answers this: “I used to think my preaching was mostly about You / And you're not gonna like this, but I'm gonna to tell you the truth / I've discovered my preaching is mostly about me.” This album is Del Rey finally coming to terms with the fact that her music is for her and her only, and Smith similarly preaches as a form of self-comfort. A problematic way to express this, but unquestionably very on brand for the controversial singer.

Did you know… is chock full of problematic lyrics. From the line, “Oh, that's why they call me Lanita / When I get down, I'm bonita,” on the slow burn remix, “Taco Truck x VB,” to the careless sentiments of COVID-19 on “Peppers” in which Del Rey sings, “My boyfriend tested positive for COVID, it don’t matter / We've been kissing, so whatever he has, I have, I can’t cry,” the California darling never strays from being unfiltered, good or bad. The latter track is a slow trip hop banger featuring Canadian-Indian rapper Tommy Genesis in the chorus cheekily singing about giving her boyfriend head: “Hands on your knees, Angelina Jolie / Let me put my hands on your knees, you can braid my hair.” Del Rey, a prolific lyricist, can masterfully describe the feeling of being in love through simple things like listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and naked dancing.

Del Rey finally feels connected with her emotions and needs. Did you know… finds the artist looking into herself and coming to terms with her past. The title track perfectly encapsulates this; the singer compares herself to Jergens Tunnel in Long Beach, California, a once beautiful, now abandoned structure. The luxuriantly orchestral song encompasses Del Rey’s desire to be remembered, plea to never be forgotten, and honest confrontation with her feelings, begging in the chorus, “Open me up, tell me you like it / Fuck me to death, love me until I love myself.” It’s another epiphany in an album full of them, whether it be her realization that she’s overly infatuated with her man in song “Candy Necklace” or being honest with her struggle in balancing relationships on track “Let The Light In.”

Even less sensational tracks like “Margaret,” featuring ever-present Jack Antonoff with his band Bleachers, sees Del Rey reflecting on a healthy relationship with her good friend, Antonoff’s fiancé. A slow yet self-described “simple” song about a true romance, the singer admires it from the outside and sees that love should be bliss and not heartache. Though it’s not as introspective as other tracks on the album, it still glimpses into the artist’s past.

For deep introspection, however, listeners can look no further than track “Paris, Texas,” a sweet track where the singer reflects on her life and relationships via travel allegories. The song title references the 1984 movie of the same name, in which the main character goes on a journey to find his ex-wife. Just like the protagonist, Del Rey searches for herself after fighting with her lover, cheekily using the names of places in the U.S. that resemble European cities such asFlorence and Venice. Despite running away — “I went to Paris (Texas) / With a suitcase in my hand / I had to leave / Knew they wouldn't understand” — the song sadly ends with her realizing that home is Venice, California. The song possesses nostalgia, a famous staple of Del Rey’s music. The nearly mechanical piano also encapsulates this emotion, with fans comparing the track akin to the music score of the 2009 film “Coraline.”

Did you know… cinematizes every aspect of the alternative music queen. From the naive persona of Lizzy Grant to the nihilistic attitude of Ultraviolence, down to the meditative Norman Fucking Rockwell, this record blasts the allegations of Del Rey being a spurious hack. The singer uses this record to deeply reflect on her life, coming to terms with who she truly is: a complicated woman with beautifully turbulent emotions. She successfully proves that she’s not a fraud, something her fans always knew yet her critics always doubted.

REVIEWSAfterglow ATXApril 3, 2023adam cherian, lana del rey, indie pop