Norman Fucking Rockwell!

Hazy and sprawling, an hour of California sun with something bruised underneath. Del Rey leans into a looser, classic rock indebted sound, Antonoff's production giving the songs room to breathe without losing her melancholy. The title track sets the tone, world weary and gorgeous. Venice Bitch is the real centerpiece, a nine minute psychedelic drift that shouldn't work as well as it does. Her most fully realized record, dreamy and devastating in equal measure.

This is simply a perfect album. Anyone who dismisses Lana Del Rey as merely a pop artist has no idea how complex, sophisticated and emotionally layered her music is.

goddamn manchild