Comatose vocals and beautiful loser cliches abound.
Lana Del Rey sings in a voice of savored doom.
Her nearly comatose vocals make it sound like she just slipped herself a date-rape drug, saving whatever sicko she seeks the trouble.
She extends the perversity to her lyrics, which never miss a beautiful loser cliché.
It's standard-issue Del Rey, a woman whose shrewdly-honed, broken baby doll persona helped her hawk over a million copies of her last album, "Born To Die."
The Hollywood hard-sell of that character made her a toast of the trendy clueless. To wit: "Kimye" invited her sing at their wedding.
Auerbach does not, however, lift the last album's blinding fog of echo. He can't. They serve to camouflage Del Rey's singing and to simulate her chosen mood of mystery - but there's a consequence.
His production makes it sound like someone sneezed into the mix, blowing green ooze and unmentionable chunks.
Ultimately, she's milking classic male fantasies of the sad Marilyn Monroe, the babe in distress who can only be saved by you - and your dollars.
http://www.nydailynews.com/entertain...icle-1.1826941 
the thirst
