By moniker alone, Chemtrails Over the Country Club would be considered a worthy new chapter in Lana Del Rey’s ongoing subversion of classic (see: myopic) American fantasies.
Chemtrails spell conspiracy and doubt; country clubs conjure our obsession with wealth, status and all things Instagram braggadocio. One looms above the other, further threatening the golden-era glamor Del Rey has spent a decade both romanticizing and dissecting.
But in practice, Del Rey’s seventh studio album, released on Friday, strays further than ever from her familiarly lush
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