Go look up the lyrics and tell me I’m wrong.) The George Gershwin sample gone trip-hop is straight out of Lana’s wheelhouse, like something she might’ve done on Born To Die that could have soundtracked a long-lost Mad Men episode where Don gets robbed by a seductive tweaker he meets in a Long Beach dive bar. to Freedom” are parallel descriptions of the same date, twenty years removed. (Although now that I think about it, it’s entirely possible that “Summertime Sadness” and “40oz. Naturally, of all the Sublime cuts, Del Rey would go with “Doin’ Time”: it’s essentially the “Summertime Sadness” of the Sublime discography, in which the living’s supposedly easy but the frontman’s been dead for two months.
The last time I reviewed a Lana Del Rey album, I literally described it as “sublime,” though apparently the band didn’t know what the word meant when Nowell’s girlfriend picked it randomly from a dictionary. Both load their songs with references on references, be they to Walt Whitman and Elvis or KRS-One and Bob Marley. (That, obviously, is Justin Bieber.) But the more you think about it, the affinity makes total sense: Sublime’s songs, like LDR’s songs, are set in the shadowy corners of California, teeming with star-crossed lovers, transcendental depravity, and A-1 storytelling that never really gets its due credit. At first this registered as kind of a mind-blowing statement - of all the celebrities I picture rocking out to some third-wave ska on the daily, Lana is not exactly the first to come to mind. “Not a day goes by that I don’t listen to at least one Sublime song,” Del Rey announced along with the track’s release.
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