The fruition of Honeymoon smacks of strict creative control: there was minimal press – one notable interview with friend/superfan James Franco – the album’s public playback took place at Urban Outfitters, and the production team was confined to Del Rey herself, long-time engineer Kieron Menzies and Ultraviolence/Born to Die producer Rick Nowels. The resulting album is naturally self-indulgent, but her most sophisticated and refined yet. Her score-like songs are self-sabotagingly slow, striving for Rat-Pack romance and often succeeding. Familiar themes feature: Hollywood legends haunt Terrence Loves You while morality troubles God Knows I Tried (“I’ve got nothing much to live for / Ever since I found my fame”), and she still fraternises with dodgy men, but instead of bonking bikers against pinball machines, she’s now skulking around with the mafia. With a little chopped-and-screwed modernity, hints of jazz and Morricone-like soundscapes, there’s a timelessness to Honeymoon, and an intrigue that should linger longer than her previous LPs.
