Video: Ka - Off the Record

I'm sure this video resonates with those that received their introduction to quintessential nineties rap through vinyl records and tape decks. My first rap album was Puff Daddy's No Way Out, on CD (fml), and it's a shame to Read more

Marmalakes - Dolores

I was in bed reading the The Movie Goer by Walker Percy the other night when "Dolores" came up on a recent playlist I made. I had to put down the American classic and listen a little closer to Chase Weinacht's Read more

Toony TuneS & Captn Dan - Popadock

Wordplay Saturday. You might be out in the sun, swimming or riding your bicycle, but I'm the house listening to rappers Toony Tunes and Captn Dan. I don't know where they came from, put them in my ears, Read more

» Lana Del Rey

Video: Lana Del Rey – Ride

On by Alex Mitchell In Music, Videos | comment  

So, I generally think Lana Del Rey is a musical soap opera who makes her videos out of a million H&M Instagrams sewn together. Maybe this video is absurd – scratch that it is – but I have found the juxtaposition between Lana-del-get-fucked-on-a-pinball-machine and her leather-fitted friends off putting enough to watch it a few times over. If only I had a motorcycle and a nomadic calling to slay prostitutes in shitty motel rooms…

A$AP Rocky – “Ridin’” (Feat. Lana Del Rey)

On by Alex Mitchell In Music, Stories | comment  

A$AP Rocky met Lana Del Rey at a wine tasting in Sonoma. He was there with his boys at a quaint, Italian influenced winery called Felice Cantina, eating mini mounds of blue cheese and taking pulls of Cantina’s signature Pinot Noir. After spilling the sweet Denominazione di Origine Controllata on his linen Rag and Bone button up, A$AP tossed his bottle, took off his shirt, and went outside to find a forty. That’s when he saw Lana.

Lana was slumped in a small garden, crushing a patch of Marigolds under a short, pleated, Polo skirt. Half of her was engulfed by a hydrangea, as if she was being slowly absorbed. A$AP stopped as he walked past. “Lana?”

Lana moaned in a wavering, masculine tone, “Oh. Hey A$AP.”

“Yo why you sound like sound like a base head?”

Lana sat forward out of the bush, retro waves intact from the week before, her pout painted Easter pink. “I don’t care what you think about me A$AP. I don’t care what anyone thinks about me. I was born to die. Just let me decompose.”

“Yo girl I was just playin’. Why you all up in those bushes though?” A$AP stepped over the small wire fence lining the garden, acutely aware of the dirt below his bright white Jeremy Scott Adidas.

Lana cried, expressionlessly. “You want the truth? No one respects me. It’s like I’m the joke of the industry.”

A$AP scrunched up his face. “Yo, didn’t you debut number two on Billboard. Bitch you got more money than me. All types of fans. What’s the real problem here?”

Lana sighed. “It’s not about money, A$AP. I don’t know, maybe I’m just having summertime sadness in this dark paradise of mine.”

“Well, damn girl.” A$AP’s voice lowered as he knelt next to Lana, his hand cupping her neck underneath a popped pastel Lacoste collar. “If I made a confession would that lift your spirits?”

“Maybe. I don’t know just tell me. Nothing matters anyway.”

A$AP stood up, pulling Lana with him. A twig stuck perfectly in her hair like a DIY bobby pin she found on ETSY. “The first time I heard ‘Blue Jeans’ on the radio, I thought to myself, shit, if I could have that girl I would feel like a million dollar man for the rest of my life. That voice you got, it haunts my soul.”

Lana smiled. “You mean you don’t think my creativity came and went with ‘Video Games’?”

“Naw bitch.”

“Oh A$AP!” Lana grabbed the rapper’s face and kissed him deeply, tasting the tang of his golden grill and the remnants of Northern Californian class. “Can I ride you?”

“Right here?” A$AP asked surprised. He reached for his RUN DMC belt buckle while looking over his shoulder at the Cantina.

“No A$AP, can I ride your coattails back into the starlight.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah baby. You can be my Jackie O.”

Lana gripped the ends of A$AP’s cornrows, her heels slowly sinking into the soil below her. “And you can be my Johnny,” she whispered, a devilish smile spreading into the corners of her big, brown, lucky eyes.