Arts
Wednesday, September 9, 2020 — 13
Lana Del Rey ventures
into spoken word poetry
In between the transition of
tracks one and two, I fire off three
successive texts:
“Holy f#$%ing sh$t.
Nothing has ever wreaked
havoc on my soul like this single
track has done.
I am CRYING.”
My friend responds with the
picture of a small child who
appears to embody the world-
weary disgruntlement of a man
amid a mid-life crisis:
“Lana
always
chooses
emotional violence.”
Does that make me a masochist,
then, for loving every blow of Lana
Del Rey’s spoken word poetry,
Violet Bent Backwards Over
The Grass? Perhaps. Suffice
it to say, the audiobook
format
is
emotionally
eviscerating in the hands
of Del Rey. Her voice, with
the
trademark
siren’s-
call edge, adds a layer of
intimacy that ink and
paper can’t quite capture.
That, combined with the
background
music
and
evocative writing, makes
for an experience like none
other.
The
Violet
Bent
Backwards Over The Grass
audiobook, released July
28, 2020, features just
14 poems read aloud by
Del Rey. The hardcover
release, coming at the end of
this month, will feature over
30 original poems and original
photography from Del Rey. Her
first release since 2019’s Norman
Fucking Rockwell album, Violet
Bent Backwards Over The Grass
is distinct in both its audiobook
format and intense vulnerability.
I walked into Violet Bent
Backwards with the assumption
that I knew what to expect;
my mind still hasn’t walked
out. Physically, I am here in my
apartment — mentally? I’m in San
Francisco Bay.
It is to the Bay that Del Rey
takes us first: “I left my city for
San Francisco.” Track one eases
us in, like a graceful dip into
water. The sounds of passing cars
and lapping waves makes the
California Dreamin’ feel all too
real. Where the words provide
the emotional ammunition, the
addition of background music
sets the scene. It’s as if Del Rey
is weaving together a new world
piece by piece. The sounds give
way to the sights; they act as a
thread of connection between
poems, and a buffer between the
raw, unedited moments that Del
Rey brings forth.
Much like an album, the
audiobook format provides for
an
uninterrupted
experience,
transitioning smoothly between
tracks. Poems, like songs, are
curated and structured with
intent; short, brighter poems
provide reprieve from heavier,
soul-searching
expositions.
Del Rey, while still artistic and
vulnerable in her music, breaks a
new wall — heck, a new dimension
— with her spoken-word poems.
Words, and often silence, hang
heavier. There is no chorus to fall
back on, the only option is to move
forward.
But rather than an ode to
SanFran, track one is penned as
a letter to home. “L.A. I’m from
nowhere, who am I to love you?
L.A. I’ve got nothing, who am I
to love you when I’m feeling this
way and I’ve got nothing to offer.”
Filled with longing, Del Rey writes
of the tempestuous relationship
between ourselves and the places
we call home.
Beneath the beauty of Del Rey’s
written verse, there lies the steady
melody of life (and notes) passing
by all too quickly. With adoration,
longing and conflict, Del Rey
pleads to L.A. as a child might
plead to a parent for love and
understanding. “Home” becomes
both a place of safety and refuge,
as well as a space of oppression
and painful experience. Track one
speaks to how our origins mold us
— sometimes too harshly.
Del Rey repeats, “Can I come
home now?” This question rings
out, a yearning for a return to
the familiar, whether that be the
comfort of home or the ugliness we
know best. As she pleads
permission,
a
harder
confrontation
arises
—
would our “home” take us
back? Del Rey ends with
a somber promise, “I’m
yours if you’ll have me, but
regardless, you’re mine.”
Here, Del Rey asserts her
connection to her home,
her beautiful and cruel
L.A., yet perhaps a more
striking statement exists
beneath:
the
claiming
of herself fearlessly and
without doubt.
Del Rey speaks to this
dynamic
of
childhood,
of L.A. as an equally
nurturing and neglectful
“parent,” and in turn
she edges into a motherly role.
Audiobooks recall the beginning
and end of life. Some of our earliest
memories are of parental figures
reading aloud to us. In turn, as our
bones grow old and eyes dull, we
return to audiobooks for ease, and
perhaps comfort, too. Her poems
tell stories of her life. In this, Del
Rey appears as a mother to us all,
loving us where L.A. — or any
other home — did not.
As a New Yorker with deep East
Coast loyalty, even I found myself
longing for the “Eucalyptus trees”
and mountains of the West Coast.
Del Rey’s true talent isn’t merely
good writing or her creative
format, but rather her ability to
captivate your mind and make
you see things through her eyes.
From start to end, there was no
distinction between my own
feelings and those of Del Rey. Her
voice, hypnotic and powerful,
crafts a space undisturbed by time
or conflict.
I still struggle to articulate why
exactly Violet Bent Backwards
Over
The
Grass
feels
more
encompassing than the traditional
album — be it a Lana Del Rey
classic, or anyone else. Every track
is untitled, save for its identifying
number. Unlike with songs, where
the title often provides a hint of
things to come, Del Rey’s poems
remain small mysteries. Songs can
be hypnotizing in their repetition,
and there is a natural short-
term gratification system built
into traditional song structure:
Listeners are rewarded with fun,
melodic chorus for every verse
they wade through. Spoken-word
poetry, when done right, is like a
hand reaching into your mind. If
not for the steady lull of comfort,
Del Rey could easily be part of a
classic sci-fi brainwashing scene.
The West Coast is better than the
East Coast, L.A. is cooler than
New York. I shudder to imagine
such a reality.
From
the
Audiobook
format, there is an underlying
apprehension to this lack of control
that I instinctively shy away from.
There is no page to turn. There is
no helpful Spotify sidebar that lets
me know how popular each song
is. There are no titles to clue me in
on what to think, or how to feel.
The end result is a deep dive into
an alternate reality. I imagine this
is what pulling on a VR headset
feels like: alarming, deceptive and
addictive.
In fact, the experience of
listening to Violet Bent Backwards
Over The Grass is wholly divorced
from her music. Only track one
has been released by Del Rey on
Spotify; to listen to her poems, I
was banished from the comfort
of my musical “home” to the dark
depths of the iPhone Books app
(which I had to re-download). To
be sure, Del Rey’s poetry is by no
means a musical Trojan horse. It
does, however, provide a tentative
bridge
between
her
musical
audiences and the anticipation
of hardcover release — a Big Girl
serving of poems sans music.
The entirety of Violet Bent
Backwards Over The Grass is,
admittedly, dramatic. Even as
I write praise, I recognize the
unavoidable glamor and glitz —
the “L.A” of it all. But isn’t that
why we love Lana Del Rey? If
it were not for the emotional
poignancy of Del Rey’s voice, her
poems may appear self-serving
and pretentious. I’m left with the
suspicion that no one else would
ever be able to pull this off half as
well.
Track two filters Del Rey’s
voice with the static of an old
recording or scuffed vinyl disc.
Jazzy saxophone riffs weave in
between verse and stanza. We are
left to rest on the shores of Vintage
Beach, Nostalgia, U.S.A. As this
sensory journey continues, her
poems grow more dreamlike. The
dam-break of the first two tracks
give way to an interlude of shorter
poems, as if Del Rey is taking a
breath of air. At one point, I grew
so lost in Del Rey’s soft-spoken
words that I forget where — and
when — I was. My trance ended to
the final beat of track four, where
Del Rey whispered “You don’t
want to be forgotten, you just
want to disappear.”
Violet Bent Backwards Over The
Grass is a little psychedelic, too.
For some, the lack of steadying
audio structure (the anchor of
the verse and chorus) may be too
distracting. As enjoyable as Lana’s
spoken word poetry is, it is not
interchangeable with her songs.
Her poems are an experience.
They’re a character study of a
woman who perhaps seems as
intimately close as a friend, and
then as distant as the moon.
As such, Violet Bent Backwards
Over The Grass is a fantastic
adventure
into
something
strange, something new. For
the
poetry-wary,
Del
Rey
strikes a comfortable balance
between storytelling (moments
and lessons from her life) and
thematic, exploratory poems that
are begging to be picked apart
word by word. It’s perfect for a
cloudy day, curled up in a quiet
room, or the background track to
some gritty, old-fashioned self-
reflection. For writers and artists
like myself, it’s like a straight IV of
creative inspiration threaded into
a pulsating vein.
MADELEINE GANNON
Daily Arts Writer
HARMONY GERBER VIA FLICKR
Does that make me a
masochist, then, for
loving every blow of
Lana Del Rey’s spoken
word poetry, ‘Violent
Bent Backwards Over
The Grass’?
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
‘Freaks’ is fun, even if it
doesn’t have much to add
‘Vow’ makes you wait for it
Even
in
a
post-Marvel
Cinematic Universe world, there
is always going to be a desire to
make movies about superheroes.
There’s so much potential in
them: the coming-of-age aspect,
the tensions between the “real”
world and the supernatural, the
government censorship and more.
The problem is that, when
there have been hundreds of
superhero films made in the
last 50 years, it’s difficult to
make something truly new.
“Freaks: You’re One of Us,”
a German superhero film
that dropped on Netflix last
week, does its best — with a
result that is entertaining, if
not quite unique.
The film centers around
Wendy (Cornelia Gröschel,
“Heidi”), a woman in her
late 20s working as a fry
cook to support her family.
Her husband Lars (Frederic
Linkemann, “Die verlorene
Tochter”) and son Karl
(Finnlay
Berger,
“Der
Geburtstag”) are kind and sweet,
and the three of them are a great
family even when they struggle
with money. Still, her job as a fry
cook is less than ideal: She gets paid
little money and can’t work up the
courage to ask for a raise.
But, as is always the case, there
is more to the story. An opening
scene featuring an ominous view of
an elementary school with a gaping
hole in the wall and a sobbing
young Wendy gives us the clues
we need: Wendy is gifted with
superpowers. Still, the incident as
a child has led her to repress those
memories, and a special daily pill,
prescribed from somewhere in
the government, physiologically
represses her powers. As a result,
she has no idea what she’s capable
of.
So when Marek (Wotan Wilke
Möhring, “Who Am I”), a strange
man with apparent invincibility,
tells her to skip her pills, she
discovers that she has super-
strength. There are people with
powers hidden throughout her
society — even her somewhat
goofy
coworker
Elmar
(Tim
Oliver Schultz, “The Red Band
Society”) is gifted with power over
electricity. Wendy’s powers lead
to a transformation beyond the
ability to bend metal trays in half:
She becomes more assertive about
taking what she wants, but also
starts becoming more reckless.
This film has a lot of promise
in terms of creating something
new. One of the biggest things
that sets Wendy apart from other
superheroes is that her life is
already established before the
inciting event. Many superhero
movies are about loners; Wendy,
on the other hand, has her family
unit, which only makes the stakes
all the more intense. Because of
this, “Freaks” explores interesting
tensions surrounding power and
family.
The movie also dares to pose
the question: does the presence of
people with superpowers mean
that there’s a need for superheroes?
Elmar — whose obsession with
comic books greatly influences
his understanding of his powers
— views superheroes in a very
idealistic way; Marek, on the other
hand, takes a more pragmatic
approach. Over the course of the
film, Wendy must decide which
approach she wants to live her life
by.
In the end, the shortfalls of
“Freaks”
come
from
underdeveloped
worldbuilding.
You
meet a few people with
various
superpowers,
but the majority of the
superheroes are extras
in the background that
you never get to meet.
Wendy’s
“psychiatrist”
Dr.
Stern
(Nina
Kunzendorf, “Phoenix”)
serves as the face of the
institutions
keeping
superheroes hidden — yet
we get little information
about these institutions
beyond the basic goals.
Much of the film is
predictable, filled with
moments that come off as cliché —
possibly a result of translation from
German, but most likely because of
the somewhat formulaic plot.
“Freaks” does well enough for
what it is: a superhero movie with
an
unconventional
protagonist
and a conventional plot. Within
somewhat fluid pacing, there
are enough amusing moments
and cool visual effects to keep
an audience entertained — not
to mention a chance to watch
Wendy absolutely thrash a group
of catcalling creeps. “Freaks” is a
very solid international film about
power and responsibility, playing
under a solid ’80s soundtrack
from Wendy’s sticker-covered CD
player. I just wish that it was a little
less predictable.
KARI ANDERSON
Daily Arts Writer
When news broke in 2018
that a well-connected cult
leader and a former Hollywood
star were indicted for sex
trafficking and multiple other
felony charges, a docuseries
was almost guaranteed. With
the recent explosion of the
true-crime genre, it was only a
matter of time before NXIVM
became the country’s next
morbid obsession.
“The Vow” opens on a series
of
interviews
with
former
NXIVM
members.
Actress
Sarah Edmondson (“Geronimo
Stilton”)
and
documentary
filmmaker
Mark
Vincente
(“What the Bleep Do We
Know!?”) are featured heavily
as narrators, slowly unraveling
the
story’s
confusing
and
bureaucratic
exposition.
Before NXIVM was known
worldwide as a hive of abuse
and exploitation, it was a self-
help seminar series.
Founded in 1998, NXIVM
began as a vaguely science-
based multi-level marketing
scheme. Leaders Keith Raniere
and Nancy Salzman promoted
the organization as a way to
optimize a person’s potential
by
eliminating
“limiting
beliefs” that stand in the way of
his or her success. Edmondson
and Vincente recount the rapid
growth of the semi-spiritual
group from hotel ballroom
Powerpoint presentations to a
business conglomerate backed
by the two heirs to the Seagram
beverage fortune.
As the premiere unfolds,
the
average
viewer
might
start to question why exactly
a
primetime
HBO
series
has spent the last half hour
talking about colored sashes
and personal questionnaires.
Slowly, a sense of unease creeps
into each tearful interview as
the audience wonders, “How
did
a
self-esteem
building
method
become
a
waking
nightmare?” But “The Vow”
offers
no
answers
in
its
enigmatic debut.
If you didn’t know anything
about NXIVM before watching
this, you’d still have no idea
what the point of “The Vow”
is after the first episode. In
fact, the show’s entire feeling
of suspense relies on viewers
already knowing the story
that’s about to be told. Its
foreshadowing is vague, almost
nonexistent. But is that pacing
problem an issue with “The
Vow” or with its audience?
When
a
documentary
premieres about events that
occurred not even a few years
prior, a certain amount of
background is assumed. When
a
documentary
premieres
about events as heinous as
the sexual abuse of NXIVM,
a certain amount of morbid
fascination is assumed. Often
works of the true-crime genre
cash in on disturbing content
to keep audiences interested.
HBO, however, has taken a
subtler approach to capture
attention.
Before it exposes each of
Keith Raniere and NXIVM’s
crimes,
“The
Vow”
wants
to
show
exactly
how
a
seemingly
innocent
(and
convoluted) self-help course
became
international
news.
In outlining every step of the
organization’s
creation
and
belief system, the documentary
thus far avoids addressing
the twisted horror story that
dedicated
true-crime
fans
already know and came to see.
It’s hard to make a judgement
on “The Vow” because the
show itself is saving its most
powerful moments for the
final episodes. The choice to
bury the lede may have been
in order to bait viewers into
watching past episode one or to
attempt to explain how exactly
someone falls victim to a cult.
Whatever the motivation, the
story of NXIVM and its victims
is waiting to be told, just as its
audience is waiting to hear it.
ANYA SOLLER
Daily Arts Writer
One of the biggest
things that sets
Wendy apart from
other superheroes is
that her life is already
established before the
inciting event.
HBO