Lana Del Rey testa os limites entre disco e livro

, por Alexandre Matias


O meio é a mensagem: a nova obra de Lana Del Rey, Violet Bent Backwards Over the Grass, não é um disco, mesmo que ela esteja nos vocais e seja acompanhada musicalmente pelo produtor e braço direito Jack Antonoff. Mas o que determina este formato? Tal apresentação de poemas poderia ser tranquilamente um disco de spoken word, uma vez que ela lê seus textos sobre bases instrumentais, como ela mostrou no único poema que disponibilizou no YouTube, o fluxo de consciência beat “LA Who Am I to Love You?”, uma ode à sua cidade favorita:

“I left my city for San Francisco
Took a free ride off a billionaire’s jet
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?
L.A., not quite the city that never sleeps
Not quite the city that wakes, but the city that dreams, for sure
If by dreams you mean in nightmares

L.A., I’m a dreamer, but I’m from nowhere, who am I to dream?
L.A., I’m upset, I have complaints, listen to me
They say I came from money and I didn’t, and I didn’t even have love, and it’s unfair
L.A, I sold my life rights for a big check and I’m upset
And now I can’t sleep at night and I don’t know why
Plus, I love Zac, so why did I do that when I know it won’t last?

L.A., I picked San Francisco because the man who doesn’t love me lives there
L.A., I’m pathetic, but so are you, can I come home now?
Daughter to no one, table for one
Party of thousands of people I don’t know at Delilah where my ex-husband works
I’m sick of this, but can I come home now?
Mother to no one, private jet for one
Back home to the Tudor house that borned a thousand murder plots
Hancock Park, it’s treated me very badly and resentful
The witch on the corner, the neighbor nobody wanted
The reason for Garcetti’s extra security
L.A., I know I’m bad, but I have nowhere else to go, can I come home now?
I never had a mother, will you let me make the sun my own for now, and the ocean my son?
I’m quite good at tending to things despite my upbringing, can I raise your mountains?
I promise to keep them greener, make them my daughters, teach them about fire, warn them about water
I’m lonely, L.A., can I come home now?

I left my city for San Francisco
And I’m writing from the Golden Gate Bridge
But it’s not going as I planned
I took a free ride off a billionaire and brought my typewriter and promised myself that I would stay but
It’s just not going the way that I thought
It’s not that I feel different, and I don’t mind that it’s not hot
It’s just that I belong to no one, which means there’s only one place for me
The city not quite awake, the city not quite asleep
The city that’s still deciding how good it can be

And also
I can’t sleep without you
No one’s ever really held me like you
Not quite tightly, but certainly I feel your body next to me
Smoking next to me
Vaping lightly next to me
And I love that you love the neon lights like me
Orange in the distance
We both love that
And I love that we have that in common
Also, neither one of us can go back to New York
For you, are unmoving
As for me, it won’t be my city again until I’m dead
Fuck the New York Post
L.A., who am I to need you when I’ve needed so much, asked for so much?
But what I’ve been given, I’m not sure yet
I may never know that either until I’m dead
For now, though, what I do know
Is, although, I don’t deserve you
Not you at your best and your splendor
With towering eucalyptus trees that sway in my dominion
Not you at your worst
Totally on fire, unlivable, unbreathable, I need you

You see, I have no mother
And you do
A continental shelf
A larger piece of land from where you came
And I?
I’m an orphan
A little seashell that rests upon your native shores
One of many, for sure
But because of that, I surely must love you closely to the most of anyone

For that reason, let me love you
Don’t mind my desperation
Let me hold you, not just for vacation
But for real and for forever
Make it real life
Let me be a real wife to you
Girlfriend, lover, mother, friend
I adore you
Don’t be put off by my quick-wordedness
I’m generally quite quiet
Quite a meditator, actually
I’ll do very well down by Paramhansa Yogananda’s realization center, I’m sure
I promise you’ll barely even notice me
Unless you want to notice me
Unless you prefer a rambunctious child
In which case, I can turn it on, too
I’m quite good on the stage as you may know
You might have heard of me
So either way, I’ll fit in just fine
So just love me by doing nothing
And perhaps, by not shaking the county line
I’m yours if you’ll have me
(Quietly or loudly, sincerely your daugther)
But regardless, you’re mine”

Acontece que Violet Bent Backwards Over the Grass só vai estar disponível em plataformas e aplicativos que lidam com áudio-livros, mas não nas plataformas digitais de música. As coisas ficam mais complicadas quando ela também anuncia que a obra terá não apenas uma, mas três versões físicas: o livro, o vinil e o CD. Será que o repasse dos direitos autorais nas plataformas digitais para livros lidos é melhor que a das de música? A decisão certamente não é só estética – eis o LP e o CD do livro que não deixa mentir…


E a imagem que ilustra este post é um retrato de Lana feito por ninguém menos que Joan Baez.