On stage at Hampden Park, Lana Del Rey is just a tiny speck to the crowd gathered in front of her. Above standing, tens of thousands of people shine phone torches from the stands. Over fifteen minutes late, her voice is quiet, even out of hundreds of speakers, Del Rey speaks softly into the microphone, frequently looking down. She is shy. The woman who has sold over forty million albums worldwide, who has generated a glamorous persona so far removed from the small-town Lizzy Grant, is bashful in the presence of such a large audience.
This is Lana Del Rey’s first stadium tour of the UK and Ireland. Watching Del Rey, neck craned, I began to question where this popstar came from, and whether she is really suited to the kind of live performance that her level of fame demands.
Del Rey’s set in Hampden Park cultivated an aesthetic of warm Southern charm; fake willow trees draped over a farmhouse with a covered porch. I could almost hear the crickets and see the soft glow of fireflies. This mirrors some of Del Rey’s own upbringing in Lake Placid, New York. While miles away from the South, Del Rey attended a Catholic school in a small, rural town before being sent to boarding school. There are glimmering elements of authenticity in Lana Del Rey’s discography, yet she paints a warmer, shinier veneer over the top.
I applaud Del Rey’s vulnerability, the way that she shamelessly showcases her introverted personality. It’s these emotions which blend so seamlessly into her discography, her keening ballads that speak of pain, heartbreak, and a life of mistreatment. But, selling extortionate tickets, some upwards of £170, for a distant and removed performance doesn’t stand to reason.
Halfway through the concert, an eerie and rather dystopian hologram appeared in the top window of the farmhouse to “sing” Norman f*cking Rockwell, a fan favourite. An air of disappointment drifted over the stadium, as Del Rey had exited the stage joking that she needed a break to kiss her husband. During a concert performing only fourteen songs, two of which were covers, two songs were “performed”, or rather played over, a glowing, flickering hologram of Del Rey. With a discography as extensive and as rich as hers, it begs a question why she would waste two songs on covers instead of the songs that have made and defined her career.
When the last song ended, a cover of Country Roads, Dey Rey immediately exited the stage in an air of relief. She dips from view, walking along the front of the standing area to speak to her fans and sign photos, so much more natural and in her element on the ground, face-to-face, than up on the high stage. She did not want to be there; she did not want to perform. Or at least that’s how I interpreted her attitude and body language. Del Rey has no problem with connection, as evidenced by her dedication in greeting her fans, the problem lies in the sheer size and volume of her venue.
It would be unfair for me to not acknowledge that the set was beautiful, and Del Rey’s fans so loyal and adoring that the almost fifty thousand present at Hampden Park were grateful just to catch a glimpse of her and hear the small number of songs she sang. Furthermore, to condemn Del Rey’s performance skills is not to disparage her talent- while quiet, her vocals were enchanting. That being said, such an immovable fanbase wouldn’t rely on stretches of stadium tours; let Lana Del Rey stick to the immaculate production of her music videos and fifty-eight million Spotify listeners and stop selling an experience she’s not cut out, or able, to deliver on.
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