Pop is the result of a fine business strategy: in the workshop, beatmakers, lyricists, musicians, production designers, videographers, make-up artists, costume designers, plastic surgeons, producers and managers accumulate around the star in order to propel her into the firmament of the prosaic. This was by no means the case with Lana Del Rey. Some thought it was prefabricated to the very end of her artificial nails, a mistake of monumental snobbery — her poetic universe, her (very) sweet and (very) sour themes, her character, her voice, even her plastic surgeries result from a formidable personal vision, and the majestic Norman Fucking Rockwell! is the result.
