Honeymoon | A cinematic mosaic of eras & genres

Exactly ten years ago today, Lana Del Rey released her third album, a dreamlike whisper from another era. Building on the glam Americana aesthetic she established with Born to Die (2012) and moving away from the desert-rock, psychedelic vibe of Ultraviolence (2014), she returned just a year later to prove that her artistry remains alive, fragile, and breathing.

At a time when the music scene was rushing at a frenzied pace to escape the 2000s, Lana shared with us an album that felt like a cinematic dream of old Hollywood glam. At the heart of Honeymoon lies love—not the idealized, romantic kind, but a love that resembles grief and addiction. A love that eats away at the soul.

The album’s sound is a grand mosaic of baroque, dream pop, and trip hop, fused in unexpected ways. Together with Rick Nowels and Kieron Menzies, Lana crafts a landscape reminiscent of a vintage noir film soundtrack. What makes it personally one of the most distinctive listening experiences of all time is how it masterfully incorporates touches of jazz with trap beats—a thrilling experiment. Her whispering voice intertwines with decaying synths, strings, echoing guitars, and sparsely used drums. The atmosphere is melancholic, yet enchanting.

The lyrics explore toxic romance, revenge, desire, escape, and violence. In “High by the Beach,” escape becomes a refuge from a suffocating relationship—a cry of independence, and at the same time, a confession of loneliness. In “Terrence Loves You,” Lana mourns a lost love with references to Bowie’s Space Oddity: Ground control to Major Tom / Can you hear me all night long?

“Music to Watch Boys To” emerges like a dark dream—playful and fateful, a soundtrack to languid observation and hidden desire. “Salvatore” and “24” evoke memories of Italian melodrama and James Bond-esque themes. In “Swan Song,” Lana whispers a farewell: Why work so hard when you could just be free? It is the last dance of a love, a melody fading like a wave on the shore. “Art Deco,” by contrast, is enigmatic—a tribute to nightlife and superficial glamour, revealing the emptiness behind the glitter.

Influences from Nancy Sinatra and David Lynch permeate the work. The cover—Lana in a car, like a tourist in a world that doesn’t belong to her—says more than a thousand words. The videos blend glamour with the uncanny. In High by the Beach, she destroys a helicopter invading her privacy, a commentary on cannibalistic media. In Freak, she immerses herself in a sensual, mystical world of escape, with references to cult classics of past eras.

Honeymoon is not for everyone, something that its commercial performance compared to its predecessors also proved. It is slow, demanding patience and the willingness to immerse yourself. Ten years later, it remains a work that speaks about the human need to love, even when it hurts. It is Lana Del Rey at the height of her honesty, unfiltered, unconcerned with producing a radio-friendly sound. An album that keeps you captive, like a love you can never forget.