Amy Klein (of Titus Andronicus) writes about what “the problem” with Lana Del Rey is:

Lana Del Ray is sitting at home waiting for you to come home so she can fix you dinner and a drink. Lana Del Ray is waiting for you to come home so she can watch you play video games on the couch and ignore her all day until it’s time for bed. Lana Del Ray is waiting for you to come home so you can go to bed and act out all of your wildest fantasies which is exactly what she wants to do—what you want to do, that is. Lana Del Ray is waiting for you because she is your mirror.

So it doesn’t matter if Lana Del Ray is entirely sarcastic when she belts out, “It’s YOU, it’s YOU, it’s all for YOU.” It doesn’t matter that there is an edge to her voice that sounds something like rage and despair. Lana Del Ray has conquered America with plastic surgery, video games, a regression to nostalgia, and an appeal to the sex drive of every male music critic on the planet. It doesn’t matter if she has anything real to sell because Lana Del Ray has made us think about the relationship between selling fantasy and selling lies.

Lana Del Ray is the lie we like to tell ourselves—that America has always been, and will always be, this gorgeous woman who can make all our dreams come true. So it doesn’t matter if she loves you or hates you because she is going to take all of your money and you are going to let her get away with it. That’s the reality of who she is.

We are narcissistic and self-obsessed and so is Lana Del Ray. We are a country in decadent, navel-gazing decline—fading, intoxicated, and longing for the past, but still so beautiful, staring straight into the lens and smiling as we shoot an American tragedy.

Does it really matter that she’s “inauthentic” ? That she’s not “indie enough” ? Here’s an idea: forget everything you read about her, enjoy her music, and get over yourself, yeah?

This article, Why the Indie Music World Hates Lana Del Rey, on Good.is is so ridiculous, it’s ridiculous.

Read the the following paragraph and tell me you didn’t shake your head at least twice.

Of course, the indie world’s dirty little secret—and its greatest fear—is that even while claiming innocence, indie reproduces many of the evils of pop. What happens to Lana Del Rey and all those scapegoated, formerly-known-as-indie artists? Cut off like gangrenous appendages, they turn into phantom limbs and haunt the body of indie forever.

Right?