Perhaps what stands out most about Lana Del Rey’s latest visual foray is the fact that there is nary a man present. Considering what Del Rey’s oeuvre has long been about, this is a marked departure. One that was signaled by her “Arcadia” video, in that she was entirely alone in it. But thus far, that’s been rather usual as well (see also: “Chelsea Hotel No. 2” and “High by the Beach”). What’s atypical of her “brand” (though, lest you forget, she’s “never had a persona, never needed one”) is embracing a more matriarchal slant. You know, a whole Sisterhood of the Stationary Twats thing (or Sisterhood of the Faux Pretentious Ex-Sorority Girls—the overall vibe being put out even if none of these women were in a sorority).
Ariana Grande may have sung the lines, “This been buildin’ up, I guess this friendship like Home Depot/I’m so thankful working with my best friend, she the cheat code,” but Lana is the one who has taken it quite literally in terms of gathering her friends to help her with home repairs. While the video might be a bit too on the nose at times with regard to mirroring the lyrics (like the fact that they’re painting banisters and there’s a framed picture of LDR on a John Deere tractor), it’s certainly a step up from the banality of the “alternate video” for “Arcadia,” which is more of an IGTV-esque offering of Lana, as usual, on a swing, doing her “best” to make things lively by staring vacantly into the camera. She does that in “Blue Banisters” as well, but with more production value thanks to the presence of the tractor. Even though let’s not forget that the hot guy (Dean Kelly) in Aerosmith’s “Crazy” video rode one with slightly more sex appeal.
The aesthetic still mirrors what we’ve come to expect of Del Rey, with the also recent “Let Me Love You Like A Woman” video being an homage to her ever-cliquish friend group. The one that became, like so many, more insulated and exclusionary with the “quaranteam” phenomenon that took place during the pandemic. While the bulk of Del Rey’s albums have been centered on obsessive relationships (ergo part of the accusation against her of “glamorizing abuse”), it appears the excessive time spent with her L.A.-based cabal has shifted her priorities and expectations.
A history of getting boyfriends involved in music videos (including Barrie-James O’Neill for “Summer Wine” and Franceso Carrozzini for “Ultraviolence” and the “unreleased” “Honeymoon” video he directed) also seems to be something Del Rey is taking a break from…for the time being—and after having already created a concept for an earlier version of the “Blue Banisters” video with ex- fiancé, Clayton Johnson, that looked vaguely like more outtakes from the “Ride” “short film,” maybe she’s learned her lesson for good.
Perhaps having exhausted the subject of men, Del Rey turns her lens toward something purer and more lasting: female camaraderie. Hence a lyric like, “There’s a hole that’s in my heart/All my women try and heal/They’re doin’ a good job/Convincin’ me that it’s not real.” The “it’s not real” referring to all manner of things ranging from the fame game to the construct of “true love.” And after all, her recent breakup with Johnson would seem to confirm her friend Jenny’s (presumably Jen Stith?) repurposed words in the song, “Jenny jumped into the pool/She was swimmin’ with Nikki Lane/She said, ‘Most men don’t want a woman/With a legacy, it’s of age’” (or something else like “it’s of age” that can’t be interpreted through Del Rey’s warble here).
What’s more, if you thought Lorde’s (of late accused of ripping off LDR anyway) video for “Solar Power” was a glorified Madewell commercial, well, Del Rey is taking it up notch with this (also echoing shades of the Ralph Lauren brand).
Although “paint my banisters blue” sounds like it should some sort of naughty innuendo, it’s very literal as all the figures we’ve come to recognize from Lana’s “found footage”-style videos show up to help her do just that. Whereas the man who promised he would (perhaps Sean Larkin) cannot be bothered to show up. Like so many males of Del Rey’s past, he’s proven unreliable. In contrast, all of her “sisters” (including her real one, Chuck) can be depended on even in the darkest of hours.
At times, the group gets what Chastity (Valerie Tian) from Jennifer’s Body would call “all lesbi-gay” in their mucking about—from frolicking near the same swing that cameos in the alternate “Arcadia” video to painting each other’s feet blue instead of the eponymous banisters. The “dykey” element is played up by Del Rey “tilling her own soil” (more innuendo potential) on that John Deere. Certainly, it all plays into this newfound form of self-acceptance when it comes to being a “totally independent” woman (“Boy, don’t call me angel”). Of finding that, for as normie as she is, she’s chosen to forge a path in contrast to the conventional “get married and have kids” one. Except that, like Britney Spears, some part of her can’t seem to deny wanting nothing more than that convention in lieu of celebrity.
Lamenting, “‘Cause I met a man who said he’d come back every May/Just to help me if I paint my banisters blue/Blue banisters, oh/Said he’d fix my weathervane,” Del Rey then adds in the same breath, “Give me children, take away my pain/And paint my banisters blue/My banisters blue.” It doesn’t take us long to find out that his lying ass don’t come back in May. Instead, her “sisters” do (like MARINA said, “All my friends are witches, and we live in Hollywood/Mystical bitches/Making our own sisterhood”). This much is emphasized with the concluding verse, “Every time it turns to May/All my sisters fly to me/To paint, paint.” For the girl who once bathetically whined, “I will love you till the end of time” about the guy “that got away,” this is, again, a vast departure. One that even negates the adversarial tone underlying most female friendships of youth explored on “This Is What Makes Us Girls” (“We all look for heaven and we put love first/Something that we’d die for, it’s our curse”).
With the video’s accompaniment, “Blue Banisters” is Del Rey spotlighting the question that many women have asked for quite a while: what real purpose do men serve to them? Especially with a John Deere tractor to give all the “good vibes” needed (“Tammy loved a good ride,” as it said in Drop Dead Gorgeous).
As usual, however, Del Rey misses the mark with her decidedly white woman’s interpretation of matriarchy. Because, tellingly, the matriarchal society that Del Rey has cultivated for herself must exist within the private confines of her own home. Hestia, the goddess of the hearth, appears to overtake Del Rey and her (primarily white) sistren as they proceed to do all the housewife things (a stand mixer is involved, for fuck’s sake) that would otherwise be mocked in a public, modern context. Whether Del Rey is espousing “girl power” through these scenes of collaborative self-sufficiency (something of an oxymoron, it’s true) or creating a “subtle” ad for her next potential husband to show him what a great wife she would be is up to the viewer to decide.
