Despite Lana Del Rey being the first one to pronounce that the music industry was “going country” early last year, she’s been the slowest to officially enter the race on that trend. And yes, Beyoncé quickly stole her thunder on that prediction by soon after announcing the release of her own country album, Cowboy Carter. In the months that followed, bleeding into 2025, country trickled into pop through the likes of Sabrina Carpenter (“Please Please Please”), Chappell Roan (“The Giver”) and Kesha (“Yippee-Ki-Yay”), proving that Del Rey had been almost spot-on with her assertion. The “almost” part pertaining to the fact that what would start to show up in the music industry wasn’t “country” as many listeners have come to know it (you know, hick songs in the style of Garth Brooks), but rather, a Taylor Swift version of it as introduced on 2012’s Red.
But what Del Rey is doing with the first single from what is now called The Right Person Will Stay (formerly Lasso…Del Rey is known for last-minute album name changes; case in point, White Hot Forever [a.k.a. Chemtrails Over the Country Club] and Rock Candy Sweet [a.k.a. Blue Banisters] were titles that didn’t up “sticking”) proves she’s reinventing the wheel again on country. In a way that both Shania Twain and Swift have been credited with doing by “pop-ifying” it. For Del Rey, however, the “country reinvention” method (if one can even call it that) stems from building on the style she’s already known for (morose and nostalgic) and combining it with her well-known love of all things Americana (even at a time when that couldn’t be less chic). Indeed, this is the woman who once announced plans to record an album of American standards (perhaps momentarily propelled by the release of an unfortunate cover of “Summertime” from Porgy and Bess).
With the vocal and musical tone of “Henry, Come On,” it’s clear she hasn’t forgotten that notion entirely, embodying a “classic American” sound to the best of her ability (and the abilities of Del Rey’s co-producers, Drew Erickson and Luke Laird [who also co-wrote]). And yet, what shines through most of all is the sound that Del Rey established on “Video Games” and “Ride”—singles that she specifically called out later on as tracks that she felt were indicative of her inherent country nature, telling MOJO back in 2021 (when she announced that she had recorded an entire album of country covers—again, never to see the light of day), “I went back and listened to ‘Ride’ and ‘Video Games’ and thought, you know, they’re kind of country. Maybe the way ‘Video Games’ got remastered, they’re pop—but there’s something Americana about it for sure.” A tenor she perfected on Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd. In addition to really driving home the point that she’s a church-going, bible-beating “Jesus freak” (self-described, by way of Chemtrails Over the Country Club’s “Tulsa Jesus Freak”) the way that many country listeners are stereotyped as being. She took this view of herself to the next level on DYKTTATUOB by including the “Judah Smith Interlude.” Judah Smith being the controversial pastor of the megachurch known as Churchome, where celebrities like Del Rey and Justin Bieber try to find meaning through the chaos/hollowness of fame (it’s sort of like a more dubious version of what Madonna started doing with Kabbalah circa the Ray of Light era).
And yes, many were quick to defend Del Rey’s choice to feature the sermon as an interlude, insisting it was “ironic,” “tongue-in-cheek,” etc. First and foremost because it’s sandwiched in between “A&W” (a.k.a. “American Whore”) and “Candy Necklace,” the most salacious/nihilistic tracks of the record. Songs that conventional conservatives would deem “against God.” And secondly, because of the message Smith finally lands (after a lot of “psychobabble bullshit”) at the end of his sermon: “I used to think my preaching was mostly about You. And you’re not gonna like this, but I’m gonna tell you the truth. I’ve discovered my preaching is mostly about me.” Clearly, Del Rey wants her listeners to make the connection that this is also how she feels about her own “preachings” (read: musical compositions). Which continue, in a less pointed way via “Henry, Come On.” Less pointed in that the lyrics are lacking the caliber of profundity that LDR listeners have grown accustomed to over the years.
And while the acoustic backing music is meant to infer a sort of Seriousness to the song (on a side note: the intro sounds briefly like the opening to Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper’s “Shallow,” bearing a similar acoustic melody that eventually veers into its own territory), the lyrics do not reflect that Seriousness. Like many country songs, however, “Henry, Come On” is a woman’s exploration of a man “who done wrong.” Except that Del Rey does her best to be patient and explain to Henry that she wouldn’t get mad at him without good reason, singing, “I mean Henry, come on/Do you think I’d really choose it/All this off and on/Henry, come on/I mean baby, come on/Do you think I’d really lose it on you? [which channels Del Rey saying, “I get wild on ya, baby/I get wild and fuckin’ crazy” during “Nectar of the Gods”]/If you did nothing wrong.” But of course he did. Men always do. That’s just about the one thing a woman can count on in this life.
With the first verse not doing much to scream “country!” in the conventional sense, Del Rey relies instead on the language one associates with “that ilk,” leaning into a chorus that declares, “Last call/Hey y’all/Hang his hat up on the wall/Tell him that his cowgirl is gone/Go on and giddy up/Soft like a blue jeans [potentially a nod to her Born to Die single, “Blue Jeans”]/Call us into forest dreams/Return it but say it was fun.” A subtle-yet-noticeable dreamy harp then helps lead into a post-chorus that starts with, “And it’s not because of you [which has the same intonation as, “Well, my boyfriend’s in the band” from “Brooklyn Baby”]/That I turned out so dangerous.” This sort of comment is in keeping with Del Rey’s usual “bad girl” motif (or perhaps “good girl gone bad,” to use a Rihanna phrase, is more fitting—though at one point, on “Kinda Outta Luck,” she insisted, “I was born bad”).
What isn’t, however, is the blatant religiosity of verses like, “Yesterday I heard God say it’s in your blood” and “Yesterday I heard God say you were born to be the one/To hold the hand of the man/Who flies too close to the sun.” Hopefully, Del Rey is referring only to the fictional Henry and not her own fresh husband, Jeremy Dufrene. And, speaking of, at one point, Del Rey also notes, “And it struck me just like lightning [how very Charli XCX/complementary to Del Rey’s “Thunder”]/I’ve been fighting/I’ve been striving.” In her personal life, that fighting and striving has long pertained to finding “the one.” For a minute there, she thought it was another older man with a “solid American job” (er, cop), Sean Larkin. Then, out of nowhere (or rather, out of the swamp), came Dufrene.
And while Del Rey has made it no secret that she wants a life that involves “settling down,” “Henry, Come On” alludes to how difficult that is for a person of her nature/profession. This commentary arises when the production shifts from acoustic to a more orchestral/string arrangement sound as Del Rey concludes, “All these country singers/And their lonely rides to Houston/Doesn’t really make for the best, you know, ‘settle down’ type.” She then repeats, “Go on and giddy up” as the song comes to a close, almost as if she’s saying, “Go on and bring the challenge.” The challenge of what it means to be an aimless wanderer who also wants to be a conventional “missus” with, say, “a kid and two cats in the yard” (to quote “How to Disappear,” another Del Rey song that’s more “country” then “Henry, Come On”).
Considering all the buildup to this moment, when Del Rey would at last “go country,” “Henry, Come On” is a bit of a letdown, genre-wise. Especially after LDR teased her country foray with covers of Tammy Wynette’s “Stand By Your Man,” Elvis Presley’s version of “Unchained Melody,” and John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” In short, it seems that she was promising more of a country sound than she was actually capable of delivering on, at least with this particular single (even her duet with Nikki Lane, “Breaking Up Slowly,” serves more country than “Henry, Come On”). All that foreplay with no orgasm, as it were. Unless, of course, you had little interest in Del Rey going country in the first place. In which case, “Henry, Come On” provides plenty of satisfaction.
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