Being horrendously behind the times does have some benefits. I’m not one of those people that foolishly went out and bought an iPad or an iPhone when a newer, shinier, better one was just around the corner. I never had a Minidisc player. Betamax? No, sirree. Having better things to do with my life than finding out what was the new hot thing was this summer meant that when I finally discovered that it was Lana Del Rey, I could watch her performing “Video Games” with a sense of perspective.
Of course, I watched her perform “Video Games” on Later, which I watched about a month after it was broadcast, which itself was about three months behind the curve. And I must say that for all the fervent, fevered “SONG OF THE YEAR!!!” magazine articles and blog posts extolling her virtues as graces, as well as those that sniffily pointed out that she was the daughter of Someone Quite Rich Indeed and that her recent upswelling of support may well have been, shall we say it, something to do with being tdoSQRI, as well as those that sniffily pointed out that She Had Had Some Work Done, the cads, the song itself is, well, um……well, it’s alright, isn’t it, but it’s no “Hey Ya”. Or even “Crystalised”.
In that, when you’re busy yelling that something is “SONG OF THE YEAR!!!”, you’d better make sure that a whole bunch of people don’t go “But it sounds like a bunch of other stuff”. Which I am. Nice though the song is, I don’t feel it’s quite as life-changing as either it, or its fans, would like it to be. Sure, it’s a step above Adele and the like, but that’s not enough for me.
For those of you out there yelling “Hey, daddio, this ain’t your bag, you old galloot”1, let me just point out that with the lips and the whole low-down croon/coy sex-kitten duality thing is just tailor-made to push the buttons of ex-priapic middle-aged men currently re-evaluating their wife-and-two-kids-and-steady-job-in-Management thang, in a way that Adele herself and poor, lost Amy never quite did.
Don’t get me wrong. I like it, some. And I’m not quite ready for my Porsche and inappropriate thoughts yet, I’ll have you know.
1 Or whatever Ver Yoof are saying these days. Frankly, I don’t give a damn.