Lana Del Rey

★★★★ Blue Banisters INTERSCOPE/POLYDOR. CD/DL/LP

Skittish pop queen takes elegant sideways step.

“I guess you could call it textbook,” sings Lana Del Rey as

Blue Banisters begins: while she’s darkly analysing her father-figure quest, the line could apply to Chemtrails Over

The Country Club’s speedy follow-up. Classic Del Rey markers light up like cat’s eyes: Los Angeles (Arcadia); needy bad girls (Black Bathing Suit); worse men (Thunder); clumsy political references (Textbook). Yet there are shifts. Dealer’s end-of-evening trip-hop (featuring Miles Kane) delivers a necessary stylistic jolt amid the Diamonds And Rust melancholia and stately piano. Blue Banisters, all panoramic Ladies Of The Canyon domesticity, or Wildflower Wildfire’s family drama feel blazingly personal, burning up those old authenticity arguments, while on a lyrically strong album, Sweet Carolina’s antique trill is brilliantly buckled by its words (“‘Crypto forever,’ screams your stupid boyfriend/Fuck you, Kevin”). It’s not Del Rey at full Norman Fucking Rockwell stretch, but even in her zone, nothing about it is comfortable.