It’s golden hour at the Empire Polo Club in Indio, California, and the desert air smells like dust, anticipation and something ineffably Western. It’s not just Stagecoach weekend; it’s Lana Del Rey’s country era, and amid a sea of cowboy hats, it feels like the second coming of Dolly. Almost exactly one year ago, Del Rey headlined Coachella, arriving on the back of a motorbike in custom Dolce & Gabbana, flanked by dancers on the set of a haunted gothic mansion. Shifting subtly between pop anthems, tender folk rock and breathy blues ballads, her career-spanning set felt like a victory lap for outsiders everywhere.
It’s hard to imagine a music industry without her. She didn’t just set the bar for contemporary female artists — she dismantled it, built a new one with her bare hands and continues to raise it. While others collect accolades, Del Rey exists in a league of her own, frequenting an entirely different playing field. “When you know, you know,” she muses existentially on “Margaret” from her ninth studio album Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Blvd?, but it hasn’t always been that way. This is the experience of a once-criminally underrated artist, slung brazenly on the scrap heap after a disastrous SNL performance and destined for pop’s lonely periphery. Not only did she prevail triumphantly, but she paved the way for other women to stop putting on a happy face and say what they really want to say in their music.
So, why now for her country moment — and why here? A week after last year’s Coachella, Del Rey joined Paul Cauthen at Stagecoach for a surprise rendition of “Unchained Melody.” Whispers of a country-inspired album called Lasso had started to spread a few months prior, and a September release date was loosely floated. Her fans knew the drill. She’s a master of the soft-launch, and they’re accustomed to fleeting announcements that change with the wind or disappear without a trace. Instead, Del Rey finished a summer run of festivals, and breaking the “singer’s curse” alluded to in her past, she got married. For all that’s been said of her unexpected union with alligator tour-guide Jeremy Dufrene, she’s looked blissfully happy ever since. On April 11, an almost comical 452 days after she first teased it online, Del Rey finally released Henry, Come On, the gorgeous first single from her upcoming album, briefly renamed The Right Person Will Stay. Foreboding lullaby “Blue Bird” followed a week later, along with news of another delay and title change. Patience has clearly paid off in her personal life, but as dusk descends on the vast, hanger-like Palomino Stage, her fans are practically bursting at their suede seams.
Bringing the haunted beauty of the Louisiana bayou to the desert, the set is transformed into an overgrown Southern dreamscape from Del Rey’s new life in the Cajun country. She steps out of a rickety Creole cottage to a deafening roar, cutting an ethereal figure in ivory lace, her hair in soft curls and a muted red lip (shoutout to her glam team Molly Dickson, Anna Cofone and Pamela Cochrane!). The first lines of new song “Husband of Mine” drip like honey beneath a giant projection of the moon, and flanked by a string ensemble perched high above the crowd, “Henry, Come On” prompts a mass sing-along. The first of two covers, Del Rey delivers a beautiful version of Tammy Wynette’s smash “Stand by Your Man” before Texan country star George Birge appears for a lively duet of his own hit “Cowboy Songs.” A self-proclaimed mega-fan of the track herself, she insists they finish with a chorus a cappella because she can’t hear herself, and then apologizes profusely for putting him on the spot.
It’s as country as it gets, and while following tracks “Ride” and “Video Games” epitomize Del Rey’s Born To Die era, they nestle into her set with Southern charm. The cascading finale of “Norman Fucking Rockwell” leads to a hearty live debut of “Let The Light In,” with help from longtime Americana favorites The Secret Sisters on harmonies, and she appears in hologram form for the delicate “Blue Bird.” “I’ve got my red dress on tonight,” she sings with a wry smile, reemerging in a crimson Sugar Ferrini frock for a stripped-back “Summertime Sadness.” High heels on and feeling her oats, new song “57.5” comes with a backstory and we’re here for the gossip: “I kissed Morgan Wallen. I guess kissing me kinda went to his head. If you want my secret to success. I suggest don’t go ATV-ing with him when you’re out West!” Del Rey’s Spotify listeners have since risen to 61.8 million, versus Wallen’s 37.2. Enough said.
Stagecoach succeeds in turning the desert into a beer-chugging, country-lovin’ party — and while her career has been a rodeo, she’s held on through the chaos and never let go of the reins. For all her undeniable talent, it’s the quiet tenacity and unwavering belief in her vision that truly sets her apart. In a 2012 interview for Myspace (see here) she spoke of turning her life into a work of art — and as a rousing rendition of John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Road” ends and she disappears though the foliage, we can only applaud her conviction. The hour-long set is over in a flash, but her southern gothic-tinged falsetto lingers long into the night. In the words of the honorary cowgirl herself: just fucking ride.
Photography: Neil Krug