Lana Del Rey's stadium show is strange, beguiling and brilliant

Eleven (11) pairs of cowboy boots, five (5) flowy white skirts, three (3) oversized bows and one (1) flower crown.

I conducted this quick stocktake in my Wembley-bound Jubilee line carriage last night. We were, of course, on our way to see Lana Del Rey.

Ever since she emerged as an artist, Del Rey’s aesthetic – nostalgic Americana, hyper-femininity filtered through Hollywood myth and melancholy – has inspired devoted imitation.

At Wembley Stadium on Thursday (3 July), it was easy to see why. Over 90 minutes and 15 songs, the singer cast a slow, strange spell on the 80,000-strong crowd.

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The show started late. After a high-energy opening set from Addison Rae, anticipation gave way to clock-watching. But at 9.03pm, a string quintet launched into the opening notes of “Stars Fell on Alabama” (a new, unreleased track), and Del Rey appeared from a life-sized clapboard house, complete with porch swing, willow tree, and dancers drifting through lit-up windows.

The crowd lit up – and stayed that way.

Four tracks from her upcoming country-leaning album, including “Quiet in the South” and “57.5,” pointed toward a new musical direction. But long-time fans were rewarded too: a mid-set “Video Games” came with a knowing smile – “I guess we’re all ready to sing Video Games.”

“Ultraviolence”, “Summertime Sadness”, “Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Blvd” and a rare performance of “Venice Bitch” followed. Addison Rae returned for a duet on “Diet Pepsi”, to huge cheers.

Lana Del Rey’s stunning voice grounded the entire production, a moody blur of visuals, smoke, strings and Americana iconography.

It was sometimes a bit strange. Like when she was replaced by a hologram for “Norman fucking Rockwell”; I would have preferred to see her sing this live.

Still, the dream-like, sightly eerie aesthetic was part of the show’s spell. Smoke and projection during “Quiet in the South” made it appear as if the house was burning. Surfers, cowboys and dusky highways flickered across the screen. Audiovisual Lana clones played slow motion hand clapping games on the edge of the set.   

Del Rey has often been misunderstood as pure aesthetic: all surface and no depth, a glamorised stylisation of sadness. But at Wembley, the stylisation felt precise and almost mythic. Her songs pull from a fictionalised past to speak to real things – desire, loss, beauty, performance.

Plenty have borrowed her look, but few grasp its substance. While it’s easy to make fun of (think early 2010s flower crowns and Tumblr filters) it also captures something elusive. Her songs and visuals explore a kind of semi-mythical femininity: not to mourn it, but to explore what it meant, and what it might still mean.

With her beautiful vocals, impressive staging, and distinctive aesthetic, Lana Del Rey crafts a strange and beguiling world, a sort of siren-song. At Wembley, the crowd stepped right in – boots and all.

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