Lana Del Rey’s “Bluebird” Establishes A “Countrier” Sound (in the Style of Bob Dylan), With Thematic Hints of “I Can Fly”

So soon after the release of “Henry, Come On,” Lana Del Rey is already giving listeners another taste from her now as-of-yet unnamed album (The Right Person Will Stay is as out as Lasso)—which also has a now as-of-yet unknown release date. And that taste is decidedly, well, “countrier” (not cuntier). Where “Henry, Come On” felt like largely more of the same from Del Rey, particularly as she veered entirely away from baroque pop and toward a folksier vibe on 2019’s Norman Fucking Rockwell, “Bluebird” is a stronger indication of the tonal shift for the next record. 

Though still awash in the acoustic finger-pickings of “Henry, Come On,” “Bluebird” sets itself apart not just with the later incorporation of a Bob Dylan-esque harmonica portion (indeed, the entire song has Dylan all over it, de facto Del Rey’s other living legend, Joan Baez), but with the subject matter at hand. Which is to say, Del Rey is speaking from the perspective (hopefully imagined, though she has a storied enough relationship history to draw on actual experience) of an abused woman, trapped in a violent relationship she can’t get out of. Thus, she looks to the bluebird outside as a symbol of hope. A way to live vicariously through a being with the true freedom to “fly away.” 

For those well-versed in Del Rey’s ever-burgeoning musical oeuvre, the single shares some undeniable DNA with 2014’s “I Can Fly” (produced by erstwhile Del Rey go-to, Rick Nowels), which was largely ignored compared to its companion single, “Big Eyes,” both of which Del Rey wrote for the film of the same name. A film, incidentally, about Margaret Keane (played by Amy Adams), and the abuse she suffered from her husband, Walter Keane (played by Christoph Waltz)—try to ignore the grotesque irony of Harvey Weinstein producing a movie such as this.

And while that abuse was not portrayed as physical (in the film, anyway), Margaret endured plenty of damaging emotional and verbal abuse from the man that claimed to love her. Clearly, Del Rey gleaned plenty from the Tim Burton-directed plot to pen a dramatic, heart-wrenching song that clocks in at a whopping five minutes and forty-seven seconds (though that’s nothing compared to the nine minutes and thirty-six seconds of “Venice Bitch”). 

Channeling the emotions and sense of oppression that Margaret must have felt during her first pair of marriages (the husband prior to Walter, Frank Ulbrich, was reportedly physically abusive toward her), Del Rey defiantly croons, “I can fly/You had me caged up like a bird in midsummer/You saw me waiting, I was crazy, on fire, waiting to fly/I can fly.” On “Bluebird,” the spirit of those sentiments lingers in lyrics like, “Little bird, bluebird/Fly away for both of us” and “For your thoughts are small, they can’t keep you from leavin’.” Sadly, certain other lyrics possess a less hopeful tone, at least for Del Rey’s “character.” Speaking from that perspective, she laments—almost as asterisks to her optimistic urgings for the bird—“For you have wings and I’ve no means to fly” and “As the wake of my past crashes in/I hear the door slam, but the window’s wide open/We both shouldn’t be dealing with him.” In other words, just because Del Rey’s alter ego has to put up with an asshole, doesn’t mean the bluebird has to stick around to endure it…or bear traumatic witness to it. 

Thus, Del Rey repeats her encouragement, “Find a way to fly/Find a way to fly,” with the additional advisement, “Just shoot for the sun ’til I can finally run.” In essence, if Del Rey sees that the bluebird has managed to secure such soaring liberty, it might just give her the bravery and motivation she needs to ensure the same fate for herself. This type of “daydreaming toward freedom” angle is also present on “I Can Fly,” when Del Rey muses, “Dreaming of the water where I’d rise like a phoenix [more bird imagery/symbolism]/Or an iron from the fire/I’ve got things to tell you, like I know that you’re a liar.” Gradually building up her courage throughout this song in the same way that she does on “Bluebird.” Granted, there’s a much more palpable sense of defiance on the underrated “I Can Fly,” including in the verse, “Your words cut like a knife in butter/I was fighting for my art/Fighting with my lover, you had me so tied up/Thinking there’s no other/Yeah, right/Yeah, right.”

With “Bluebird,” there is less of a markedly rebellious aura to the woman speaking. Which means there’s, as is Del Rey’s intent, a more country sensibility at play. And by “country,” what one means is in the sense of a 1960s-era definition (for Del Rey can’t abandon that decade as her key source of inspiration no matter what genre she’s dabbling in). In other words, there’s much more unmitigated tragedy to it (no doubt, Tammy Wynette’s style/life in general was studied for “Bluebird” as well). And, unlike a pop song (or even an “alternative” [the genre Del Rey is often assigned to] one), there is no consolation of a happy ending to mitigate the sting of that tragedy. As told not just through Del Rey’s woeful tone, but through the lyrics that suggest she might not necessarily ever “find a way to fly” herself, though that is (ostensibly) her greatest wish. 

Once again co-produced by Del Rey, Drew Erickson and Luke Laird (as is “Henry, Come On”), it is the latter’s country pedigree (having previously worked with the likes of Kenny Chesney, Tim McGraw and Kacey Musgraves) that assists not only in the mournful country-meets-folk sound, but in the forlorn-but-hopeful lyrics co-written with Del Rey that harken back to another motif of the Big Eyes Soundtrack era: “Is it me, was I wrong to have trusted you?/Did I see what I wanted, what wasn’t true?/Was I wrong to go on like a little fool?/It’s amazing what women in love will do.” But it’s perhaps even more amazing what a woman who’s reached her threshold will do. Including find a way to fly, where once she thought she never could.