Lana Del Rey, the musical persona of Lizzy Grant, lives in an uncanny valley between the extremes of pop star and real girl. She looks something like both, but really is neither. This is why she enchants people, this is why she pisses people off (often simultaneously—her ardent detractors can argue against her artistic value but would be hypocrites to deny her ability to fascinate). She rubs right up against notions of authenticity with a singer-songwriter guise that can feel confessional—her terrific new album Ultraviolence is full of revelations of things generally not said in public. She explores what it is to be a proud mistress, an opportunist out for "money, power, and glory," a hack who, as a song title puts it, "Fucked My Way Up to the Top." (Duncan Cooper's rather astute profile of Del Rey in Fader links that song to a relationship Del Rey had with a record exec, even though Del Rey has claimed that it's about a hater.)