It’s just a dream I had in mind.

Lana on stage, shot from our nosebleed seats. Credit: Munro Page

Lana Del Rey’s Cardiff show was nothing short of spellbinding, its imperfections making it all the more beguiling.

To be a Lana Del Rey fan requires running on imagination. Her discography is as much an aesthetic that one can partake in as it is a collection of music. At its core, however, sits a brilliant irony. The creator of these heady visuals and intoxicating romanticisations is impossibly genuine and outspoken.

All of which was a surprise when she caught me completely off guard. Odd, given that some long-term readers of Sourhouse might wonder if I made this blog just to talk about her music. I have been a fantatic for as long as I can remember. Getting tickets to see her live has been on my bucket list since I first made a Tumblr account. But finally seeing Elizabeth Grant in the flesh at the Millenium on Monday night absolutely humbled me.

Little was out of the ordinary. Like most of her live shows, Del Rey walked out slowly, this time on a fantastical new stage design, featuring a blue shotgun house, complete with pergolas and white picket fencing. Yet, as the crowd soared and her dainty smile filled the video displays, I found myself wanting to bawl my eyes out. It took me a solid 20 minutes to actually believe that any of this was happening.

I’ve gone through the risk of meeting your heroes before. Several past concert reviews of mine have explored this, and most of the time, expectation meets reality. It’s for this reason that I also knew to be prepared – she would be late, and her vocals might not meet her studio recordings.

“There are kinks to be ironed out of its ambitious staging, and as often is the case with global artists starting their world tours in Cardiff, we are usually the guinea pig date.”

As it turns out, there was plenty more in store. This new show is something of a bastardisation, lifting bits from the ones she’s done for Ocean Blvd over the past two years and combining them with the vision she has for her upcoming 10th album. There are kinks to be ironed out of its ambitious staging, and as often is the case with global artists starting their world tours in Cardiff, we are usually the guinea pig date.

So be it, frankly. Because in place of any ideas of ‘perfection’, Del Rey is raw and real on stage. She barely finished her first song before she had to take a break to kiss her newlywed husband because the emotions had got to her. Most disarming of her is that, as untouchable a star she may be, she is not unobtainable. This is the 40 million+ selling artist who randomly turned up behind the counter at a Waffle House, remember. She’s borderline unfiltered on social media. She has her brilliant dancers throw it down to even her saddest, most devastating cuts, equal parts funny and inspired.

To that end, those who have spent precious hours complaining about the show online – few of whom actually seem to have been there, might I add – might want to ask what really counts as ‘entertainment’ to them. Same goes for asinine comments about singing unreleased material. It’s a fucking privilege to hear new music. It’s okay to not know the words, and ‘Henry, Come On’ sounded absolutely magical.

Some criticisms I do understand. Del Rey experimented with holograms at her Coachella headliner last year, and has now made it a significant part of the show. When gig prices are as ludicrous as they are, getting your money’s worth is always a sharp issue. That typically means actually being on stage. Then again, this is the 21st century, and she has never shied away from being a true mixed-medium artist. Where else are you going to see a hologram reciting Allen Ginsberg’s ‘Howl’?

For me, it paid off, specifically because of the theatrical nature of the staging. Even by the standards of her past designs, this was a pure Deep South Broadway fantasy, every inch utilised. Gardens, candelabras, a swimming pool, all appointed lushly and with indulgence. It’s the mark of someone who has always trusted that realising their own visions will achieve more than appealing too hard to the audience.

“…this was a pure Deep South Broadway fantasy, every inch utilised. Gardens, candelabras, a swimming pool, all appointed lushly and with indulgence.”

There was more at work, however. Of all the artists making the swing to Country at the moment, Lana’s does not feel like a pivot. It feels natural, hobbyistic even, what with her flirtations with its Folk cousins. If the songs she chose to be played during the build up – my boyfriend noted Loretta Lynn, Tammy Wynette, Johnny Cash & June Carter – are anything to go by, this era will be a real dedication to the music she grew up with.

The artist who has best visualised the drama of the dying American dream in the 21st century now begins an exploration of a side of Americana she hasn’t touched yet. It comes at a great intersection, where the US has started shredding up even its most precious symbolisms, and she herself has arrived at a new plane, older and more mature. Del Rey hasn’t moved away from the out-and-out pop of her 2010s output for nothing; the more personal and more introspective side of her recent work is deliberate and urgent.

All of it was to be found on stage in Cardiff on Monday night. Del Rey looked nothing short of radiant, moving with such grace and earnestness around her great stage. No element of it was made to portray ego; her ability to be larger than life, and yet so outspoken and genuine, provided all the energy required.

As we all sang along with her, goosebumpingly so to the haunting melody of a fan-requested acoustic version of ‘Salvatore’, we tied the link between the fantasy all of us have contributed to and the reality of being in a stadium together. The moodboards on Pintrest, the perfectly staged photos for Tumblr, the outfit inspirations from TikTok – dresses, bows and cowboy boots for the girls, whilst for the boys, it was a choice between mid-century Hollywood casual or hunting camo in honour of her husband’s line of work – all had counted to making the night what it was.

I stood there clutching my face, repeatedly, even after the shock of her actually being on stage below us had settled. Little else matters when someone can have that effect on you. Nothing about seeing Lana Del Rey live is about being impressed or awed: it is wholly about making the romanticisation of your life that her music provides all the more real. To see her in person is to confirm that she is capable of inspiring so much, and is just as human as someone who does post like she does on Instagram would be. I am lucky enough now to say that it’s no longer just a dream I had in mind.

Lana Del Rey at the Principality Stadium, Cardiff, 23rd June 2025