Magical Music Roundabout: Sultry Cigarette Croons, Lana Del Rey.

As endearing as Paloma Faith is and was on Nevermind the Buzzcocks whilst trying to wriggle her way into Noel Fielding's sperm-obliterating jeans, her ode to New York was a little superficial, really... Lana del Rey (aka Lizzy Grant) on the other hand is, well at least she's kinda seems – perhaps only superficially – to be the real deal. Her husky voice rasps around whimsical trip-hop rhythms and guitars as simplistically satisfying as a Dairylea triangle sandwich. Sorry, cream cheese bagel. This is New Yoik after all... Grant's whisky-stained timelessly gravelled vocal chords invoke flashbacks of distant, decadent grandeur. She'd probably pout away whilst tinkling ivories in some anti-respiratory corset combo were she about in the days of Serge Gainsbourg. Hell, she'd probably have given birth to Charlotte. Caught between New York and London, Lana del Rey's all about one of the most heart-arresting boombox voices of recent times, taking in Howling Bells' Juanita Stern's siren-like slur, Debbie Harry's cocksure nonchalance and all those mainstream gals that only really have one song that's even vaguely aurally pleasant. Not that you'd ever admit to that, surely... Bizarrely, her ageing demo found below's entitled Diet Mtn. Dew. Must be an American thing- I couldn't stomach more than a gulp of that pseudo-tonic substitute... Downing Lana del Rey's Diet bottle's a far less taxing task.

DOWNLOAD: Lana del Rey, Diet Mtn. Dew.