By now, Lizzie Grant has heard everything you have to say about her. There's been so much criticism aimed at Lana Del Rey, Grant's musical alter-ego, she must have skin as leathery as that which covers the seats in her favoured Cadillac.
It's made the build-up to the release of Ultraviolence particularly entertaining: Grant and her critics have been circling each other like two boxers in a ring, each line of negativity -- she can't sing, she can't write, she's an industry puppet -- being matched by a pithy Del Rey kiss-off line in a new interview or song.
At one point on Ultraviolence, Grant even sings the line, "I f***** my way up to the top". It's a sign Grant has finally grown into her Lana Del Rey creation, that arrived half-formed on 2012's Born To Die, and she's ready to have some fun with her.
Though that album's indecisive mish-mash of styles - from swooning ballads to throbbing dance-pop - didn't always gel, Ultraviolence is a brooding, menacing, sinister, complex and complete album, and it's all the better for it. Produced by Black Key Dan Auerbach, it's full of woozy atmospheres, off-kilter orchestral arrangements and songs that last well past the four and five minute mark.
Mostly, it finds Del Rey playing the role of an unattainable Marilyn Monroe-esque chanteuse - check out her cracked melodrama The Other Woman, the swooning bar ballad Sad Girl or Black Beauty's bruising affair.
