There is a specific kind of melodic stride in Lana Crow’s new release, “Orwellian Times,” that reminds me, quite vividly, of the way people walk when they’re late for a meeting they know is going to be an absolute disaster. It is brisk, purposeful, and rhythmically catchy, yet underpinned by a distinct, vibrating anxiety. This British singer-songwriter has crafted a track that feels less like a song and more like a nervous system response to the morning news.
Crow possesses a voice that sounds like it has been steeped in strong black tea and resignation. It is soulful, with a rasp that catches the ear like velvet dragging over concrete. In the verses, her delivery is weary and conversational, akin to a friend muttering conspiracies to you in the back of a damp taxi before the chorus erupts into a powerful, projecting lament. It creates a fascinating friction against the instrumentation. The electric guitars offer clean, rhythmic strumming that suggests order, only to be sliced open by a distorted solo that screams of mental clutter and static.
The track is deceptively groovy. A driving melodic bassline compels you to move, which feels ironic considering the lyrical content tackles the paralysis of moral fatigue and the manufactured outrage of our digital existence. It made me think, strangely, of 17th-century masquerade balls, where everyone danced in unison while wearing masks to hide their true intents. Crow captures that modern equivalent: the performance of righteousness while we collectively lose grip on who actually holds the reins.
It creates a cynical, alt-pop atmosphere where the hook draws you in, but the message leaves a sour, metallic taste in your mouth. Ultimately, are we dancing to the rhythm of the song, or just marching to the beat of the algorithm?
