Lana Del Rey has always been obsessed with the ghosts of California. But with Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd, she stopped looking at the Hollywood Sign and started looking at her own family tree. It’s heavy. It’s long. Honestly, it’s probably her most "difficult" record to date, but that’s exactly why people can't stop talking about it.
When the title track dropped, people were literally Googling "Jergins Tunnel." They wanted to know if the place was real. It is. It’s an abandoned pedestrian subway in Long Beach, sealed off since the 60s, preserved in all its white-tiled, Art Deco glory. Lana uses it as a metaphor for herself. She’s terrified of being forgotten, locked away like a beautiful architectural relic that nobody visits anymore. It’s a relatable fear, just dressed up in vintage aesthetics and high-concept songwriting.
Why the Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd matters more than her older hits
If you're looking for another "Summertime Sadness," you’re going to be disappointed. This isn’t that. This album is a sprawling, 77-minute monster that features everything from folk ballads to trap-heavy interludes and even a sermon by pastor Judah Smith.
The core of Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd is legacy. Lana—or Elizabeth Grant, as she reminds us throughout the lyrics—is thinking about her father, her brother, her sister’s baby, and her ancestors. She’s asking if she’s ever going to have a family of her own or if her music is the only thing she'll leave behind. It’s vulnerable in a way that feels almost intrusive to listen to, especially on tracks like "Fingertips," where she asks questions about her mother that most artists would keep in a private journal.
The Jergins Tunnel: A real piece of history
The Jergins Tunnel was built in 1927. It allowed people to get to the beach without crossing the busy traffic of Ocean Boulevard. It was fancy. It had businesses inside. But as the city changed, it became "inconvenient." They paved over the entrances.
Lana isn't just singing about a tunnel; she’s singing about the feeling of being "paved over." She’s been in the industry for over a decade. She’s seen the "it girls" come and go. By referencing a specific, forgotten piece of Long Beach history, she anchors her existential dread in something physical. It's brilliant marketing, sure, but it’s also deeply resonant art.
Breaking down the sound: It’s not just "sad girl" music anymore
Musically, this thing is all over the place. You've got Mike Hermosa, Jack Antonoff, and Drew Erickson handling production.
One minute you’re listening to the orchestral swells of "The Grants," which features backing vocals from Melodye Perry (who worked with legends like Andraé Crouch). Then, suddenly, you’re hit with "A&W." That song is a journey in itself. It starts as a moody folk song about "American Whore" culture and then pivots into a hard-hitting trap beat that samples her 2014 cover of "Shimmy Shimmy Ko-Ko-Bop." It shouldn't work. It really shouldn't. But it does because it mirrors the fractured way we experience memory and trauma.
- The folk influence: Lots of acoustic guitar and raw vocal takes.
- The hip-hop elements: Mostly found in the back half of the album, particularly "Peppers" and "Taco Truck x VB."
- The "found sound" feel: There are snippets of laughter, conversations, and the aforementioned sermon that make the album feel like a documentary.
What people get wrong about the "controversial" interludes
There was a lot of chatter about the "Judah Smith Interlude." Some fans hated it. It’s over four minutes of a preacher talking about lust and God while Lana giggles in the background and a piano tinkles away.
Is it an endorsement? Probably not. If you listen closely, it feels more like a study of a performance. Lana has always been fascinated by the "Great American Man"—the biker, the gangster, the billionaire, and now, the preacher. By including it, she’s showing us the environment she’s moving through. It’s about the search for meaning in a world that feels increasingly hollow. You don't have to like the sermon to understand why it's there. It adds to the claustrophobia of the album. It’s another "tunnel" she’s navigating.
The A&W of it all: A career-defining moment
"A&W" is arguably the most important song she’s released since "Video Games." It’s seven minutes long. It’s weird. It’s angry.
She tackles the way the media has treated her, the way she views her own body, and the realization that she’s no longer the "young" ingenue. When the beat shifts halfway through, it’s a release of tension. It’s like she’s saying, "Fine, if you want the 'old' Lana, here she is, but she’s different now." Critics from Pitchfork to The Guardian praised it as a masterpiece because it refuses to be a simple pop song. It’s messy. Life is messy.
The legacy of Ocean Blvd in 2026
Looking back on it now, Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd marked a shift. It was the moment Lana Del Rey stopped being a character and started being a person. The production is less "polished" than Born to Die but way more interesting than Chemtrails Over the Country Club.
It’s an album for people who like to dig. You have to look up the references to Sylvia Plath. You have to know who Rick Nowels is. You have to be willing to sit with the silence.
Actionable insights for the casual listener
If you're just getting into this era of Lana, don't try to listen to the whole album in one go while you’re doing the dishes. You’ll miss the nuance.
- Listen to "The Grants" first. It sets the emotional stage. It’s about taking your memories with you when you die.
- Read the lyrics to "Fingertips." It’s a poem. There’s no chorus. It’s just a stream of consciousness about her family’s history with mental health and her own fears of motherhood.
- Watch the "Candy Vigilante" visuals. Lana’s aesthetic for this album was "coquette-meets-pastoral," and it influenced a whole wave of fashion on TikTok and Instagram.
- Visit the Jergins Tunnel (virtually). Look at the old photos of the "Jergins Trust Building." Seeing the actual tiles she’s singing about makes the title track hit much harder.
Lana Del Rey didn't just make an album; she made a map of her own psyche. It’s dark in that tunnel, but there’s a lot of beauty if you’re willing to stay down there for a while. It’s not about being a "sad girl" anymore. It’s about being a woman who remembers everything and isn’t afraid to talk about the parts that hurt.
Where to go from here
To truly appreciate the depth of this work, compare the lyrics of "Taco Truck x VB" to the original "Venice Bitch" from Norman Fcking Rockwell!*. You'll see how she's recycling her own mythology, proving that even in her new material, she's always looking back at where she’s been. This isn't just music; it's a long-form narrative that requires your full attention.