She kept coming back to a single melody that had haunted her since her days living in trailers and cheap motels: "The Other Woman."

When the album was released, "The Other Woman" became a cult favorite. It bridged the gap between the 1950s torch singers and the modern "sadcore" movement. To this day, when fans search for that track, they aren't just looking for a song; they are looking for that specific, cinematic feeling of being beautiful, lonely, and completely misunderstood.

Here is a story of how that song became a cornerstone of her "tragic starlet" mythology.

In the story of the song, the "other woman" is a creature of perfection. She has fresh lilies in her home; she never has a hair out of place; her French manicure is always flawless. She is the dream—the person a man goes to when he wants to escape the mundane reality of his wife and children.

Lana saw herself in those lyrics. Throughout her career, she had been cast as the "other," the "sad girl," and the siren. As the band began to play a slow, bluesy arrangement, Lana stood before the microphone. She didn’t want the song to sound like a polished pop hit. She wanted it to sound like a dusty vinyl record found in the attic of a forgotten Hollywood mansion.