Written by Casey Rae-Hunter from The Contrarian.
Seriously:
And here's Lady GaGa:
 |
| Baby sees the future, tells me it’s got nothing for us… Nostra… Nostradamus — sung to the tune of Lady GaGa’s “Paparazzi.” |
Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, aka Lady GaGa,
hasn’t been in the public eye for very long, but given the hype, you
could be excused for thinking that it’s been just shy of forever. Credit
where due: it’s no small feat to direct the attention of today’s
attention-deficient masses and sustain it for more than the length of a
tweet. Yet it seems the grains in GaGa’s hourglass have finally begun
falling, and we all know what that means: time is fleeting for the new
Queen of Pop.
I’m not so bold as to call GaGa’s back-to-back appearances on “60
Minutes” and the Grammys a shark-jump, but it may be where her fame
clock officially began ticking. For someone who claims dominion over the
apparatus of fame itself, both events made a conspicuously feeble
impression. Not among her fans — those already under her spell remain
so. But if you are not a GaGa devotee (I believe she calls them
“monsters”), you likely regarded Ms. Germanotta’s Old Media blitz as the
definition of meh. Not even worth being
annoyed/disturbed/fascinated/repelled by.
Probably not even worth a blog post.
In fact, the reason that I’m even bothering with this exercise is
because I have an obsession with epoch-setting calendar events, however
minor. So, I’m calling this one for the record: February 13, 2011 marks
the official beginning of GaGa’s decline.
Since we’re here, let’s examine why. Admittedly, nobody under the age
of 35 watches “60 Minutes,” so GaGa’s aimless interview with Anderson Cooper
will have had a negligible impact on her core demographic. Actually,
I’m willing to bet the venerable program was the true beneficiary, as
GaGa’s most obsessive fans temporarily bolstered the number of viewers
who tune in to witness Andy Rooney‘s burgeoning dementia. (Forgive me, Morley Safer, for I have sinned…)
On “60 Minutes,” GaGa came across like a distracted grad school gal
sweating her final thesis. With regards to her peacockery and calculated
weirdness, I believe this Lady doth protest too much. GaGa did
everything she could to impress upon Cooper that she fully understands
each symbol that informs her meticulously crafted persona. This is the
wrong move for someone who trades in the techno-cryptic. We don’t need
you to tell us that you know why we’re enraptured. It kind of ruins it.
GaGa keeps explaining that she’s a “student of fame.” Nice work if
you can get it, but forgive those of us who have witnessed several
historic superstar permutations for expecting a little more. It’s not
that GaGa is drawing incorrect conclusions from her studies. It’s just
that, unlike true alchemists of adoration, she adds no new ingredients
to the stew. Everything GaGa does, says, or reflects is a pale
reflection of her forbears’ more innovative expression.
Surely it is difficult to be original in a fractured culture
saturated with corporate and brand symbols. But to be regarded as an
artist of lasting stature, one at least has to try. GaGa’s schtick can
be boiled down to Madonna and David Bowie, with a dash of Freddie Mercury and Elton John. Maybe some Cher, with her penchant for pantslessness and warbly singing. If only pastiche were a substitute for genius!
Back in Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust phase, he tapped into
a similar longing for acceptance that animates GaGa’s fans. Bowie took
the idea of alienation and turned it into an Alien Nation — a clan of
disaffected youth who reveled in their estrangement by exaggerating it
through gaudy makeup and “tacky things.” What Bowie did was hardly subtle, but at least he had the good sense not to fucking tell us
what he was doing. He respected his audience more than that. In fact,
he respected his audience so much that he dragged a portion of them
kicking and screaming through his metamorphosis into the Thin White
Duke. But that’s a tale for another time.
What’s GaGa’s next act? Does she even have one? Judging from her musical output, probably not.
Speaking of her music, it’s hardly worth mentioning at this point
that her new single, “Born this Way” is a melodic and rhythmic clone of
Madonna’s “Express Yourself.” Not that The Material Girl seems to care. The aging succubus will surely find a way to suck some extra lifeforce out of her sycophantic understudy.
GaGa’s performance at the 2011 Grammys was, despite the requisite
costumery and dancers, surprisingly bereft of spectacle. My favorite
part was the beginning, when she hatched out of some kind of space egg, a la Mork from Ork or Spinal Tap in “Rock ‘n’ Roll Creation.”
Seriously:
And here's Lady GaGa:
Many of us who can afford to eat more than once a day are any
combination of bored, distracted or overwhelmed. We require escapism,
and for some, GaGa delivers. Better still, she does so in a way that
champions a vague sense of self-empowerment (Madonna) and commiseration
with fellow outcasts (Bowie). But can that sustain a career? On some
essential level, Madonna possesses the raw material of which lasting art
is made (I can’t believe I just said that). Bowie, for his part, is an
ace showman/manipulator. He’s also a fabulous musician who had to grow
into that role. Yes, Bowie, too, struggled to transcend his influences —
Velvet Underground, Dylan, Bolan, Iggy. But he eventually did so, and triumphantly.
Can GaGa do the same? Clock’s ticking.
This article was written back in February 2011 shortly after the Grammy Awards. It's interesting how almost an entire year has passed since it was posted and the author really was psychic. Nothing has improved in Stefani's career. It's been one lump of coal after the other and each lump of coal was bigger than the first.
2011 was not a good year for her. The momentum of 2010 peaked incredibly fast and blew up like a volcano in Iceland, spewing the ash of her career everywhere. The veil has been lifted. Putting Little Monsters aside, people are starting to see Stefani for the sham that she is.
I think people have become so over her that even food critics are writing horrible reviews of her parent's restaurant JUST BECAUSE it's Gaga. I have an inkling the food wasn't all that terrible, mainly because the chef, Art Smith, was Oprah Winfrey's personal chef until 2007. Something tells me she wouldn't hire someone who made crappy food.
P.S. Holy shit!! I forgot about Mork and Mindy!
P.S. Holy shit!! I forgot about Mork and Mindy!
