medieval couture galaxy punk trash

born this way is a pop masterpiece, plain and simple. what it is not: the fame nor the fame monster. don't expect "poker face," don't expect "bad romance." this is an album reflecting an artist in transition, drifting away from the old material in which became second nature and moving onto something new and fresh for the sake of complexity and growth. many people whom are not artists have a hard time it seems understanding this, which may be a reason why many critics choose to use words like "derivative" and "copycat" when reviewing the album. it is clear people only want what they are used to, but the point of this work was never to please the public. gaga said so herself that this would be for her millions of children, her "little monsters," those ravenous fanboys-n'-girls who bitch out anyone on youtube who talks about their mother and who loyally anticipate each new tweet and video that she posts with the kind of anxiety only mimicked prior by elvis and beatles fans. let's face it, even bieber doesn't have that kind of devotion.

it's with that devotion that gaga decided to concoct an album that combined her ever-growing obsession with eurodance and the obsession of her past, hard rock. what many forget is that before "just dance" and "alejandro," ms. germanotta spent many hours on her piano and playing wild variety shows with her best friend lady starlight, where she indulged her love for judas priest and motley crue. with born this way, gaga has finally indulged in that leather-clad love openly for the first time during her professional career and has created something quite new and different, something only she could create. but this is not "pop-rock" in the sense of ashlee simpson or even the knack. no, this is the true sense of what the word should mean: the passionate, uncompromising mix of catchy, dance melodies and the throbbing of tough-edged instruments that erupt through the wavelengths and shoot to your ears like a smash of glass. it's powerful, intense stuff yet it is only the beginning of what this album is truly about.



stylistically, this is, as i put it, a pop-rock album yet with the mindset of a club-hopping schizophrenic, simultaneously circa 1487 and 2068. each song could easily stand on its own or could be a part of another album completely, though together they all form as the latest greatest-hits collection served up by the heiress. from the defiant "marry the night" to the self-worth jingle of "born this way," gaga promises something for everyone and switches personalities and topics quicker than most people switch their underwear. in "americano," she reminisces on an affair with an east l.a. chica, the thriving sound of conquistadors bumbling in the background. with "bloody mary," she imagines herself as a gothic, passive-aggressive mary magdalene awaiting her fate proudly in a way that recalls riot grrl apathy. in "bad kids," she plays punk-disco rockstress to a parade of misguided youth looking for solidarity for their angst. "heavy metal lover" is a stealth beast that has the miserable coolness of electroclash and on the studded dream of "highway unicorn (road to love)," gaga envisions romance as a highway, for better to speed through, my dear.

but then we get to the others: the anthem-driven "you and i" which melds the sweet cornfields of the heartland with the kind of adolescent longing absent from a particularly popular pseudo-country starlet, "electric chapel" with its "love shack" theme for the jet-lagged and mildly hedonistic, and my two favorite tracks, "scheiße" ("shit" in german) and "government hooker." the latter are both runway power-stomps that are solid proof that gaga is the queen at her craft. easily, one could throw them away without a second glance, yet these are dirty, self-assured trash classics that will be throbbing on dance floors for years to come. with the weimar-republican hazer "scheiße," gaga confesses she wishes she could be free without "the shit" and in the jfk-marilyn-mosaic "government hooker," she promises to be "anything" and "everything" as long as she's "your hooker." even for the heavy criticism about her supposed lack of depth in lyrics, gaga manages to still pack messages into her melodies without seeming to try too hard in ways that her contemporaries fail miserably.



but really, what else is there to say about what has turned into one of the most amazing pop records to come out in the last 10 years? many will say it was hyped too much, that it is not "the greatest album of the decade," and maybe, just maybe it isn't (we are only in the second year). but gaga was addressing to her fans that for them, it will be the best, and she has delivered immensely with her continuing cycle of pop madness. for those who wanted this to be the fame or the fame monster, they're missing gaga's trademark thumpy beats and crude lyrics mixed in with the nouveau political and social subject matter. i mean, is "i want your whisky mouth all over my blond south" really much different than "i wanna take a ride on your disco stick"? true, she could have stayed in the safest of zones after becoming the biggest pop star on the planet, yet instead she chose to move into a totally fresh territory and for that, she remains as one of the most fascinating artists to emerge in the last 30 years. from the purposefully-cheap cover art to the glossy readymade titles of songs, lady gaga has produced a masterful commodity waiting to be consumed and god, what a lovely, decadent treat it is.

bogie

too cool for school.

morphin time

me and stoves watched 40 minutes worth of power rangers today. i think i'm in lurve again.

something must break

so long, moody boy.

word to the wise

"if you don't enjoy the doing, do something else."
--david lynch

modern

there is a face ahead of its time.

another gem from the kingdom

like clockwork, a little over an hour ago, the heiress-apparent of pop released yet another single off her upcoming album. "hair," which focuses on the brilliantly superficial notion that freedom is associated with the protein stemming from our heads, is an instant club masterpiece that seems to have been made almost solely for the purpose of dancing in one's bedroom mirror. through her storybook lyrics, gaga weaves a tale about how oppressive parents can stunt a youth's self-discovery and how, through hair, one can essentially find salvation. it reminds you of being a teenager and the desire to be understood through expression. its message brings materialism and narcissism to epic proportions. while stomping your feet and shaking your own hair to the thunderous bassline and explosive chorus, you can see the image of cher horowitz in her white bedroom getting ready for school or jim stark slicking that ace comb through his gelled locks or tony manero flinching from his father's reach for his head, and the youth culture of all eras combine into one, huge carnival of celebration. even though this is just a promotional piece, it still will probably find its way onto charts around the world and at least the club circuit here in america, where gaga has slowly weened a generation of nu-metalheads and pop-rap fiends onto eurotrash dance and industrial electro. with "hair," the heiress-apparent yet again proves her relevance and importance by serving up an anthem devoted to outer beauty and that proudly professes, "i am my hair." india arie, she is not. and we can be thankful for that.