Who is Lady Gaga and why should anyone care?

Written by Joseph R. Reeves

Illustrations by Marcin Kraszewski

When my lovingly adored friend and editor Marcin approached me with regards to writing a critical essay on Lady GaGa, I honestly felt as if I had no other choice. I’m well aware that no is generally an option for most folks, but aside from my editor’s hindsight in knowing that I have problems with saying no to most anything- a compelling sort of problem in its own way, really- I feel he also came armed with the agenda-driven hunch that through my background in contemporary art, and the roots of critical theory therein, I might feel a certain moral obligation to address what I will call, “the Lady Ga Ga phenomenon.”

Now I’m fairly certain that those of you with a critical ear might well have just developed a warm, drooping stain in your undergarments upon hearing the phrase “Lady Ga Ga” followed by “Phenomenon.” But lets bring ourselves back to ‘the real’ here for a moment, and name our cancer while its out here in the open, because a pop-phenomenon is precisely what Lady Ga Ga is, and an inability to accept that fact won’t make it go away- believe me, I’ve been trying. My choice in describing GaGa as a phenomenon is not so much to undermine or simplify her role in culture as it is an attempt to understand it. Whether you love or hate GaGa, her presence is certainly one whose ’cause or explanation is in question,’ and that by definition, places her into mystical categories of phenomena among stars, rainbows, and planetary shifts that I will much sooner understand then her popularity.

So perhaps before I get started, I should explain where I’m coming from. If there’s one thing I’d like to set straight from the outset of this piece, it’s that I am not a writer working anywhere near the vast and frenzied neo-genre of “disgruntled blogging,” so though you can expect my critiques to be snappy, I’d like to keep a conversational tone to our discussion. Unlike much of the “educated” critique that takes place in certain tightly wound circles, I’m willing to leave some room for a dialogue that aims to appreciate certain aspects of the Ga Ga phenomenon- if not for the sake of my personal understanding, than hell, at least for the challenge.

That being said, I also won’t pretend to not have a biased opinion of her. I’m as sick of hearing about Lady GaGa as most folks, and if I can give any particular aim to my purpose in wasting so much time and effort discussing her career, it would be with hopes to dissect the reality of her exaggerated public persona, and to find a more appropriate way of understanding why exactly we can’t stop paying attention to her– because lets face it, it isn’t the incredibly innovative leaps she’s making in the arts, its the conversations taking place therein.

Fame as a Medium

So, after grazing upon seemingly endless fields of viral media hype, and wrecking countless hours of my waking life only skimming the continent of trash GaGa floats upon throughout the inter-webs, I’ve sufficiently rendered myself comfortably numb enough to watch “Two Girls, One Cup” while lopping up a chocolate iced cream cone on the crapper. Such a mental state is necessary to fully appreciate the bandwagon that blindly sensationalizes such mega-stardom, and if anything can be said regarding the true substance of a star such as Lady Ga Ga, it’s that she is largely the product of such media fueled vehicles.

If I could claim to make a statement regarding the contextual reality of the Lady Ga Ga phenomenon, it’s that the hoards of enraged critics precariously flinging their poo at her need to find the real target, and trade their turds for bricks or something- because Lady Ga Ga shouldn’t be the bulls eye. The real problem is the surrounding industry thriving off of Ga Ga’s that were being fooled by, and more importantly, the notion that the genre of “pop” or “popular” music is barely tolerable, let alone popular, yet still it continues to takes place.

Is nobody else bothered by the fact that we as consumers don’t even get to decide what is popular music anymore? Of course, Americans have always been a driving force behind modestly talented, over-produced, super-skank pop stars that stagger in and out of the spotlight whenever we should be paying attention to politics, but Lady GaGa takes things a step further (a common theme in her schtick) by flaunting the ridiculousness of her own success. She manages to remain completely oblivious to the few elements within her gimmicky pop-art appeal that might actually bear significance– like the fact that she’s as big as she says she is whether we like it or not, or that due to the frivolous extent in which we coexist with media, we are powerless to stop paying attention to her.

Undoubtably, she works on certain levels of feminine empowerment, but is there really no recipe in this now common framework to include a dash of integrity, and a sprinkle of intelligence, with my favorite pinch of nipples? I don’t think I’m asking for too much, am I? If you’ve somehow managed to avoid reading any of the anti-GaGa articles surrounding the monster that has become known as her fame, then kudos to you, because your one of the few survivors. Let me sum it all up for you anyhow though: Lady GaGa is simply a product. She is a streamline design based off of cold numbers and marketing statistics– manufactured by the recording industry and continually fed by the media.

This is no new discovery. To be mad at Lady GaGa for her ridiculous fame, is like a vegetarian being mad at a cow for being meat. Not only is such resentment futile, but it’s misplaced, lazy, and it only works to feed the fire. So why can’t we just stop picking at this itch, and let it be? In an effort to broaden my take on Lady GaGa, challenge myself a bit, and try and bring a more level perspective to this article, I’ll go over some of the less depressing aspects of her fame, in an attempt to appreciate a few things before I roll out my all too clever scroll of complaints.

PRO GaGa

So here’s my big chance to finally let down my guard, loosen my tie’s to the intellectual mumbo jumbo for a minute, and give up on my intellectual “poker face” in favor of a colorful pair of dancing shoes, a cocktail, and the pursuit of those rare fleeting moments in life where we actually forget the toils of our nine-to-five, and allow ourselves to get utterly lost in dance. Though the rest of my critical observations might suggest otherwise, I live for those moments in life. I also respect many of Lady GaGa’s fans purely because they allow those moments of bliss to outweigh the critical concerns that ultimately cause many people to take art or music too seriously– which in the end can inhibit a person from reaching those weightless moments within their soul where feeling and expression are champion to contemplation and intent.

The fact is, I was forced to take a stance on Lady GaGa because I feel there are simply too many other amazing musicians out there who miss the spotlight because the propelling industry behind Lady GaGa sets a commercial standard, and not an artistic expectation. Though I cannot say I feel any of Lady GaGa’s music is anything particularly special or innovative, it is extremely danceable. Danceability is a term I use to defend even some of the most horrendously non-compelling music out there, because if my feet get tapping, and my little Anglo ass gets grooving- my critical ear can take a hike, ’cause I just wanna dance! Of course, by my estimation, there’s a slew of better options out there for danceable music, and I won’t even get started on the rare handful of do-all musicians who make music good for dancing and listening, but you see what I’m getting at here.

Theres something strangely magical in the superficiality of the club scene that is somehow only heightened by dangerously indulgent hooks about sex and fame. More than once have I found myself dancing profusely under the dimly lit electric strobes of a club, while making ecstatic connections between how shamelessly this music idealizes the importance of fame and money, and how utterly broke I usually am. I don’t know where the formula was developed, but clearly people without money, fame, and groupies want to be dancing to music about money, fame, and groupies. I can’t quite call it brilliant, but I do feel it somehow serves a purpose in this mixed up world, whether I understand it or not.

Another thing I can give Lady GaGa some credit for is her attitude. She’s certainly got attitude, and apart from where this clearly works it’s way into the mechanics of her popularity, there is something inherently admirable about artists who can cleverly showcase their attitude as an extension of their craft. Her attitude feeds infinitely into a plethora of questionable marketing strategies, but put in a purer light, it has been a natural component of her image that has not needed development or consultation. Her attitude might very well be one of the few qualities of her real persona that might set her apart from any other smoking-hot, provocative blonde that an industry producer might wish to build a career upon. So although I’ll maintain that she’s using her super-attitude powers for more evil then good at this point– at least it isn’t completely manufactured. Good job?

Lastly in my desperate stretch for pro-GaGa commentary, I’ll keep it simple and ride out the notion that she’s at least having a good time. Perhaps it’s a naive and entirely oblivious good time, but if ignorance is bliss, then Lady GaGa is outrightly trippin’ her balls off on bliss, and probably a whole lot more. Like much of the GaGa phenomenon, this component of her image is less to do with music than fame, fun, and indulgence– and if nobody seems to mind, then why change anything? A great deal of Lady GaGa’s appeal stems from the fact that she does what she wants, and like pop models before her, she has loudly proclaimed herself to be a girl who “just wants to have fun.”

On this level, even I can crop the pretentiousness and find some value in the fact that she serves some therapeutic social purposes by publicly living a life that the rest of us all wish we could live. Perhaps its not a model for good behavior, integrity, ethics, or a whole lot of other things, but I won’t pretend that her ability to do whatever the fuck she wants doesn’t at least help the rest of us get through our day less painfully, while promoting the occasional moment to wonder “what if…?” about our own lives.

CON GaGa

Now, I might be inherently too objective to offer the sort of slanderous critical slaughter that most of you have undoubtably been pacing back and forth waiting to hear, but I’ll do my best to abrasively describe this painful mess to you– without focusing too much on the fact that the GaGa problem is not only a direct effect of our inability to take control of the music industry, but is also a cumulative inheritance of our inability to simply ignore what we despise. The latter problem is entirely relative to our complicated new Facebook relationships with the internet, and if we don’t learn to remedy the effects of this new digital discourse, then net “buzz” will slowly continue to leak itself into our news feeds to form a dangerous new genre of blatantly selective, agenda-driven reporting that might well be closer to gossip, or tall tales, than real journalism.

Why is it we are reporting the number of “views” something has, as if it is an indication of its quality? Lady GaGa herself, is among the first musician– or perhaps the more appropriate term, “art object”– to have been consciously crafted with the commercial intent to appeal to a generation of genre skimming Ipod kids who abuse the digital music format to side step the process of deciding what they like, or what they think is good. Genre-bending is really only new from a macro point of view, and GaGa certainly has not employed any kind of interdisciplinary approach to her music as much as she has her image. She might talk all day long about how she is continually inspired by diverse artists such as John Lennon, AC/DC, and Madonna, but her music adheres to a quite bland, and even rudimentary electro-pop framework that capitalizes on repetitive hooks, and over glamorized sexual innuendos.

To put it frankly, Lady GaGa is tailer-made for people with a high tolerance to overproduced mainstream pop, who when asked what type of music they listen to, all synonymously say- “ohhh, I listen to everything,” and then proceed to list off a suspiciously typical list of favorite bands, followed by the three or four obvious hit singles. In her interviews, GaGa strategically evades artistic inquiry by shamelessly name-dropping any number of her seemingly diverse influences, which ultimately makes it easier for us to interpret her as being essentially a collage of iconic pop personalities– a deduction I sincerely believe GaGa would not even herself dispute. The overtly intellectual “art” problem this poses, however, is that she has strung together an A-list of pop icon’s in which to publicly name as inspirations, while she herself has done absolutely nothing new creatively, except inadvertently expose our willingness to buy literally whatever is being sold.

CON Gaga Continued

The true imagination, wonder, and spectacle that takes place in Lady GaGa’s craft is somehow contained within the professional management of her image, the bold actions of her PR team, and the self destructive social implications that arise from our voyeuristic urge to watch ourselves waste away and be okay with it. Its almost like we decided that if we could make really bad art, it would actually be good art because it would somehow reveal our true nature, and would therefore be a comment upon it. In GaGa’s effort to scratch the surface of so many influences, she manages to desperately vandalize the deeper roots of multiple genres by focusing on and imitating even the most painfully obvious, and generally mainstream attractions to her fans.

She claims to have been inspired by glam rockers such as David Bowie and Freddy Mercury, but I’m hard pressed to believe that she was ever inspired by anything more than the “Glam” in their rock, or the utterly profound level of fame they reached (which she openly also strives to reach). The stage name “Lady GaGa” is taken from the notable Queen song, “Radio Ga Ga,” which only adds to the pain left over from the obviously far stretch one makes by comparing the resplendent, and classically dignified voice of Freddy Mercury, with GaGa’s barely passable contralto that when cut with Auto Tune, becomes a fusion of crack-like proportions with an utterly sadistic disregard for lyrics.

Lady GaGa’s impact on the fashion world is not so easily disputed, but in all honesty, I’m not very concerned about disputing any such claim. An easy way to put this mighty title into perspective, is to make the reasonable assertion: “Lady GaGa is the biggest thing to hit the fashion world since Paris Hilton,” which when said, is really just another way to remind yourself that many (not all) of the inner circles of the commercial fashion world are easily measured by cosmetic appearance, commercial status, and a very thin layer of superficial artistic concerns.

Outside of this openly commercial realm, though, is where I might be able to sufficiently take issue with some claims. The fact is that Lady GaGa’s use of the term avant-garde is as disheartening as it is uninformed. It is a term she strategically employs to dupe mainstream listeners into believing she comes from this “true artist” background, and that she was some conceptual dynamo among the performance artists of New York’s lower east side, when really, this is as far from the truth as can be.

Lady GaGa did what all of mainstream society likely speculates a good artist might do, and she dropped out of art school her sophomore year, claiming, “Once you learn how to think about art, you can teach yourself.” On certain conceptual levels, I understand, and even agree with what she is saying, but even apart from the debatable notion that one must ‘learn how to think about art,’ (which I find problematic coming from any artist subscribing to the category of “free thinkers”) is the abundantly naive and painstakingly obvious artistic decisions she makes after having supposedly ‘taught herself’ art. I’m not sure how much GaGa actually taught herself about art while fabulously tripping through New York’s gritty neo-burlesque club circuit, but she certainly picked up a thing or two asides from bumps and rashes. This provocative young stage in her career is where she professed the art of selling herself as a package of lusty go-go glamour, and where she developed enough of a voice to exploit these aspects artistically.

Subsequently, this is also the point in which the artistically uptight folks like myself are forced to contemplate what the difference between performance art, and erotic entertainment is exactly. Within the intriguing, complex, and culturally rich history of avant-garde art and fashion, there is much that can be said, but very little that can be said with measurable certainty; within that very small degree of constants, though, is a rule of thumb for avant-garde that might broadly suggest a cultural dichotomy between the mainstream/pop culture and the avant-garde culture. What I’m getting at here, folks, is that Lady GaGa is simply using her sophomoric interpretations of the avant-garde as a tool to help sell this “true artist” image of hers to people who already have a muddled understanding of the term in the first place. This cheap trick leaves Lady GaGa with all the elbow room in the world to do the inanely transparent performative crap that she so ceaselessly does at the flash of a camera.

What is perhaps even more frustrating is that the charade has a dumbing effect on the consumers that become led to believe that anything edgy, overtly sexual, obscure, absurd, or outrightly ridiculous can simply be categorized as avant-garde, and then labeled as art and strewn into a gallery somewhere. When defending her dubious “meat dress” to PITA representatives, GaGa managed to claim that it was a statement of human rights, with a focus on the LGBT community. Am I missing something here, or is this statement as painfully oblivious as most of the freshman work that gets critiqued in art school?

I feel that the tradition of avant-garde art calls for a certain extent of obscurity or questionability in essence, but Lady GaGa’s take on the term is dangerous because it aims to define avant-garde as a formulaic outcome of arbitrary combinations.

GaGa Gone?

So the real question in the end is will she last? Is america ready to take out the GaGa Garbage, or are we doomed to recycle this cultural product until the ebbs and flows of her personal life become the basis of our own drama? Sadly, I think the only chance we have of her dropping out of the spotlight is if she loses her looks. I mean really, even the most hardcore Lady GaGa fans must surely admit that there’s not a mouse farts chance in china that she could hold her career down without being able to dry-hump mainstream America via music video.

Let us not also forget that the bolts in the neck of this monstrosity, were fastened by us. If we continue to allow the mainstream recording industry to manufacture our musicians as they do reality TV stars, then you probably shouldn’t count on changes anytime soon.