When Thought Pollution solicited my services for the purpose of contributing the occasional review for the latest and greatest whatever-the-fuck, I eagerly accepted. I figured it would be a good opportunity to return to the Land of the Culturally Aware after my post-grad years in the Desert of the 9-to-5. Almost immediately, with a stroke of cruelty I am still struggling to comprehend, the TP brain-trust proceeded to troll me. I guess I could have refused, but I’m not one to blink, even if my synapses suffer a momentary short-circuit. And so here I am, speakers turned up, mind blank, fully prepared to give Lady Gaga’s third studio album, ArtPop, the old trying-desperately-to-remain-
FIRST LISTENIt’s been an hour since I last checked in with you, and I just finished my first trip on the ArtPop Express. I feel it my duty to report it in terms to which we can all relate. The experience was a mixture of this, this, and this. Hopefully we are all now on the same page.
When I clicked “play” for the album’s opening track, “Aura”, and set my Gaga-Drive to warp-speed, I was greeted not by the predominance of on-demand untz-itude I had expected to explode in my ear canal, but by an upbeat flamenco flourish, giving way to scuzzy southwestern-tinged theme music you might encounter during the intro credits of a Tarantino flick. The lyrics were empty, but they sounded cool. Thirty-three seconds of having my expectations challenged by an intriguing and accessible opening salvo abruptly gave way to twenty seconds of Gaga’s techno-echo repetition of the word “hahahahaha”… which led to ten infinite seconds of the word “Aura-a-a-a” on repeat, as the music escalated to the typical crescendo right before the beat drops. The lyrics veer off into a dull mission statement, which winds its way toward a request for pity, because she’s only ever loved one man – an announcement immediately outweighed by her admission that the dude had a massive penis.
I was next asked a series of suggestive questions in a chorus most reminiscent of Evanescence lyrics that didn’t make the cut. DON’T ASK, MUST CONTINUE FORWARD. Lady Gaga then threw out a series of random statements blaring at me over a thumping techno beat, and then the lyrics devolved even further to a series of words run through a synthesizer and then spit at me. Then we hear the chorus again, with those soul-searching questions like “Do you wanna look underneath the cover?” I assume she’s asking if I want to see her naked? Or maybe she’s being figurative, and asking if I want to look behind the facade created by Gaga’s global ArtPop persona. Whoa.
Next up is “Venus,” a song ostensibly about interstellar travel until — holy shit! It’s revealed to be a song about how you are out of this world. Get it? To be honest, the song is pretty dull and could pass for any of one thousand other songs designed to make girls dance with me (?) / give me a migraine at every euro-trash venue to which I’ve been dragged. I was bored and started looking at photos of Gaga on the Internet, and found one with a scorpion on her face. She shouldn’t do that, because scorpions are poisonous. I once had to kill one with a baseball bat. Off topic? Maybe, but those sentences are at least as coherent as the lyrics of the two songs to which I’ve just listened.
The next two songs are “G.U.Y” (Girl Under You) and “Sexxx Dreams.” Might as well be the same song. If nothing else shines through her lyrics at this point, I am at least certain of this: Lady Gaga wants everyone to know that she is into sex. The rest of her lyrical content never really rises beyond the level of Sophomore English 201, but hey, at least she’s consistent when it comes to making her lust for lust so unavoidably naked.
Next up: “Jewels & Drugs,” featuring T.I., Twista and Too $hort, wherein Lady Gaga performs hip-hop from seven years ago. Or at least that’s what it felt like. Then, it’s onward to “Manicure.” I can only describe this song as a shamelessly derivative, radio-ready pop anthem. And now to “Do What U Want,” Gaga’s super-submissive techno/R&B duet with R. Kelly. Rather than describe the music, I will humbly suggest (as I’m sure others have) that you shouldn’t tell R. Kelly that he can do what he wants. Like, ever.
I won’t waste time discussing “ArtPop,” the snooze-fest of a titular track. It can be summed up in one word: Madonna.
The back-end of the album is loaded with the typical Gaga fare. A few songs explore what it’s like to be a runway model. Another accuses you of being a swine, a mole, and a shrew.. and then descends into lyrics comically void of meaning.
The album winds to a close with “Applause.” This seems to be the only song on the album where Gaga hits her stride. It’s not that the song is all that great. Again, I couldn’t really pick it out of a lineup of all the music blared in any given night club. But, this song definitely has energy. If this is the sound she is going for, then I guess it’s good. In terms of content, she finally boils it all down and unapologetically lets her ethos loose: “I live for the applause.” It’s a refreshing and honest end to an album that is uninspired, monotonous and stale. It’s sometimes said that what matters is not how one starts, but how one finishes. Maybe, but ArtPop‘s strong finale can more aptly be categorized as too little, too late. In the end, this album may be good for what she’s aiming at, but after slogging through fifteen unremarkable songs appropriated from a Prague DJ/ecstasy dealer and the 1980s in equal measure, I have to ask: is what Gaga aims at all that good? But hey, I’m pouring myself a drink and preparing to give it a second listen. Perhaps I shall see things differently an hour from now.
FIRST OPINIONWhy is this the person who gets to be the first human being to perform a concert in space?
SECOND LISTEN
Must burn everything I own. There is only Gaga. Gaga is the Alpha. Gaga is the Omega. What is music? What is good? Who am I? Was I born this way, or has Gaga re-made me? Am I reborn? Can you be reborn if it can’t be said that you ever truly lived in the first place? There is only Gaga. All I know is Gaga. Gaga is the Untz. The Untz is Gaga. I am the Untz. I am Gaga. I LIVE FOR THE APPLA– USE APPLA– USE APPLA– USE I LIVE FOR THE APPLA– USE PLA– USE LIVE FOR THE APPLA– USE PLA– USE.
SECOND OPINION
Must kill John Lennon.
THIRD LISTEN
Forget Opinion #2. See Opinion #1.
THIRD OPINION
Thought Pollution owes me my weekend back.