Whether you like her or not there is clearly no denying the talent that is Lady Gaga, but we wonder at what point people will grow tired of the theatrics and just want to hear the b*tch sing.
Make no mistake. The show certainly has no shortage of likeable sight gags. Personal faves include the video of a woman wretching blue vomit all over Gaga, followed by the Lady herself savoring a fistfull of bloody entrails. But that’s just the icing on her provocative cake.
What impressed most was the sheer disco fun of Gaga’s repertoire. In songs performed Monday night like “Glitter and Grease,” “Telephone” and “Boys Boys Boys,” she proved herself to have the most effervescent dance music released in the last two years. It fully deserves the unstoppable radio play it has earned.
Better, Gaga delivered it once agan in robust voice, hitting the trickiest notes even while dancing mightily. That’s a most rare talent among stars whose shows rely so heavily on theatrics.
If only Gaga had no pretensions beyond such blithe entertainment.
Unfortunately, her desire to be seen as THE avant garde artiste of the hour clashes badly with many aspects of her display – most clearly, her material. The songs all fall in deep debt to the dance music of the ’80s, making it far more retro than avant. Songs like “The Fame” and “Beautiful Dirty Rich” sound like they came right out of the “Dynasty” age.
Once again Monday night she delivered all-too-many pep talks to her fans about “being free” and “being yourself” – bromides that now sound canned and corny, not to mention as self-serving as an awards show acceptance speech.
Shouldn’t someone who looks this outrageous have more of a sense of irony?
Then again, maybe that’s asking too much too soon from the young star.
She has, after all, only the one full CD, and this sole, very long tour, to her name. Perhaps it’s enough that, beneath all her reaching, she’s putting on a live show that truly pops.
Maybe the answer is never. Maybe Gaga will go on to be the biggest most polarizing pop star since Madonna, maybe…