Turn up the lights in here, baby / extra bright, I want y’all to see this / turn up the lights in here, baby / you know what I need, want you to see everything / want you to see all of the lights – Kanye West, “All of the Lights”
2010 was a year where we began to separate the wheat from the chaff of the next generation of iconic superstars to fill our pop fantasies. True Genius Requires Insanity believes in the power of pop music. We believe that it brightens the landscape in brilliant snatches of high and low cultural intellect, and is one of the driving necessities of humankind. TGRI’s Kari “swiper_bootz” Elam provides the incisive commentary on our pop cultural beacons, and Kendrick Daye from our friends at Atlanta’s Great Eclectic provides the visuals for this illuminating journey. Enjoy!
Kanye West and Lady GaGa… beyond, beneath, within, and without the flashing lights these two remained suspended in infinite existence. Modern Pop has known no before nor after these two… 21st century children will live to recount tales to their grandchildren of crucial kreugers emanating from nothingness, beautiful dark twisted fantasies in the midst of a blissfully bleak reality, the climate-shifting global state of monstrosity where beasts reigned as belles of the endless ball… a world void of time and space… a post-apocalyptic period where two prophets destroyed their own made world, an archaic rebirth after the darkest decade known to warholian man, a cultural sonicscape perpetuated by the synergy of two sources of sheer energy… in 2010 amidst all of the flashing lights Lady GaGa and Kanye West were The Sun: the ubiquitous body cultivating the craft through their presence and, even more so, propelling secondary stars to shine brighter in the darkness of their absence.
This year, the culture was defined by the impact and influence of GaGa and West. Lady GaGa spent the entire year on tour, while pushing out two singles – the club-banger “Telephone,” and the sweltering “Alejandro.” West spent the first half of the year in obscurity: shopping in Milan, interning on the side, recording in Hawaii, and being around the seeming underground. Yet, because of their brilliant 2009s where the two grabbed the world – neck and soul – with direct omnipresence and social injection (The Fame, The Fame Monster, Swiftgate, and Swiftgate) their 2010 defined us by indirect impact of what happens when the sun fades, night sets, and we are left to create our own light. In 2009 the world had become accustomed to the presence of sheer genuine artistry of universal reach and immediate proximity, character uncertainty, and 24/7 creation to fuel a Pop nation – they spoon-fed us commercial culture; in 2010 West and GaGa’s absence from the formal mainstream left us to our own devices.
All of the lights: Ke$ha, Eminem, Miley, Rick, Far East Movement, Willow Smith, Drake, Justin Bieber, Nicki Minaj, Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, Usher – of all of them, none could shine beneath the sun. This year these twelve first came to vision, then to fruition – as transient as the year was in Pop, each of these stars saw progress past the easy-sell and towards something more substantial. “All of the lights” were artificial, crafted to recreate the natural light we were missing, displayed most prominently when the sun has set; instead of settling for second-best though, we saw a push towards replication over imitation.
Ke$ha opened with Animal, and garnered the collective eye-roll of a critical culture looking for more than a trailer-park-queen-in-a-trashbag. She dogged Pop, prided herself on the farce of it all, and strove for low brow; this would have been well and good – as it was in the 2000s when the world was run by dime-a-dozen Pop caricatures; but this was 2010, and admit it or not, we could not ignore the motto, emblazoned in our brains, that branded our generation: “Pop Music Will Never Be Low Brow.” Ke$ha could’ve very well remained grimy, and to many she still is, but her transition and growth over the year says otherwise. Cannibal was a masterful hybrid between the sound of Blackout and the structure of The Fame Monster. Ke$ha emerged in the midst of Britney’s borderline psycho-southern-heauxspitality and a Post-GaGa world of a necessary artistic standard; and created an album that embodies that socio-pop scene. Justin Bieber threw out an unplugged version of his debut album My World/2.0, along with a 3D film experience. Rick Ross found symphony beneath the streets with Teflon Don, and created a vibrant display of the Miami hustle, giving it a pulse, a heartbeat, and life beneath the limelight. Miley Cyrus dropped Hannah Montana and hitchhiked a ride with Stevie Nicks en route to some sort of artistic identity – even Taylor Swift tried to get bad by breaking her silence. This year we saw lights, artificial as they are, attempt something more than just false projections; we saw stars strive to emanate energy – not just light.
Step back, and we see the keepers, cause, and reason for the Pop season. Just as the sun and moon dictate the climate, so West and GaGa direct the shift in scene and scape. 2009 was the year of life on Planet Paparazzi, GaGa’s self-led crusade through the limeliit world of garage glamorous existence. We transitioned with her from the creation of The Fame to the company of The Fame Monster, as she embarked on her Persephonic romp through Pandora’s made world. Then we saw 2010: the year of the monstrous descent, where our Perstefani slipped beneath the surface to reign along side Hades in subterranean delight. In 2009, Kanye West was that villain vicar who dwelled in divinity below the mainstream; in 2010 he returned to give record of the nocturnal freakshow.
2009 saw the cancellation of Fame’s superficial kill, where GaGa and West took that concept of fatal Fame to the netherworld, killed the lights, and reveled in the company of a revived underground. These timekeepers live in a world of self-context, where everything external is a mere reflection of their internal existence. Planets, personas, satellites, stars, the masses, and monarchs revolve around the tandem’s being, under false pretense that the universe works geocentrically in reverse. When the sun is up, and Persephone strides solo on the surface, we experience a Summer swelter; when the husband beckons, she returns to her natural home on the Hadean throne, and we are left in a Winter wanderland – the lost desolation of life above the underground bacchanal of seeming hibernation. In 2010, the sun didn’t set, the moon merely took hold here while the solarities retreated to consummate their espousal and empire. They shot the lights out, hid until twas bright out… and though it was just another lonely night, they birthed a culture in the sacrificed life.
Lady GaGa and Kanye West are a cultural phenomenon that brought the supernatural to life. This year the world experienced, for the first time since 1638, a lunar eclipse fall on the same night as the winter solstice. As above, so below, and in similar fashion we had Fame align with its Monster holding our Pop world suspended in the midst. A lunar eclipse occurs when the moon passes behind the Earth so that the Earth blocks the sun’s rays from striking the moon; and so we saw below, an Archaic rebirth where the Monster passed behind the masses so that the public would shield, reveal, and block the Fame’s rays from striking the creative beast. The winter solstice is the shortest day and longest night of the year, when the Sun’s peak position in the sky is the lowest; and so 2010 was the year where those shortest in stature and career reigned, and those icons of timeless status waned – we saw artistry’s presence in the mainstream at its lowest genuine peak. This year we saw these two occurrences: the annual and the once-in-a-lifetime run in tandem, where in the face of the most fugitive sun and the most quickly-fading light, a creative culture built its foundation in the still of the extended night.
Pop: grab your old girl with her new tricks, if this was GaGa’s first and last album it would be just as complete as it is in context as a dynasty starter.
The Fame is nothing more and nothing less than a perfect Pop debut through and through. Visceral, catchy, panoramic, reflective, progressive, chock full of hit singles, formidable filler, and fun; foreshadowing or foreboding depending on how you look at it – and yet, so very simple. The Fame is merely a skeleton, and the beats are nothing more than an atmosphere. In Britney’s wake we saw a sea change: where Spears’ story was plot-driven – a tale of a singer at the whim of heavy production, and a girl at the whim of a weighty world – GaGa’s voice is the fuel behind The Fame. She gives life to the beats, as much as she injected the joie de vivre back into Pop’s consciousness.
The sound is underground and mainstream, simultaneously past and present. “Just Dance” couldn’t be more straightforward as it rips the disco skeleton from the past, fleshes it out with simple synth layers, and slaps an electro-futuristic veneer on for 21st Century tech propulsion. The beat is a night out: airy synth, simple percussion, minimal layers, basic four-count – nothing crazy, nothing coercive, just dance music. The lyrics are universal: just dance, gonna be okay – and repete after moi. GaGa is “that girl” from the club. This is the first step of the journey through a tumultuously memorable relationship between lovers, the celebrity and the scene, the artist and the industry, the author and the audience. It all starts with “Just Dance.” You just dance to get to know their name, you just dance to get on Page Six, you just dance to get that record deal, you just dance for reassurance that it’s going to be okay – and this is The Fame.
Beyond that, at first listen, “Just Dance” is any other Pop track, a brilliantly choreographed debut. It couldn’t be more literal, and at a time where the world is a collective skeptic for good reason – the truthiness behind WMDs – that clear transparency was a trailblazing mindfuck in and of itself. Everything the track is not makes it everything it is. It is not new, it is not groundbreaking, it is not particularly deep or profound – and yet, coming from a world of life under-rug-swept it was that very transparency that broke America out of its shell. Just. Dance. No more, no less, no hidden agenda. Before auto-tune and vocoders, before ice and chains, there was lighthearted, carefree disco – the most basic, infinite, constant, life stream of music by method.
The weight of modern Pop’s heavy production reflected a population beneath the barrage of their own environment. Britney’s tinny voice barely broke over Danja’s basslines, Nicole Scherzinger and Co.’s voices were as empty as the stars they aspired to be, and this was the subtle soundtrack of our daily lives – conversing and communicating in a modified tone, rehashing dialogue gathered from the news, the Facebook, The Hills, the White House; we had no control. Everything was entirely too complex, and we gave up. We woke up waiting to see which institution had failed us now, which neighbor lost their home, or which coworker lost their job; meanwhile, GaGa woke up to see which club she had failed to name last night, which bartender found her keys, and which bouncer found her phone. It could all be so simple, and even though you made it hard, it can all be so simple again – just dance, gonna be okay.
The signature sound is as apropos a sonic aesthetic for GaGa as you could possibly fathom. Disco: the rainbow coalition rallying cry emerging as the pulse of the marginalized and socially-oppressed communities. Disco, the uber-derivative genre that pulled its identity from soul, jazz, Calypso, funk, rock, Latin, and infused those indigenous sounds with new synth technology. Disco, the cultural anomaly with which to be reckoned, that self-contextualized subculture hidden-in-plain-view, the Anti-Red-Blooded America full of the gays, the blacks, the women, the progressive post-hippy problem. GaGa: the rainbow-haired bad romancer emerging as the pulse of the Generation Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell fringe networks. GaGa, the uber-derivative artist that pulled her identity from Lorca, Queen, Motley Crue, In Living Color, Peggy Bundy, Kardinal Offishall, Stanley Kubrick, Yoko Ono, and infused those influences with a modern Pop veneer. GaGa, the cultural anomaly with which to be reckoned, that self-contextualized subversive supernova hidden-in-plain-view, the bleeding red corpse of American celebrity hanging from the rafters. Disco and GaGa: the liberating voices, the heartbeat and pulse; when Nixon put the fringe elements away, when Bush put the freaks in the doghouse, Disco and Dance music are what the subculture whistled while they werqed.
They turned the basement into the big house, they made the freak fabulous, they Studio 54ed on the floor and Monster Balled out of control. They took the clandestine and made it social currency. That ironclad community, that bond of the oppressed, is what fueled the funk. Metal heads hated Disco, but the genre bordered Glam Rock and birthed Hair bands; rappers are notoriously homophobic, but the genre birthed hip-hop; Wale dropped out of a show because of said homophobia, but just a few months prior he was chillin’ with GaGa like his middle name was Perez. Disco – Dance, Electronic music – is universal, it is liberating, it is innate, it is self-made, it is the high-hated, it can’t pay rent but it is gorgeous, and it’s never dead – just beautysleeping in a trance, but never sleeping to dream: and this is The Fame.
The Fame is Pop; Pop is as personal, as it is political, as it is a commercial vehicle. The Fame is exactly the same; each song is a scene from a story, and it means whatever you want it to mean. “LoveGame” is the classic tale of a one-night mayhaps, and so very distinctly the sample-come-surrender story of a star and her beloved Pop. “I wanna kiss you, but if I do then I might miss you babe,” considers the struggling artist as she wedges her foot in the door: I want fame; I want to taste that beautiful life, like Paris, Lindsay, Britney, but like that harrowing hat-trick I know it’s a one-kiss-to-commit sitch. Fame is a drug, like Cocaine the champagne, one line is too much and a million is never enough. So, we venture along as the Lady reminds us of the lovelorn path most stumbled: the path of Pop stardom, the little boy monster. “Hold me and love me, just wanna touch you for a minute; Maybe three seconds is enough for my heart to quit it.” It all comes down to one question: “Do you want love, or you want fame?” Art is passion, fame is vapid: vanity please, Ladies first.
Then come the Paparazzi, and with the fatal flashes come the fans, the fiends, the frenemies, the cold cruel world beneath the hot, hot lights. Fame is crumbling beneath the weight of your own ego, The Fame is making it work and faking it until then – fight flash with the facade; you don’t hustle this hard to fall harder. GaGa just danced her way into a love game with the industry, willy-nilly and aloof, but beneath the pink haired My Little Pony shell was a Trojan Horse. Poker Face was just that, a bluff and a front. Two number one singles later: we still weren’t sure whether or not Lady was a Lord, whether he/she/it was from Yonkers, Mars, Sweden, or Manhattan, whether or not her pants allergy was contagious, what her “real voice” sounded like, or how in God’s name she got the name GaGa – and no, the interviews didn’t help, they just further hindered a clear view of this character and where her Achilles’ was (we later found out it was in the back pocket of the pair of pants she wore in seventh grade, along with her keys and phone) so we could build and break her accordingly. Fame is Britney’s fate, The Fame is treating that as a cautionary tale instead of a crystal ball; as the Lady herself said: “They can’t scare me if I scare them first.” Russian Roulette isn’t the same without a gun, and baby when it gets to that: Didi Mao, cut, and run. Meanwhile, in real life, every major institution had crumbled beneath our very feet, the world was in a tailspin, running about like headless KFC chicken-products; and while we sat dumbfounded atop our collapsed house of cards, GaGa took that very same hand and made it marvelous. Pulling yourself up by the bootstraps, when you’ve only got stripper heels to pay your way through college: and this is The Fame.
It’s GaGa’s signature scene: back for the first time. “Beautiful, Dirty, Rich” was the promo-single-that-couldn’t-quite, the track that got GaGa voted off the island of Def Jam, was why she had to just dance to be okay. Where before she knocked on fame’s door with a formal request for entry into the house, she now knocks down the door; riding in on the four singles of the Pop Apocalypse, her own Haus in tow. The kids do the dance right, they have got it made like ice cream topped with honey; they’ve got the red light scope dead-set on two things: the father and the fame; Daddy, I’m so sorry: bang, bang.
“I’m shiny and I know it, don’t know why you want to blow it; you got me wondering why I like it rough,” maybe because love is a losing game. As GaGa eases out the album with “I Like It Rough,” it’s the track that reminds us there is no end; we always want what we can’t have, and once we have it we’re on to the next, and after it leaves we’re standing missing it only because it’s gone… and so it goes. Christians are born-again if only to sin, celebrities sober up if only to get that much closer to the dragon, lovers part if only to makeup, and the industry kills stars if only to resurrect them for a comeback tour. As always, from the night can arrive the sweet dawn but “don’t be sad when the sun goes down, you’ll wake up and I’m not around.” “What time is it?” Fifteen minutes, and a lifetime, later we hit “Summerboy,” the sweet sendoff as GaGa heads to meet with the wild things. As she says “we’ll still have the summer after all,” you can’t help but miss June. Aside from you, or anyone else, this is GaGa looking in the mirror and saluting goodbye to her summer self; while the world was riding her disco stick, she made her way to the bath haus to get clean with the beautiful, dirty, rich.
So here we find ourselves looking back on 2008. The institutions had crumbled, the celebrities had collapsed, the grand old party had ended, Hamptonite billionaires became slumdog millionaires: the top dropped. Yet with their last ounce of influence, they gave the false American ideal to us: that their reality check was our dream deferred, that we had failed – but when the everyman had nothing, it was nothing new, and for those who had nothing again we had nothing to lose.
The Fame is as stylishly substantial as you want it to be. It gauges only against itself, and so does Lady GaGa. The Fame is a skeleton, the album is GaGa’s face; but her story is a tale of how to go carve out your own space:
I did this the way you are supposed to. I played every club in New York City and I bombed in every club and then killed it in every club and I found myself as an artist. I learned how to survive as an artist, get real, and how to fail and then figure out who I was as singer and performer. And, I worked hard.
It’s the hedonistic Apocalyptic sendoff, an ode to the past life that built this live and die fast life, and 2008 was the post-party dawn. It was over, we were done, fame was dead, but in its wake a child was born unto us: The Fame. The Fame is everything fame is not; The Fame takes time, fame isn’t worth it. Fame is what killed the country, The Fame is here to bring it back. Fame is the artifice, The Fame is the artist. When the history books are burnt beneath the rubble, you write your own tale. Britney fell, up for grabs goes Pop; Bush was gone, oh hai politics: meet Barack. What the famous lost was our gain – and this is The Fame. It is timeless, and senseless, with no direction, just vamp; here today, gone tomorrow, if you want it: just dance.
Pretense: I do love this time of year, but to be honest I’m feeling a bit less-than-enthused for the first time in my life (yep, pass the Geritol – it’s time for the early bird special #aarp). On one hand I feel like you can’t top last year – it just… it can’t happen; and to even fathom a thought entertaining any idea otherwise is, is beyond negligent and belittling to Pop logic, theory, and history. That said… let’s delve and dabble
So, to be completely honest: 1.) I’m still hungover from a punch-drunk-love affair with the 2009 VMAs, and 2.) MTV is no doubt still in come-down mode from the superlative high that was said ceremony. The 2009 VMAs capstoned an era – they were our “we went out like kings and queens” magnum opus. Now, we’re on the heels of the embodiment of all a Video Music Award ceremony should be: dictator to the following year in Pop Culture. Last year we saw a star rise from the dead and resurrect performance art as Pop – from the Grammys to the AMAs, from Bad Romances to Monster Balls, from Good Ass Jobs to Good Fridays, Beiber and iCarly, Russell Brand and Katy Perry, Empirical States of Mind… the list goes on, but however you slice it: the 2009 VMAs were the Pop pulse this year. After a showing like that, there’s nothing to do except sit back and bask in the brilliance of a job well done – enter VMA 2010.
This year the theme of the awards show is clearly “Retirement Home” – my bad: “Retirement Haus” (it’s about to get real repetitive in prediction land…). This year we’re taking our arthritic selves to Los Angeles to sit on the proverbial porch and watch the new breed play on the lawn that is Pop.
Host: Chelsea Handler is literally the drunk old next-door neighbor of the Pop subdivision. She’s ten years away from polyester pink pants and orange orthopedic sandals, proudly slurring life lessons and one-liners about what’s wrong with your generation, gesturing sloppily with a drink in one shaky hand and an Us Weekly in the other – and we love that; because at the end of the day, she’s right… like Betty White.
Location: Los Angeles – yep. I said it before and I’ll say it again, location is everything. Los Angeles is where you go to retire and relax – like Aaron Spelling, because the world became 90210 in the 2009 aftermath. New York made you a star, next stop Hollywood Kid!
Performances: Eminem and Linkin Park are VMA staples – y’know like the designated chaperones. Kanye is the cautionary redeeming tale… no, I can’t lie: he’s there to blaze the trail real quick like, it’s his PSA. Drake, Nicki Minaj, Ke$ha, Justin Bieber, B.o.B., Hayley Williams: all the new breed, testing out their sea legs. Plus, with GaGa, Eminem, and Diddy in the front row it’ll be like a lil’ talent show – semi-sans the talent.
There’s not an insane amount to say about this year’s show: it’s a wind down and come down from last year’s epic perfection on one hand, and on the other it’s the embryonic first few stages of Pop future. Last year was the end of an era for me, my generation of Pop has now retired. I can sit back and watch the new kids on the block from the porch. I feel a bit like GaGa right now: “I just want to sit back, have a drink, and accept some Moonmen – and rest up for what’s coming next,” let’s take a seat, go ahead – kick up your heels #cheers
Predictions: Let’s be serious for a second, we’re about to embark on a Bad Romance… it’s about to get real repetitive in this piece (GaGa ooh la la). I’m going to have fun watching the fruits of my labor… I’m not a gambler but I made a bit of a bet last year on the one with the Pokerface – well, it’s hard to call it a gamble when it’s such a sure shot but I digress. Either way, it’s ether season #justslayin Let’s get to predicting! You know the drill, tip – let’s get screwy:
Kanye’s a Monster: he matters – watch his space. #toldyoutostopsleepinglastyear
#getusedtothis
Best Collaboration: B.o.B. – “Airplanes” ft. Hayley Williams Beyonce – “Video Phone” (Extended Remix) ft. Lady GaGa Lady GaGa – “Telephone” ft. Beyonce 3OH!3 – “My First Kiss” ft. Ke(USD)ha Jay-Z & Alicia Keys – “Empire State of Mind”
Should Win: Hov and Alicia epitomized collaboration with the “Empire State of Mind” video – it was more than a song, it was a mantra: especially this year. You couldn’t go anywhere without hearing “Let’s hear it for (insert local city/district/township here)… there’s nothing you can’t do.” It was a global unifier and collaborator – globally. That said, I think it should win for the big picture thematic perspective – technically the video built from the collaboration of New York as a city and culture with a photomontage depicting the faces, places, and sights of Gotham #collaboration.
Will Win: Yeah… so… how “Hello, Good Morning” must GaGa – and Bey, but more so GaGa #beserious – feel right… abouuuuut: now? (Cuz I be leanin’ on the bar, lookin’ cleaner than a star and these broads won’t give me my props; 25 on the bank, I be stuntin’ on they ass and they mad cuz a b*tch won’t stop – got your boyfriend feelin like a groupie… #yep). Times like these we learn to live again, and laugh again, at being masters and mistresses of the known universe (imagining the universe is Pop #egoinflating #delusionsgrowing). That said, I predict GaGa and Beyonce will win this one – #seewhatididthere But on the real, as far as collaborative efforts, the pair that kills together – well, kills together – so I’d say “Telephone” could slay the competition by a hair… weave, track, extension #yougetthegist
Over the Moonmen: Beyonce, GaGa, Hov, and Alicia Keys have fun with things like this because they don’t need dubious validation, and usually when they are granted moonmen statuettes it’s considered a jab at kids like Ke$ha who need said dubious honors for life and “career” validation.
#mytwocents: Don’t want to touch on “My First Kiss” namely because if it involves those two parties I’m pretty sure it could only lead to “My First Trip to the Free Clinic” #nothanks.
Best Female Video: Lady GaGa – “Bad Romance” KeDollarSignha – “Tik Tok” Katy Perry – “California Gurls” ft. Snoop Dogg Beyonce – “Video Phone” ft. Lady GaGa Shifty Swifty – “Fifteen”
Should Win: “Bad Romance” should win – because it’s Bad Romance #obvs #themeofthenight As far as Female Videos go though, “Bad Romance” could take the “Try Again” route for the decade, as harbinger of the next few years in the female Pop identity. Where “Try Again” outlined the ‘dust yourself off drunky” mentality of Lil Miss Hollywood 2000-2009, Bad Romance highlights the more Lorena-Bobbit-meets-Miss-Grits-Green-meets-Angela-Basset-awaiting-exhalation Third Wave feminist mentality of “Pyros on Parade” to trailblaze young women into the new millennium’s second decade #ilikethoseodds #torchesoffreedom
That said: “Video Phone” hearkens back to a more objectified female… one who gets caught up in real life bad romances at clubs after a night of making rounds on video phones from Bungalo to B.E.D. I appreciate the video for what it is, but not what it means for the next decade of the target female demographic’s social identity.
#mytwocents: “Tik Tok” is just… #icant… whatever. Fif-the-flip-teen… I wouldn’t mind Shifty Swifting the category this year, it’d be ironic, blatant, and audacious (read: her m.o. this entire year, so a capstone and casket close would be nice). It’d be only oh-so-fitting seeing as this is the last year she’ll be granted this opportunity #cheerstoasecondoverfifteenminutes #tiktoktothat.
#sidenote: “California Gurls” as an ode to mistresses all the way from San Francisco to Los Scandalous… hometown pride never hurt the odds.
Best Male Video: Eminem – “Not Afraid” Usher – “OMG” ft. Will.I.Am B.o.B. – “Airplanes” ft. Hayley Williams Drake – “Find Your Love” Jason Derulo – “In My Head”
Should Win: “Not Afraid” should win on the premise that it’s made major moves this year, especially for Eminem’s overall return to Pop relevance and the mainstream consciousness. That said, the theme of the night is the new breed – Eminem won last year – and as such B.o.B should win for what he means for said next generation of Pop – and Hayley Williams is a definite staple among the tween market which doesn’t hurt… it’d be redemption for the GaGa/Yeezy/Cudi/Common “Make Her Say” loss at the Grammys which is a relative parallel (especially given said dubious nature of the VMAs – from day one the VMAs have been the anti-blacktie so… that’s yeah.)
Will Win: “OMG” was sadly, a big hit among the tone deaf – and weak-willed – this year, and being Justin Bieber’s Mr. Bojangles doesn’t hurt the odds either… another doesn’t-hurt-the-odds-anymore-than-it-does-your-pride angle is Will.I.Am (stop for the love of God, though, he won’t) on the track #lesigh. Drake was kind of big earlier in the year, but his steam has more than waned since January #whateverittakes and let’s just recap on the randomness that was “Find Your Love” … seriously? Let’s try “Find Your Point” because the video needs to pump the breaks and send an Amber Alert out for “Coherence” #seriously how in God’s name does a Jamaican kingpin/arms dealer/war lord/”You Know What It Is” slash “Belly” understudy seem like a good idea for love advice… the only way he could help you find your love is if he was holding her hostage for the blood diamond in Wheelchair Jimmy’s ear #comeon
#sidenote: Remember when Gloriana got Best New Artist at the AMAs… Gloriana aka the Shifty Swifty opening act… Shifty Swifty aka 2009/2010’s poor lil’ watch-me-rack-up lamb – well Jason Derulo was GaGa’s opening act this year #couldbutwonthappen
Best Hip-Hop Video: B.o.B. – “Airplanes” ft. Hayley Williams Eminem – “Not Afraid” Jimmy Brooks – “Forever” ft. Kanye West, Lil’ Wayne, and Eminem Jay-Z & Swizz Beats – “On to the Next One” Kid Cudi – “Pursuit of Happiness” ft. MGMT & Ratatat
Should Win: “On to the Next One” should be up for video of the year – period. It’s easily the best Male video of the year. It is phenomenal, it is a masterpiece. It is black magic. #alleverything
Will Win: B.o.B. has a good shot, by popularity alone. Eminem has the senior comeback angle working for him. Jimmy had a stacked team behind him with “Forever” – with crossover beyond a shadow of a doubt. For the sake of hip-hop: it sets a nice precedent to have a collaborative effort with the Wayne/Brooks tandem (rap past and present: the martian and the makeshift marketing face du jour), Kanye for the resurrection of the Louis Vuitton Don, Eminem for the sake of, well, Eminem and “Forever” because that’s essentially what a dynasty is – or hopes to be.
Over the Moonmen: Hov doesn’t need the “validation” he’s on to the next one #dropthelabel
#sidenote: “Pursuit of Happiness” is a great addition to the ballot, and Cudi with MGMT and Ratatat is a very “as above, so below” parallel to the “Forever” collaborative effort – a subtle indie/hip-hop union which is the actual genre shift we’re seeing moving forward…
Best New Artist: KeSidewaysSwithaStrikethroughha – “Tik Tok” Jason Derulo – “In My Head” Justin Beiber – “Baby” ft. Ludacris Nicki Minaj – “Massive Attack” ft. Sean Garrett (with an appearance by Amber Rose) Broken Bells – The Ghost Inside
Should Win: Broken Bells for the sake of “if it was a real awards show”… that said, since it’s the VMAs… Nicki Minaj should win for the sake of what it means for Pop future. We need a Lil’ Kim again, we need a black harajuku Barbie, we need Pink Fridays, we need that effortless crossover appeal – no matter how work-in-progress it is. Drake is young money, Minaj is nouveau riche – we need Pop to go to old Paris and reclaim that statute of liberty.
Will Win: #hatetosayit but Biebs just flipped the script like his bangs… remember last year when he was the first presenter on stage – along with iCarly but she doesn’t count – after Swiftgate and said “let’s all give a round of applause to Taylor Swift”… remember, no, whatever… either way, it would make sense for him to move from that subtle “off the heels” moment into the spotlight on this grander “off the heels” spectacle. His Beliebers are the bain of Little Monster existence on Twitter, but Bieber stans and GaGa stans have a lot common anyway… if (when) he snags the moonman they’ll have even more in common – backing back-to-back best new artists
Over the Moonmen: Broken Bells are just an amazing concept of an artist, period.
Best Pop Video: Lady GaGa – “Bad Romance” Katy Perry – “California Gurls” ft. Snoop Dogg KeAmericanCurrencySymbolha – “Tik Tok” Beyonce – “Video Phone” (Extended Remix) ft. Lady GaGa B.o.B. – “Nothing on You” ft. Bruno Mars
Should Win: Yeah… Bad Romance is Pop – period #howelsecanisayitidontspeaknootherlanguages
Will Win: Bad. Ro-ma-ro-ma-ma #letsgetit
#mytwocents: Y’know it’s a bit unfair of GaGa to go so hard on these people… but that’s the krump lil’ G: welcome to life. “Tik Tok” is farce pop at the expense of pop #counterfeitpseudocoup. “Nothing on You” is doo-wop pop, which I appreciate #kudos “California Gurls” is, again, a hometown ode to L.A. which is where Pop resides at the current moment, stars basking in their newfound fame – while artists stay in an Empire State of Mind creating culture, but enjoying the celebrity showcase while they’re on the Pacific.
#sidenote: “Video Phone” is Pop epitomized. Just as Bad Romance is Pop conceptualized and theorized, so “Video Phone” is pure Pop: Hype, Beyonce, GaGa – the diva, the doll, the director – that. is. urban. contemporary. and right now the block isn’t only hot, the block is Pop.
Best Rock Video: 30 Seconds to Mars – “Kings and Queens” Muse – “Uprising” Paramore – “Ignorance” Florence + The Machine – “Dog Days Are Over” MGMT – “Flash Delirium”
Should Win: Florence and the Machine because I like their moxie #simplemathsandenglish
Will Win: Well that’s up to the audience now isn’t it? Muse performed last year though, and they’ve been doing this for years… plus Linkin Park isn’t up for a moonman this time around, so Muse should get the nod in the interim #isthiswillwinorshouldwin
Over the Moonmen: Harry doesn’t need your moonman to validate his existence, okay? Just make sure his mom gets her 15 seconds of airtime during his acceptance speech… she wore the red dress and everything #wegotawinner
Video of the Year: Lady GaGa – “Bad Romance” Florence + The Machine – “Dog Days Are Over” 30 Seconds to Mars – “Kings and Queens” Lady GaGa – “Telephone” ft. Beyonce Eminem – “Not Afraid” B.o.B. – “Airplanes” ft. Hayley Williams
Should Win: “Bad Romance” is a perfect Pop video; perfect in it’s depiction of the recent truth that “Pop Music Will Never Be Low Brow” – period. That said, “Telephone” is a perfect Pop video in it’s satirical depiction of modern Pop’s reality – nine minutes of hyperamericana. It simply comes down to the vision or the vice, couture or camp, high brow or low brow, this or that. What it means for Pop is somewhat irrelevant, outside of the allegiance pledged to GaGa the Bath Haus firestarter or GaGa the Uncle Sam slaying ex-con – she who crafted new Pop culture, or she who killed the old concept #youseewherethisisgoing Beyonce to boot doesn’t hurt “Telephone” in the odds department, as it would stand as a nice literal transition from 2009 to 2010 with Bey half-passing the baton from one single Lady to another. Florence and the Machine crafted a great piece of art with “Dog Days Are Over” and if this was purely about the video, FloMach would be a tough contender for “Bad Romance” – but again… that’s not the point
Will Win: Tough call… tough. call. I’ve got my cinnamon toast hunch… y’know what – McQueen’s got the crown for this one. #pawsforplatosatlantis
Over the Moonmen: Eminem’s been here, done this before – as has Beyonce… GaGa is here now, and will be here again… and again… and probably some more after that #justslayin
#generalsidenote: Florence and Robyn – the future of Pop music <– watch that space
Now… wow… that was – that. I can’t keep up with kids these days anymore… I’m going to nap before the inevitable livetweet #kidultthings enjoy the show and on behalf of MTV, Pop recent past, and myself: #getoffmylawnyoulittlerascals
This is the drop after the first waves and floods: GaGa. Klein. Alejandro. I’m not here to talk about her facial features, or how to convert atheists into believers; I’m just saying that somewhere in the midst of a socio-political indie short film, and a scene-by-scene homage to immaculate conceptions – and collections – lies a near perfect Pop music video – period. Is pastiche supposed to be coherent? It is now – let’s delve.
Visually, this is a Pop video. It is fluid, it is atmospheric, it is conceptual, it’s relevant, it’s universal. It is literally a motion masterpiece. GaGa never stops, never smiles, never breaks character; that is where “Telephone” faltered – it couldn’t be taken fully seriously when it’s uber-kitsch bordered on the satirical. Here her intensity is constant – she’s as serious as the heart attack that is a possible side effect of viewing such a piece. At the most basic level, this video gets it in. If you can’t read between the lines, this video is for you; if you can’t read, this video is for you; if you like pretty pictures, this video is for you; if your top eco-friendly habit is recycling cereal bowls for haircuts, this video is for you. “Alejandro” is universal appeal; why is it nine minutes long: because that way, there is bound to be something for everyone. To elucidate on the sheer cinematic mastery that is Alejandro’s sonic aesthetic would be to diminish the authenticity of visual expression through semantic explanation. Let it be said though, that GaGa and her boys dans life like a LoveGame, and can werq a runway – two snaps and a circle around.
“Alejandro” as a video in the midst of Pop history is a fine respect to royalty – namely, Madonna. What the preview did to “Vogue“, was what the video in its entirety did to her Madgesty. Call it what you want – an ode, an homage, an ether, a poor execution – but call it. Some channel Madonna, but until now we have never seen a challenge. When Britney and Christina looked to inherit the throne, they dressed up in Madonna’s love and awaited her formal blessing. GaGa isn’t looking to inherit a throne, so much as she is actively acquiring and building a kingdom; she isn’t looking to be Madonna, so she isn’t looking to Madonna – or her kiss – she’s thinking “how would Madonna do what I’m doing now?” She looks to the one who built Madonna’s most comprehensive reinvention to direct her own, and she finds the man behind the epic ReInvention Tour’s aesthetic: she finds Steven Klein. Take a Pop artist with infinite resources – an endless well of Pop knowledge, a vast expanse of socio-historical references, an increasingly limitless scope of reality – pair her with a photographer who breathed life into Madonna’s live renaissance and you get GaGaKlein – if Pop was Power Rangers, GaGaKlein is Titanus Ultrazord… times three. The product is an homage to the Queen, from a successor – not a subject. That’s not the point though, the point is to make a point, and on the Madonna tip – this isn’t even the iceberg. GaGa is at a ReInvention state of mind, in the body of Blond Ambition. Welcome to Pop 2.0: cone bra upgrade, militaristic fashion show upgrade, quick-cut-to-concept Pop mélange upgrade, Frida homage upgrade. No, GaGa wouldn’t be where she is without Madonna’s path, but at some point we need perspective on the past: there are those who did it first, and those who do it best – statement of fact. Here, GaGa dresses for the job she wants, not the one she has: she took off the product placement and put on a pair of black slacks – because now she wears the pants in the family.
The opposite side of the spectrum is what Alejandro means for GaGa in and of her former-Haus-now-Kingdom. She said The Fame Monster was her Blueprint 2: The Gift and The Curse. “Alejandro” is her Blueprint the Third… right down to the Reich. The video is visually stunning, it is a dazzling piece of work – and a beautiful fusion. She combines the classic cinematographic aesthetic quality and abstract social theory of “Bad Romance,” with the length and structure of “Telephone.” The atmosphere is the concept. “Alejandro,” at nine minutes, drags on for a music video, but in GaGa’s self-contextualized world where Pop Music Will Never Be Low Brow, it is exactly the length it needs to be for a film that is far more than the modern standard for a “video.” The production is so precise and well-crafted that each individual scene is a story in and of itself. It’s broadcast theatre. This is GaGa the jester giving her monsters a history to record.
Globally, this is the post-apocalypse. “Bad Romance” was the apocalypse. We saw the fall of the pristine white underground haven, the beautiful “Bath Haus.” The figurative patriarchy – objectifying and devaluing women – diminished to mere ashes beneath the literal skeleton of GaGa’s former owner. GaGa laying beside his corpse, unaffected with a lit cigarette hanging from her lips, as the vixen and the victor – the Kingdom now belonging to the she. Fast forward through “Telephone” – the “en route” between point A and point B (points BR and A rather). We arrive at her post-apocalyptic military nation. This is the pendulum swing of power. GaGa presides over a post-war wasteland. It is the polar opposite to the Bath Haus: desolate, obsolete not opulent, above ground, but far from the light, a place founded on survival over splendor. Here the social script is flipped: GaGa assumes a familiar position, embodying and emulating the stance of her former superiors, watching and analyzing her male objects below as the Russian Mob did before. She emulates their behaviors, but more so embodies their role – every David becomes a Goliath, and vice versa. She may have overtaken the former powers-that-be, but in her ascent she didn’t take down the institution, she merely assumed their position. As an iconography, she represents every revolutionary who killed the cause in light of the crown. She is the monarchy, she is the military, and she is the Church. This barren wasteland is no more of a utopia than the “Bath Haus.” So, she steps down from the throne and into the throws – literally, they toss her around like a You Doo Doll – where after a cavalcade she becomes the monster martyr.
For those who get caught in concepts, the point – again – is to make a point: globally, this is GaGa saying institutions are based on superiority and submission – whether it’s gender a la “Bad Romance,” or orientation a la “Alejandro” – that inequity is the apocalypse. Her own descent from power here leads to a familiar fate: GaGa on the left side of a bed, beside a male suitor; however now the bed is black, and she – the marionette, the monarch, the martyr – is laid to rest, while the male prevails. But wait – there’s more! What about the monsters? For them this is not a play, this is a promise. GaGa’s world is an alternate universe: as much as the institutions within the system hold the fringe elements subjected, the individual at the helm can be their salvation. In a real world where the freaks are disposable monstrosities, in her ball the monsters master the domain. This is her manifesto. She is legend to her tribe, and this is their Kingdom: she will be their monarch, she will be their general, she will be their matriarch, and she will be their martyr.
Scope out: none of the aforementioned reasons are why I love “Alejandro.” I appreciate this film because of what it is and what it means to GaGa and Pop. This is GaGa writing the Pop renaissance. I have said it before, which is all the more reason why I stress this now: she is so impossibly not finished. “Telephone” was the epitome of hype, it was her response to the bandwagoners, the critics, the skeptics, the monsters even. It was touted as “the moment” that the world hyped as her alpha and omega – and she obliged. “Telephone” was her full-length VMA Paparazzi finale: it was her killing herself on film so you would stop waiting for her demise. “Telephone” was Americana Pop to a fever pitch: product placement, bright lights and colors, death, buzz, hype, consumption, celebrity, garage, glamorous, ambiguity, ADHD-appeasing quick cuts ad nauseum – it was a cliché for a cause, but a cliché nonetheless. She exaggerated the expectations – if only to check it off the list. Post-“Telephone” comes the backlash. When you lower yourself to others’ expectations, you are left at the whim of their inevitable condemnation. So it was, and while the world focused on the artifice – the “exhaustion,” the “so bold, she’s boring,” the fad fatigue, the 14:59 syndrome – GaGa was cultivating her art in the cut. So, we slept on her; “Telephone” is her letting us know what happens when we seek, Alejandro is her letting the world know what she does while we sleep – difficult takes a day, impossible takes a week.
“It’s been my experience in the industry that I have connected on a much deeper level with the most iconic and legendary people that I have admired. I have not connected with any of my contemporaries. That has freed me. I used to be guarded in interviews, I’d sit there with glasses on and barely speak. I almost developed an accent at one point, I was so guarded and nervous. The media was trying to destroy me. I let it go much more when I got to meet the people I worshipped as a child. It has influenced me most in the past six months, maybe a bit longer: everything happened very quickly for me. Meeting these people I’d give my right arm to have been around and learned from: I’ve discovered myself again. I’ve discovered my freedom, my security – myself. It makes me smile just talking about it.”
Nutshell: “I can’t connect with my contemporaries, in connecting with legends I’ve discovered myself;” read: “I discovered I am legend.” The subtle self-awareness is so strong here. In a whisper, she puts the “Lady GaGa” character to rest. Everyone hits this point, Madonna hit it around Evita (of which there were a number of nods in Alejandro), Britney, Justin, Christina never really hit it, Bowie killed Ziggy, etc. GaGa is hitting this less than two years after her debut release. All this is to say that “Alejandro” is her sea change – thus far.
GaGa didn’t ask the world to like her, she told them to – and we obliged, flaws and all. While, one one hand, she is officially having the most fun not playing games with the industry right now, she is also on a clear mission. “Alejandro” will stand as the point at which the skeptics were warned for the last time: in the face of early fame and its barrage, this icon was not broken, she was just a baby – but a child no more.
Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” hit #1 in 2009, one year ago. Will it wow us on June 10th the same way it wowed teens last year?
This has been your daily reminder that in 21 days, at DC’s Wonderland Ballroom, DJ Cold Case, DJ TMY, Edukatorz.com and True Genius Requires Insanity are celebrating 50 Years of Teen Pop Music!
Less than a decade on the scene, and two months before her eagerly awaited third album, M.I.A. is in a class alone. Maya Arulpragasam is a singular artistic force, pushing against musical boundaries and political sensitivities with equal aplomb. She is followed by a public that yearns to extract meaning from her every note, word, or Tweet.
So why the fuck is she attacking Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber?
Now, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a plea to leave Gaga and Bieber alone. As much as I enjoy the music that the two put out, it’s just pop. Neither is re-inventing the wheel; they’re following in the footsteps of pop stars before them. And that’s okay! Pop music can be iconic, especially with charismatic, interesting stars like these two. But it isn’t high art. Lyrically, Bieber uses the word “baby” 9 times in the chorus of his number one hit. Gaga sings about disco sticks and fame monsters. Musically, they put out well-crafted, hook-filled R&B and dance music, respectively. Nothing groundbreaking.
M.I.A. is different. Her music is a true melting pot of influences and genres, her lyrics bombastic poetry. She is definitely not a pop star, but has had no trouble getting press, be it critical fawning or political commentary. Her personal connection to and pointed views on the Sri Lankan Civil War, discussed with greater depth elsewhere, are a defining part of her public image. Her dedication to Third World issues and subjugated peoples worldwide is admirable; she definitely isn’t some Bono-come-lately. Her politics are personal; she has as much at stake as the political musicians of the 60s and 70s. So what happened?
A turning point here is the infamous video for “Born Free,” a bit of cinematic ultraviolence that depicts genocide in very graphic terms. With classic shock rock tactics, M.I.A. made a video “so violent” and “so controversial” that it was banned from YouTube… promptly buying her another few news cycles, all about a clip that is not particularly novel or creative. The video for “Born Free” manages to combine the worst parts of collegiate political discussion and overwrought film school productions. It’d be less smug if Michael Moore directed it.
M.I.A.’s release of the “Born Free” video is part is of the same cynical media strategy that includes running to NME every month to shit on pop stars. It’s not as if her album would have gone unnoticed, lost in Trending Topics to Justin Bieber’s haircut. It’s below her, and we should expect more from someone like M.I.A. She’s too important to music, culture, and art in 2010 to punch down like this.
When I was 16, I really got into Sweden. It all started because of the music of two extremely similar acts: ABBA and Ace of Base. Terrifically basic pop sounds built around an exceedingly pop core. ABBA has sold 370 million albums worldwide, Ace of Base, 37 million. It’s almost insidious just how comparative the groups really were.
From “Gimme Gimme Gimme” having one of the hottest and most underrated basslines of the 1970s, to the lush horns of 1974 Eurovision contest winner “Waterloo,” to the ever slight reggae funk of “The Name of the Game,” and the mellifluous string orchestration of “Dancing Queen,” ABBA’s pop extension knew NO boundaries, and with the delightful female voices lilting delightfully through the tracks, their singles became instant classics, the legendary hits you can build a hall of fame career off of.
You can also say the same about Ace of Base. They had three number one hit singles from debut album The Sign. “All That She Wants,” built around a synthline, 808 and a saxophone sample, may be one of the most iconic sounds of the 90s. “The Sign” features what sounds like a Casio keyboard setting as the instrumentation, proves that hooks drive pop music, and “Don’t Turn Around,” which was a Diane Warren written 1987 pop hit for reggae star Aswad did the trick as well, as the reggae feel of the sample on that track elevates it past just being a solid track, but one of the top songs of the decade.
Ace of Base have proven to still be influential today. Katy Perry has often stated that she very much wants her followup to One of the Boys to have a pronounced Ace of Base influence. But someone may have beat her to the punch. Lady Gaga’s “Alejandro” from The Fame Monster in no way could exist without it’s 1994 doppelganger. ABBA. Legendary. Ace of Base, a derivative, and with following that same pattern, became legendary. Lady Gaga, continuing that path? Legendary? Time will tell.
Ninjasonik’s album Art School Girls drops on 4/20. My, how apropos. The Trouble and Bass Crew just engaged in what felt like frighteningly impact-filled sonic warfare with the epic sound system at DC’s U Street Music Hall. AC Slater, a retro bass fiend and member of the crew who has done such amazing thing as sample Fingers Inc.’s “My House” for “Jack Got Jacked,” has returned with “Take You Higher,” which features synths eerily similar to Haddaway’s “What is Love?,” and a bass drop reminiscent to 20 Fingers’ “Short Dick Man.” Re-appropriating the classics of any genre is always appreciated, and this time, taking Ninjasonik’s oft-underrated Telli “Bathroom Sexxx” Federline’s flow and adding a fantastic bass workout at the end of the track, and you get a quality piece of dance music. Do listen, and do appreciate.
3. The Northern Soul movement is one of the most influential and important dance movements in the history of sound. Ask Fatboy Slim. He’ll agree.
I am a giant fan of the Twisted Wheel, Wigan Casino, Blackpool Mecca and Golden Touch club initiated UK Northern Soul movement of the late 1960s and early 1970s. Featuring DJs spinning small and indy label soul releases big on horn solos, high tempo rhythms and melodies and fast paced drum breaks, the Northern Soul sound was the earliest inspiration of underground UK rave culture. All night parties, spirited dancing, breakbeats, funky dances that were proto-breakdancing as denizens of the club were sparked to fits of dance they learned in attempting to mirror the likes of Jackie Wilson and James Brown with claps, jumps, knee dips and syncopated footwork. Sound familiar? Well it should.
One of my favorite tracks wholly inspired by the Northern Soul generation is UK DJ Fatboy Slim’s 1998 pop sensation “The Rockafeller Skank.” The Just Brothers’ “Sliced Tomatoes” is a funkdafied Detroit soul instrumental breakdown that proves that a track doesn’t need to be electro to move at 120 BPM. Norman “Fatboy Slim” Cook took the track, added a multitude of electronic elements and a Lord Finesse vocal sample, and the track zoomed up the charts, placing high in Billboard’s Top 100 as a single and rock track, and reaching #6 in England as well. As for the “Rockafeller Skank?” Well what other dance can you really do to that song?
M.I.A. sat down with NME to take a stand on where music is headed in the coming decade. Most saw her choice words, as choice cuts of beef served up at the table of Lady GaGa. However 1) Pop Stars don’t eat and 2) any avid reader and Pop Culture connoisseur would see that the article is not so much a direct attack on GaGa as it is a misdirected critique of the mainstream, and industry in general; so that leaves the beef: untouched. M.I.A. is a major artist, an iconic figure from the past decade, commenting on the future of music; the future of music as we know it is GaGa, and so what better case study to reference than the Lady herself? Where the response has gone array is in people’s general lack of perspective on the artists, and the art form. Brass tacks: I read the article and thought I was reading a self-deprecating dialogue between GaGa’s Fame and Monster… some sort of existential exercise in literary catharsis for her new album… I don’t know. M.I.A. and Lady GaGa are a theoretical tandem, they share a Pop iconography. They both represent the future of music from the Sri Lankan hood to the Haus. Point/Counterpoint: for every question NME posed, and every response M.I.A. gave, GaGa has been posed a similar – if not identical – question, and below are her answers: verbatim. Before you pick a side, let this be your guide, a little Pop primer that gives reference points and poses the biggest question of all: “so wait, where is the beef?”
NME: Do musical tribes still exist? M.I.A.: “There aren’t tribes any more – how can there be when we all live in computers, on social networks? People listen to and access music differently now, so the tribal thing has to be reformatted.”
Lady GaGa: “People believe electronic music is soulless – and it’s not. Do you know why I know it’s not? Because the soul that I feel from my fucking beautiful fans at my show cannot be a lie – it can’t. I’ve never in my life seen the intensity in their faces – I mean they bloodsuck and kill to be together; I mean there’s glitter, and there’s sweat, and there’s dancing, and there’s hairbows, and they believe in it so much and it’s real. In those moments: it’s real; and they bring my music to life.”
My Two Cents: Tribes exist, and both M.I.A. and GaGa are tribal leaders (shout to lil’ monsters). The firewire sparked the bonfire around which the new musical tribes dance; the future of the musical tribe? Gonna be okay.
NME: Do we still need record labels? M.I.A: “Are they even interested in making money from music anymore? Lady Gaga plugs 15 things in her new video. Dude, she even plugs a burger! That’s probably how they’re making money right now – buying up the burger joint, putting the burger in a music video and making loads of burger money.”
Lady GaGa: “Once you kill a cow, you gotta make a burger.”
Pretense: M.I.A. answers questions like I go through life… by not answering the question, but giving a socio-political tangent that somewhat pertains to the general topic at hand – and name-dropping Lady GaGa.
Two Cents: M.I.A. uses GaGa as an example of what’s wrong with the industry, citing a GaGa video that highlights… what’s wrong with the industry – and elaborates on M.I.A.’s own train of thought. The music industry – the cash cow – is dead, we killed it; so, when life gives you beef: make a burger – bank on it. While there was no clown-themed burger joint to buy and make “loads of burger money,” there were at least nine brands behind the video’s product placement: Diet Coke, Virgin Mobile, Plenty of Fish.com (still doesn’t settle right), Miracle Whip, Wonderbread, Heartbeats by Dre headphones and limited edition Beats laptop, HP Envy, Polaroid, and Chanel. Only three brands paid for placement, that leaves six freeloaders, and a four-times gone bankrupt GaGa with nothing but a head full of Diet Coke cans to trade in for McDouble money.
NME: How do you think you’d have fared on (American Idol style singing competition X-Factor) the show? M.I.A.: “I would totally flop. Are you serious?! I’m not a ‘showbiz’ person. I got signed and made an album without playing a show. I scouted four different people to sing ‘Galang’ before I put it out as my own demo.”
Lady GaGa: “It’s interesting that you bring up American Idol because even though it is this incredibly American, pop, antithesis of what Warhol stood for: we had a very Warholian approach to it. We brought Benjamin Cho in, a designer who’s a friend of Matt’s from New York. Daniel Bernard Romaine was the violinist, a hip-hop violinist friend of ours. So even though the show is Hollywood, we brought the heart of New York.”
My Two Cents: They both see “The Man” behind the show, the wizard behind the curtain if you will; the differ in how they defeat that beast though. You don’t have to be mainstream to be mainstream, you can make the mainstream whatever you already are. Both M.I.A. and GaGa did that: different method, same message – flip the status quo.
NME: Do you think those (celebrity television) programmes and the internet have destroyed the mythology around popstars? M.I.A.: “I don’t know. Again, there’s Lady GaGa – people say we’re similar, that we both mix all these things in the pot and spit them out differently, but she spits it out exactly the same! None of her music’s reflective of how weird she wants to be or thinks she is. She models herself on Grace Jones and Madonna, but the music sounds like 20-year-old Ibiza music, you know? She’s not progressive, but she’s a good mimic. She sounds more like me than I fucking do! That’s a talent and she’s got a great team behind her, but she’s the industry last’s stab at making itself important – saying, ‘You need our money behind you, the endorsements, the stadiums.’ Respect to her, she’s keeping a hundred thousand people in work, but my belief is: Do It Yourself.”
Lady GaGa: To answer the question: “The idea of ‘showbiz’ the idea of Michael Jackson ‘showbiz’ and the sentiments of music and and performance; today with the media, and the way that it is, you see absolutely legendary people – taking out their trash. It’s something that we as a society don’t want to see, but we keep buying into it; and I think it’s destroying show business.”
To answer the answer: “I come from a strict religious background, and I make music about sex, pornography, partying, and money; this is what I am, this is what I do, this is what I mean for you to see. I wouldn’t want people to see me – me – in anyway except my music and stage performances. It’s funny though, because I have found that I arrive upon comparisons more than I make an effort to be like them. I started making music in New York and was called everything: when I was brunette I was called Amy Winehouse, when I was blond I was called Madonna, Gwen, and Christina – people’s music knowledge only goes so far, they need more points of reference. It’s funny with the Madonna reference, because I never saw it until people started to say it; and I was like… okay, I can kind of see that. I don’t want to be like David Bowie, I honor his philosophy; it’s not ‘I want to be Bowie,’ it’s ‘How would Bowie do this?’ I’m just trying to reinvent Pop in a fresh way; I’m not trying to recreate the wheel. Everything’s sort of been done before; however I feel that I can make it feel new and fresh – and still be commercial. Name a bar in New York and I’ve played it. I used to take my demo into clubs, but when they wouldn’t book me I would lie and say that I was Lady GaGa’s manager, and that she was only available to play on Friday nights at 10:30 — the best time slot.”
My Two Cents: GaGa doesn’t “think” GaGa is weird, she’s not actively “trying” to be anything; she just does what she does and leaves perception to the public. M.I.A. and GaGa are similar, like yin and yang: but where M.I.A. is that politically-charged, active, substantial, guerrilla fire; GaGa is that Pop-centric, reactive, stylistic, glam fame. Where M.I.A.’s stage is the battlefield, GaGa’s battlefield is the stage. Now, on the swaggerjacking tip: M.I.A. gets her beats from indigenous tribes from Africa and the Middle East, GaGa gets her vibes from Pop stars… it’s much easier to name Warhol, Bowie, and Queen than it is to name the Zulu, Ashanti (not that Ashanti), and Maasai; case and point: we all swaggerjack – there is no original, just better concealed sources. Grace Jones and Madonna both were more than their music, and their looks were part of the whole persona. Madonna is a fusion of all her New York scenes – in conjunction with her religious roots (strict religion, sex, pornography, partying, money… damn that sounds familiar). So, they agree: GaGa’s a mimic, GaGa cites Grace Jones and Madonna as influences, GaGa did it herself, GaGa has a label: where’s the beef? GaGa may sound more M.I.A. than M.I.A. on “Chillin” but RiRi’s “Rude Boy” video has them both beat.
NME: What’s more important to you – performing live or making records? M.I.A.: “Making records is my art, but if you’re an artist, questioning a lot of things it’s important to have that live space what you do isn’t gonna be twisted and manipulated.”
Lady GaGa: “I was a songwriter to make money, but I put all my money in my live shows. I’ve gone bankrupt four times, my manager wants to kill me. My friends say I’m dead until I’m on stage – that’s where I come alive.”
My Two Cents: They both make money in the booth, but make their mark on stage.
How important are image and visuals to your music? M.I.A.: “Very. But it’s not like ‘Haus of Gaga’ (laughs). Me blindfolded with naked men feeding me apples and shit.”
Lady GaGa: Common sense called and said that’s a stupid question: performance art means image and visuals are music, vice versa, etc. and GaGa is performance art embodied. But for good measure… “When I’m on stage that’s the narrative of the show. As a fashion stance the clothing evolves. It begins in sort of a warbly, blue state, and it’s kind of spacy. Then I grow bones, and then I grow hair, and then I grow horns, and then I become a sexy full-bodied woman in a world full of war and military. Then I become myself, by the end of the show. It’s sort of this apocalyptic rebirth when I appear in the orbit and I’ve done it again. The show is like the ultimate, epitome, symbol of what that ‘Fame Monster’ is that we perceive in our heads.”
My Two Cents: Both artists create music that transcends sound and builds entire atmospheres, worlds to the point of sight and tangibility; given the modern resources, it’s only natural that both are equally focused on expanding that experience to reality: actual visuals and mixed media.
“The More You Know” Moment: “But really Lady GaGa: what is ‘The Haus?'” Lady GaGa: “It’s my creative team and it was really organic. I was a bit frustrated at the beginning, being so new to the business and going forward with a major label. I called all my coolest art friends and we sat in a room and I said that I wanted to make my face light up. Or that I wanted to make my cane light up. Or that I wanted to make a pair of dope sunglasses. Or that I want to make video glasses, or whatever it was that I wanted to do. It’s a whole amazing creative process that’s completely separate from the label.”
Where’s today’s true music underground? M.I.A.: “In people’s hard drives and their brains, it just hasn’t been outputted yet. It’s really important to be physical, especially now so many of us have become typists and voyeurs. We need a digital moshpit like we’ve never seen, harder than how people were doing it in the punk era. We need that energy, but digitally. It’s coming.”
Lady GaGa: “I think dance music in America is – or was for a very long time – kind of like, underground, and ‘gay,’ and not on the mainstream, very ‘Oh, that’ll never be played on the Top 40.’ My fans aren’t normal Top 40 radio fans, they’re like crazy punk rock fans – with me tattooed all over them, with wigs, and throwing glitter and hairbows, and fainting all over themselves. So, when my record label heard The Fame Monster they said ‘It’s confusing, it’s too dark, you look gothic, it’s not pop,’ and I said, ‘You don’t know what pop is, because everyone was telling me I wasn’t pop last year, and now look — so don’t tell me what pop is, I know what pop is.'”
My Two Cents: This is a “looking forward and looking back” situation where M.I.A. sets the tone for what needs to happen, and GaGa reflects on what has happened with the underground, and it’s transition to mainstream. Electronic will always be “underground” within some capacity… but as long as M.I.A. and GaGa tap into it, it will never be “underground” completely.
Who or what is the enemy of music right now? M.I.A.: “Money is always the enemy of music.”
Lady GaGa: “What’s the one thing I hate? Money. Music has no fucking race, it has no fucking religion, it has no fucking orientation, it has no fucking genre, and it has no fucking economy. Don’t want your money – shit’s ugly.”
My Two Cents: Commerce kills creativity.
Is it still possible for a musician to ‘sell-out’ in 2010? M.I.A.: “Back in 2003 I was in a bedsit, hand-spraying very 12-inch and just wanting to make art. Everybody gets turned into a product push so fast – these weird fucking ‘hipster’ parties promoting Red Bull or whatever. There’s a difference between saying ‘no’ to everything and ‘yes’ to everything. I’m not fucking Coldplay because I said ‘no’ to certain things. When I did my ‘selling-out’ show for MTV they made me a hundred grand and I built a school with it in Africa.”
Lady GaGa: “On the 24th, The Monster Ball in New York, all the money I made that day in ticket sales and merchandising went to Haiti – not a dollar went to anybody else but Haiti. I was never supposed to do ‘We Are The World.’ So that’s a rumor. We’ve raised over half a million dollars for Haiti during the show and we like to work specifically with charities that are based in Haiti itself.”
My Two Cents: The point here isn’t selling out so much as it is what do with sales and success. They both Robin Hood the record labels. It is quite possible to “sell out” though, as was evident with the celebrity showcase of self-importance that was “We Are the World 25.”
Who’s pushing music forward in 2010? Are people taking enough risks? M.I.A.: “Of course they aren’t! We have, what, a million songwriters? And probably three risk-takers. I like this guy DJ Borgore. He’s coming out of the Tel Aviv which has gotta be weird, and in terms of dubstep he makes the hardest shit.”
Lady GaGa: “I don’t know, I don’t judge other artists; I don’t care what other artists are doing, I really don’t. I care about work, in the world, and I appreciate other people’s music – and I love culture and I love music – but, when it comes to judgement and criticism: that’s something sacred in my Haus of creative people. If we criticize, it’s very specific, and it’s very brief, and it’s only a note to improve our own work. I don’t focus on other people; I am one hundred percent focused on being as innovative, and original, and soulful – I cannot stress that word enough…”
My Two Cents: Don’t throw stones if you live in a glass house… or a bubble dress.
Would you ever make a record for a Twilight soundtrack? M.I.A.: “They asked me. Luckily Jimmy [Iovine, chairmen of M.I.A.’s US label Interscope] had beef with the Twilight people, so he stepped in and told them to fuck off.”
Lady GaGa: “Iovine pushed the button.”
My Two Cents: So maybe she didn’t have a direct Twilight situation, but Jimmy gave GaGa as we know her the green light… he stepped in, where L.A. Reid stepped off (read: dropped GaGa). These two are sisters under the same mister… it’s not beef, it’s sibling rivalry – albeit one-sided, but still.
What do you hope to be doing in 2020? M.I.A.: “I’m going to be an artist. Whatever I think an artist is in 10 years. I’ll be doing that.”
Lady GaGa: “I’m an artist through and through; if I’m not here with you, I’ll be singing in some bar in New York.”
M.I.A. and GaGa are two sides of the same Pop Culture coin – very “as above, so below.” When you look at their impact, and listen to their interviews they voice the same views. These are two brilliant artists who are the future of music, and signposts for our generation – the polarization of the two is a clear example of why we are lost. Read, research, and build your own conclusion. Drop the beef and go vegan. After all of this I guess what I mean to say is… I don’t know what I’m trying to say; I’m just blogging.
March 28: 1,777 years ago today De Pascha Computus commemorated the Nativity, birth of a man – son of God – who brought mankind from the darkness of sin; today, we commemorate the birth of a woman – deity of Pop – who brought a generation from the dark ages of social oblivion. On this dayancient Romans celebrated the production of the Sun and the Moon; today we celebrate the personification of The Fame and The Monster. In the midst of a generation described as Godless, artificial, celebrity-obsessed, and lost, emerges a renaissance artist who gave you freedom in the music – found your Jesus, and your Kubrick. Happy Birthday Lady GaGa.
Lady GaGa inaugurates the Thinkpieces column because she is the first true renaissance artist of our generation; beyond music, she is the iconography of an era: completely. GaGa is the product of every great artist, ideal, movement, fashion, and fad before her; she is the pulse generating contemporary culture’s aesthetic and identity; and at 24, she has propelled herself to the top of Pop’s pantheon as the matriarchal monarch against which all those who come after her will be gauged – future notwithstanding she has become the barometer against which her own predecessors assess themselves: beg to differ? Mhmm Honey B – thought not.
What GaGa has done in 18 months is incomprehensible – to truly think about it would tear any human mind to pieces. Four number one singles from a debut album, six number one singles from six single releases, over 10 million albums sold, and over one billion YouTube views worldwide; numbers don’t lie, but men and women do – at GaGa’s feet. Diddy says “Pick a car which one I ain’t been in, pick an actress which one I ain’t swim in;” GaGa’s track record says “pick a fiend which one I ain’t fixin” – she delivers more hits than Frank Lucas; whether she’s writing for Britney, PCD, or NKOTB, sidekicking Wale, Beyonce, or Trina, sharing samples with Kanye, Common, and Cudi, or she is feeding the dead industry back to life and diversifying her bonds like WuTang Clan – this free bitch ain’t nothin’ to fuck with. The only thing more diverse than her portfolio is her persona – she is a cultural phenomenon because she is a panoramic projection of everything “now.”
More than any other generation, we have access to innumerable volumes of information and influences; we are the entitled products of everything that came before us, and though we may ignore it, GaGa embraces it. GaGa epitomizes originality as the art of concealing one’s sources – in plain view. She creates music using Beatles methodology of subtle time signature and key changes veiled under a superficially simple sonic surface, beats that range from Bowie and Mercury Glam Rock riffs, to Darkchild and RedOne club-bangers, to Minogue and Madonna disco diamonds-in-the-rough. Her videos are brilliant melanges of visuals themes touching in on the Stonewall Riotsand Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” a la “LoveGame,” to the faulting of Princess Diana’s death on the “killers behind the cameras” in the “Paparazzi” video – subtly inserting the sound of stabbing knives below the snap of camera lenses as the voyeurs film GaGa’s own demise. “Bad Romance” calls upon Alexander McQueen’s Plato’s Atlantis fashion platform to set the stage for a masterful video paralleling the music industry with Russian human trafficking – the method of payment and purchase: “Beats by Dre” laptops. Her live shows are touted as only described in relation to the magnanimity of Madonna’s Confessions and Sticky & Sweet, and u2’s 360 Tours. She is admittedly what she wears – rather doesn’t wear – and even then is reflective of a grand cacophony of Pop past, present, and future. It’s her Ranier Maria Rilke tattoo branding the iconic German poet’s devotion to the literary catharses, and the Chola “Little Monsters” gang tat directly below. It’s her clothes designed by everyone from Jim Henson to Giorgio Armani, and inspired by everything from strippers to Queen Elizabeth I. It’s her famed “Pop Music Will Never Be Low Brow” video glasses – designed by her in-Haus NASA engineers, capable of syncing up to any Apple computer to play movies, tv shows, etc. Just as The Living Dress resurrected art from the vapid facade of artifice, she is a living cultural convergence.
Past the paparazzi flashes, beyond the bubble dresses, and beneath the bloody lingerie lies the true essence of Lady GaGa: “an artist through and through.” However, artists have much in common with their comrades in cultural renascence: scientists; both describe their work as experiments – part of a series of efforts designed to explore a common concern or to establish a viewpoint. GaGa is that rare hybrid of both an astute artisan and a masterfully mad scientist. She has pervaded every aspect of the public arena by publicizing and personifying hidden-in-plain-view taboos in order to establish a general perspective – her life’s work is to make the clandestine commonplace, because the status quo is skewed. As much a revolutionary as she is a renaissance artist, Lady GaGa treats culture as her canvas, and the social landscape as her science lab. Yet even as she acts as a perpetual fusion of such overarching dichotomies, she does so from behind the veil of the familiar face of a twenty-something New York doll; and thus is why she is the paramount regenerator of a lost generation – even in spite of the blind hatred,
“In the wake of that shock overdose came Lady Gaga. She gave us the spectacle of degradation. She showed us videos of herself vomiting. She chained herself to a pole by her hair. She wore a dress made of bubbles. Now she’s been stripped in prison and committed mass homicide. The images no longer even make sense; the more incomprehensible they are, the more they feed into viewers’ hunger for the grotesque.
cynics can’t help but to bow and equate her with greatness
Past eras have been defined by their art. Greece had Sophocles and Plato. The Renaissance had da Vinci and Michelangelo. Will the 21st century be remembered as the Age of Gaga?”
“There is no competition too; it’s good to wake, look in the mirror and the only competition’s you, and that one ain’t even seein’ me…” GaGa’s reflection must have a hard time being she.
Chains, much like man, cannot hold nor stop Lady GaGa; they must only hope to contain her and, shortly thereafter, succumb to the reality of inevitable acceptance and reverence.
Down to brass tacks – and knuckles: this. video. should. be. illegal. If Lady GaGa wasn’t so original, she’d be criminal – oh … wait. This video comes off the heels of her iconic Paparazzi video, also directed by Jonas “Brother Please, I Use My Cojones” Akerlund.
After all of the hype, the question remained in the back of every monster’s mind: “but really, can anything make “Bad Romance” look bad, can GaGa even top herself at this point?” The collective answer was “yes… bitch is bad.” “Telephone” takes the theme of “Paparazzi,” douses it in Tarantino cinematics – sets it off – and sends GaGaloo off to see the Wizard, the Wizard of HBO Presents: Oz; it’s Pulp Fiction turned Pop Fact. Welcome to the GrindHaus of GaGa
“Telephone” is a tale of three terrains: the pound, the pussy wagon, and the public.
The pound: The hold is GaGa’s Haus. Rolling solo dolo in a sea of chain gang Cholas, GaGa owns the video and the prison just like she did Hollywood and Vine. Right from the jump GaGa turned the walk of shame into the walk of Fame. She comes through the Pen harder than Baltimore: when the guard says “I told you she didn’t have a dick,” half the American male population breathed a sigh of relief at the confirmation of their heterosexuality – the other half re-questioned their own, and wondered if she was packing more than they were. They say the clothes don’t make the man, but as GaGa said of her VMA Paparazzi performance “people say I’m no more than the clothes I wear; that’s exactly right: if they bleed, I bleed;” so what do the clothes say about her now? She goes hard. Kanye would never rock a mink fur in the winter like Killa Cam, GaGa would never rock anything less than chains and haute couture with killas, man; Hov might rock Versace shades four years straight, GaGa rocks Newport shutter shades: all. day. Pain is beauty: Emphysema of the eyes is ballin. The new thug misses takes rumors and throws them on the ground – she will not be a part of the system. People say GaGa’s a crackhead; well, the news called it crack, she calls it Diet Coke – cans… as curlers. She rocks Virgin Mobile phones in her pants: cherry cherry boom boom – you’ve been popped. The Yard is her field of peerless competitors – the T Swifts, Rihannas, Ke$has and Katy Perrys. It is the L.A. Reids and Diddys. It’s the sharks with which she swims. She came in an assumed farce, and comes out a feared force. The prison is GaGa’s playground, she goes to the depths, mingles with the monsters, and moves on to the next one – but she’ll be back.
The Pussy Wagon: A GaGa bailout from Beyonce made sense after “Video Phone;” after “Telephone” though it seems more audacious than the government bank bailout. Oh Honey B – Hov might want to guard his cookies because GaGa took a bite out of that Honey Bun like it was Bey’s bad girl meat. (Sidenote: Lady may have been a “bad, bad girl,” but Bey’s been one bad, bad actress – so… yeah). One-on-one, GaGa at 23 can go toe-to-toe with any celebrity, artist, icon, or contemporary. Beyonce is the “Bad Romance” to GaGa’s “Telephone” – sure they’re both great in their own right – but don’t sit them side by side, because that’s when feelings get hurt. Anyone who said GaGa didn’t bring it to “Video Phone”… said that because they didn’t know any better, and GaGa kindly brought it back. She rides shotgun, she plays the part of passenger – and still manages to upgrade the pilot. Whether in a pickup truck, or in the booth laying down tracks, GaGa is Pop’s deadliest partner in crime – and she is K-Slaying it right now. GaGa: unshakable; the game: shook like a Polaroid picture. This is when the video shifts though: from the true garage grit of a prison flick to the pseudo-sugary sweet hypersaturation of a cracked-out candy la-la-la-land – from sharing the comfortable misery of monstrous mistresses, to shielding herself from the flashing lights of Hollywood and their Venusian trap death kisses. Here we go from killin-it-with-the-prison-campy to killing-me-with-the-uber-kitsch.
The public: If the prison was GaGa’s Haus, the diner is her public – and she runs them both like a boss. “Paparazzi” saw the death of the celebrity, “Telephone” is the follow-up that turns the table on the viewing public. In a restaurant full of stars (Semi-Precious Weapons, I see you) and citizens – Tyrese playing the hybrid of “Hey, don’t I know you from?” – everyone is a starving roadside voyeur-exhibitionist. The fiends either want to see, or be seen – but regardless, it’s all part of the scene. When Beyonce kills Tyrese it’s that redemption – whether it is one celebrity pulling at another like crabs in a barrel, or just a man holding down a good woman, it’s all about ambition – Beyonce bailed GaGa out to kill the beast. The fiends eyes had been sticky like honey on bees since GaGa was chillin with Wale in the DMV. Inevitably, she “always knew you’d take all my honey;” GaGa knew it’d be like this when she was in the kitchen. Stylebiters, swaggerjacks, haters, that greed – it’ll kill you. The fiends want it though, they live for the celebrity rise and demise – and it will undoubtedly be the undoing of the public. Decked out in Americana from head to toe – it is almost too apropos. Hidden in plain view is the celebreality of our country’s hyperconsumer country eating up entertainment to the point of amusing ourselves to death. While with one hand she liberates inmates and monsters; so with the other GaGa serves and satiates our insatiable appetites. That splendific poison that we simply cannot push to the side – she supplies that fatal fuel until we reach our own delicious demise. It is the celebrity obsessed culture – not the celebrity itself – that is lead headfirst – and left heartless – on the diner dancefloor. So, GaGa cooks up a feast like crackcake samiches and feeds the beast – til the world goes Pop. She’ll gladly return to the Pen, but to the pits of the prying, pleading, perverse public is a place to which she promises she’ll never return again: on to the next one.
All of this is to say that “Telephone” is living proof that GaGa is her own gauge. She creates and shatters her own standards – standards that no other artist can even fathom. Her hype gives Williams a bad name. She makes everyone get on Akon’s time – every artist should consider retirement after this. It means Pop will never be low brow – ever.
This video is not a game – she’s having tons of fun, but she’s not playing with you: this is real. Rome wasn’t built in a day – I can’t be expected to make coherent sense of this masterpiece within a few hours; besides, I left my head and my heart on the dancefloor.
elivindotorg 
