ARTPOP is an album made by a rich, creative Italian girl with a killer voice, who did Molly at EDC and hash tagged #TurntUp in a selfie as she posed in pink fur boots and a bikini top, holding a water bottle and sticking her tongue out.
It’s just who Lady Gaga says she is in 2013.
The mega pop star used to be obsessed with The Fame, then The Fame made her The Fame Monster, then she broke free and realized she was Born This Way, then she did some acid, reversed “pop art,” and said to herself:
“I’M GOING TO MAKE AN ALBUM ABOUT A REVERSE-WARHOLIAN EXPERIENCE! IT’S GOING TO BE CALELD ARTPOP! IT’S GOING TO BE ABOUT THE DEEPER MEANING BEHIND SELFIES AND SHIT… JEFF KOONS. YES. JEFF KOONS WILL MAKE A SCULPTURE OF ME FOR THE COVER!”
It’s every hollow social media-addicted narcissist’s shadow speaking back to them. It’s feeling entitled to instantly gratifying sex, it’s the child of rage and vanity, it’s being more interested in the idea of being loved instead of actually being in love. It’s obsession with fame and power and control.
It IS a reverse Warholian nightmare. You don’t think Andy would love chewing gum as he watches a 17-year-old girl at some restaurant snap a meaningless picture of a coke bottle? Get real.
Gaga has made the most important, violent pop album of the year.
ARTPOP is an album for a generation that’s tricking itself into thinking its creative because its obsessed with information. It’s cut and paste, self-entitlement, and it’s bleeding through belligerent EDM.
It’s for kids who want to be famous for no reason other than fame itself. The ones who will fuck, kill and sacrifice to taste fame, but who are without the talent, message, innovation or voice to at least mask their intentions.
It’s every Twitter user whose bio reads “writer/ artist/ model/ film director/ visionary/ genius,” with no actual evidence that they actually deserve those titles.
It could bring up the discussion that 16-year-old Lorde copied and pasted “Royals” off some soft grunge poem blog and recorded the words in Garageband and made the biggest song in the world, without the true creator ever finding out.
You can like do that kind of thing in 2013.
Don’t be shocked. As always, Gaga is choking on her obsession with being cool. That’s why her audience identifies with her. She skins subcultures and wears them like leather jackets.
It’s a trap, it’s her trick, it’s money. It works. Yolo.
“ENIGMA POP STAR IS FUN, SHE WEARS BURQA FOR FASHION!” she shouts, on the sticky and deserted opener “AURA.”
It’s what happens when western Hollywood and the hellish drama of Zedd cross paths. It also has an Infected Mushroom sample, which is true 00s obscurity. Did she bust out her old Kazaa shared folder for that one?
That first lyric is so self-aware and satirical. It’s about how pop stars can’t really shock people anymore unless they re-appropriate culture (see: the whole world flipping their shit over Miley having thick black woman twerk for her on stage at the VMAs).
If you’re one of the writers who wrote a “think piece” about how offensive the burqa reference is, you’re giving her exactly what she wants.
Gaga was also visibly in a thong the night of Miley’s VMA extravaganza — full-on soft porn. Nobody cared, because she’s a woman who has proudly over-sexualized herself since the beginning of her career. Remember?
She recently got full-on naked in the woods with Marina Abramovic or whatever.
This is generation PornHub, American Horror Story and abuse-a-cat-on-Vine to get your 15 minutes of blog fame, baby.
Get with the times!
The intergalactic space-obsessed “Venus” — produced by Gaga herself — is a masterful mess. She has a seizure over the names of planets. Shouting them, her voice wearing a glam rock costume. It bounces, gurgles, and shines in all the ways you’d expect a Lady Gaga song would.
The gender blender and haze of “G.U.Y.” is mischievous and venomous. Its hectic noise is enough to put you into a headlock, which is exactly how pop music should be in 2013.
Every gay dude on the planet is saying it’s a “power bottom anthem,” but haven’t bros low-key been asking girls to fuck them with strap-ons since the beginning of sex? “Don’t be shy, I’m in charge like a G.U.Y.!”
She plays the master and the slave. She praises submission while saying she’s in control, even if she is the “girl under you that makes you cry.”
The woozy eroticism of “SeXXX Dreams” is so dumb and hot-blonde-girl-bored-in-bed-snapchatting-nude-pics-of-herself-to-13-different-guys. It’s beautiful. The lyrics sound like she’s reading iMessages aloud.
“Heard your boyfriend was away this weekend, want to meet me at my place?”
It’s dim lights, cheap perfume and a lot of masturbation. The fantasy and imaginative energy to the song sounds like a sequel to “G.U.Y.”
She’s talking about someone’s boyfriend being out of town. Is this the bisexual liberation girl-on-girl sex anthem for this generation? Or is she pretending to be a straight guy who’s hooking up with a gay dude?
Fuck you Gaga, I’m confused.
“Jewels N Drugs” is basically her letting the world know:
“BITCH, I CAN GO TO WORLD STAR HIP HOP TOO AND BE IN THE TRAP! I FUX WITH GUCCI MANE. HAHA HOE. I GOT T.I. AND TWISTA ON MY ALBUM? YOU MAD?! IGGY AZALEA IS FINISHED!!”
It sounds like diamonds burning on a BBQ grill in 2097. You also can’t help but believe her when she croons in R&B: “This family is stupid attractive…”
“Manicure” sounds like Stefani Germanotta trying out for Eden’s Crush.
“Do What U Want” feels abnormally clean even thought it’s her claiming that anyone can do what they want with her body. It’s all about her tapping out her mind and heart for sex. It’s a detached Tinder/ Grindr manifesto. It features R.Kelly, but this is no “Ignition.”
The title track “ARTPOP” is about hybrid cultures and the people consuming them — dashboards of a million different pieces of film/ music/ photography/ fashion/ quotes — a world filled with mutated identity crises. It’s valium techno.
“Our ARTPOP could mean anything…” She’s right. What the fuck does it all mean? It really could mean anything.
“Swine” is girl talk rage. It’s pop rolling around in cow shit (in the best way possible). She sounds like she’s releasing feelings (remember those?!), and getting pretty upset over some things she did in the past. “You’re just a pig inside a human body, squeal out! OH YOU’RE SO DISGUSTING.”
It’s self-reflective and painful, her three-second surgical Reznor moment.
The Bling Ring anthem “Donatella” is disturbing. It’s about wearing “designer” as a way to cope with your problems. It’s for all the girls who didn’t know who Alexander McQueen was until Gaga wore his staggering heels in the “Bad Romance” video, and all the boys who had no idea about Givenchy until Kanye rambled about it in some interview.
“Versace promises” she says…
You may ask yourself: What the fuck does that even mean?
That’s the whole point. It’s just supposed to sound pretty.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK IS THE NEW THING? WHAT DO YOU WANT TO WEAR THIS SEASON?”
It’s a terrifyingly accurate dissection of the pressure to move with the rapid, expensive trends you see on Instagram.
“Fashion” keeps things light. David Guetta and Will.iam produced it. It’s like taking selfies with your Blackberry 8900 at a beach with your friends in Maui and talking about fashion.
It’s a homage to 2010 Top 40, which was, by the way, three years ago.
“Mary Jane Holland” is a cartoonish ode to the world of marijuana. It’s about losing your inhibitions to become “Mary Jane Holland” for a night. It’s her version of those awful labels people on the internet give themselves (e.g. “YUNG LAURA PALMER”).
“MARY! JANE! HOLLAND!” She sounds so playful and fun, you just want to go to Amsterdam with her and smoke a bunch of blunts.
“Dope” is her telling you she can sing like those talented people who cover Bruce Springsteen alone in their bedroom and upload it to YouTube and get maybe under a hundred views. It’s kind of sad — about how she gave up weed because she loves fans, family and friends more. Really dark stuff, ya’ll.
On “Gypsy” she gives us one of her newest, weirdest, memorable melodies: “I’MA/IMA/IMA/IMA/IMA GYPSY! IMA IMA IMA GYPSY!” But that’s it.
The show is over.
This is the “Applause,” the curtain call.
You hear her say: “I live for the applause, applause, applause… Put your hands up! Make ‘em touch!” but what she’s really saying is: “I live for the likes, likes, likes… Put your hands on the screen! Make em touch!”
Artpop is now a dead iPhone.
There is no WiFi in this area.
ARTPOP IS THROWING YOUR PHONE ACROSS THE ROOM NERVOUSLY AFTER YOU TEXT SOMEONE YOU WANT TO FUCK.
ARTPOP IS POSTING PICTURES OF THE UNDER-A-THOUSAND-DOLLAR DESIGNER ITEM YOU BOUGHT TO SHOW OFF TO YOUR INSTAGRAM FOLLOWERS.
ARTPOP IS FEELING LIKE YOUR OPINION IS VALID BECAUSE YOU HAVE A TWITTER ACCOUNT.
ARTPOP IS SPENDING TIME THINKING ABOUT CREATING INSTEAD OF ACTUALLY CREATING.
ARTPOP IS TWEETING ABOUT THE ARTHOUSE MOVIE YOU’RE WATCHING AND THINKING YOU’RE A SPECIAL SNOWFLAKE.
ARTPOP IS PRETENDING TO BE A MODEL ON INSTAGRAM.
ARTPOP IS POSTING A SELFIE, JUST TO LET PEOPLE KNOW YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL THAT DAY BECAUSE THE MIRROR JUST ISN’T ENOUGH.
ARTPOP IS THINKING YOU’RE A SMART ASS INTELLECT BECAUSE BLOGS TEACH YOU RANDOM SHIT YOU DIDN’T CARE ABOUT UNTIL YOU SAW IT ON TUMBLR.
ARTPOP IS GOING SOMEWHERE JUST SO YOU CAN POST ABOUT IT.
ARTPOP IS GETTING DRESSED FOR THE FRONT VIEW OF YOUR IPHONE CAMERA, NOT FOR THE PEOPLE ON THE STREETS.
ARTPOP IS “YAS GAGA!”
ARTPOP IS YOU.