Good Music / Bad Music

So I haven’t reviewed anything in a while now and that’s not fair to readers. I at least owe someone who might care a review of the latest Lady Gaga album. Time has passed since I got my hands on it and my exposure to this pop persona has increased immensely. Same for most everyone, I think.

Previously, I used to be pretty mean to her. “Lady Caca,” I would call her. “Pure pop garbage” was my basic stance. I blogged about a website that was critical of the Illuminati symbolism she incorporates into her shtick (you have to admit…it’s totally there).

To the Illuminati blog, my [now ex] girlfriend mentioned something just as I had thought of it, too. The secret society stuff is a good gimmick. Indeed it is. Secret Chiefs 3, one of the most truly gifted bands of our day, uses the same gimmick. The difference is this, though: Secret Chiefs 3 own their gimmick…Lady Gaga seems to be a victim of hers. Granted, the mere thought of her as a tool for wealthy and powerful forces of old makes for an incredibly dark aura around America’s [generally] blond heroin. (Yes…like the drug.)

But hey. That can be a morbidly enjoyable thing, as well. I should be entertained, not sympathetic to a zombie pop star. Shit. I don’t even know her. Furthermore, most straight people that like her aren’t even worth knowing.

But then there are the gays. Gay people really seem to enjoy Lady Gaga. Not just gay people, but gay people with respectable taste. Sure, Lady Gaga leaves no second guessing of her affinity for gay culture. There is something deeper here, though. Homosexuals see something there that apparently strikes at the core of gay culture. In a nutshell, I presume it’s basically flamboyance. That weird, large stepping, up looking, blue light basking sex via feeling via driving electronic music (and maybe a little bit of cocaine or ecstasy back in the day…or bathroom).

As a mostly straight male, I have never really understood that whole thing and I probably never will. And being outside of that perspective, I have a really hard time discerning that which is a cultural imperative and that which is a stereotype. Pandering to homosexuals is great…especially if the artist truly respects their current civil rights struggle. However, keeping an air of 1990 doesn’t seem progressive enough, rendering Gaga to potentially be nothing more than a fleeting gag.

The costumes are fun. Great even. She can actually play a piano and sing, too. Awesome. But we have to ask ourselves…how is all this good stuff being utilized?

Answer: Poorly.

The music is the thing, so let’s just take it there for now.  It has a beat.  It has very basic keyboard programming.  It has some gottdamned autotuning.  Lyrically, it’s not saying anything that would make anyone think outside of themselves.  Thankfully, it’s not the ego worshiping call to superficiality that her debut, The Fame, was.  Instead, we have eight suffocating tracks about all those crazy feelings you get when you’re in love!  Whoopity doo.

So this girl has a large platform now and this is how she uses it.  Dressing up the typical and mundane as something greater than it is.  I must give her credit, for it is so well dressed that it is difficult to turn away from.  Until, of course, it opens its mouth.  Then it becomes further evidence of who really controls pop music.  Say it with me!  Coked out rich guys and their demographic analysis!

And so, despite some crazy design work, we end up revisiting sounds reminiscent of unfortunately unforgettable acts such as Ace of Base, La Bouche and – I don’t know – Haddaway?  Is this a sound that defines a generation…or a movement?  I hope not.  Yet, Gaga does show promise in a single song.  Of course, I am talking about the album’s sole organic track, “Speechless.”  Another stupid relationship song – one I’m sure will be the “last skate of the night” at roller rinks everywhere – but considering the music alone, it’s a talented stretch compared to all else she has released.  Too bad it’s the token slow song in a wading pool of crack.

Frat boys can go to clubs, hear this music and like it because the girls will dance to it.  Maybe a few of them will actually realize Gaga’s nod to homosexuality.  Then they can secretly get really into it, fuck a few dudes, then get married to a woman and resent their lives.  Sad and funny at the same time!

The true societal mess of all this exists in the viewpoint of those frat boys’ dads and all their political clout.  Equal rights for homosexuals?  Of course.  America is incredibly late to the game on that.  But these older, wealthier forces are going to need a hell of a lot of arm twisting to believe that.  All Lady Gaga does is spook them deep into the safe, dark corners of their own belief systems.  Their stereotypes become reinforced as it appears to them that perhaps gay has never changed.  It continues to be read by them as something stagnant and specific.  A shallow light show with cooties.  (Re: Adam Lambert.)

Those kinds of people are simply not hip to the idea of an intellectual homosexual.  All they have is MTV and the news.  That’s as far as homosexuality reaches into their homes or psyches.  Seeing as how inescapable Gaga the Symbol is in these things, I have to wonder if maybe she is that aforementioned zombie pop star – controlled by her handlers as an attempt at reverse psychology to reinforce the gay stereotype and prevent their civil rights struggle from being taken seriously enough to gain any real traction.

Yes.  This is a delicate thing.  Who the fuck am I to tell Lady Gaga to change her “message” and sound to appease some rich asshole I don’t even care about?  So if I may, I would like to address Lady Gaga directly, as a friend.  And to her, I say this…

Take this influence you have and transcend all that you have built in flaccid pop music.  If you wish to be a political force, then use your message as political leverage.   I believe in you, Lady Gaga.

Oh…and quit making music that sounds so fucking dated.

As I was purchasing my ticket to this show at Knoxville’s Valarium, the dude behind the counter at the record store mentioned to me, “Hey, you know Ween is sober now, right?” Given Ween’s reputation as a hard partying act, one which I have seen barely able to finish a set coherently at times, this was a bit startling to me.

“Sober?” I asked, “Like, completely?”

“Yeah. They don’t even drink anymore because they think it will lead back to worse things.” Interesting, and what was not to believe? Though I have probably seen Ween play live more than any other band out there (except maybe Wilco, who might be equal in this regards), it had been some time. Since before La Cucaracha was released actually. I had no idea what was up with them these days.

I bought the ticket, went to the show, and quickly noticed a few differences from the last time I had seen them. For starters, Gene Ween is kind of looking like Daniel Johnston these days. Also, they’re stage show has become filled with lots of fog accompanied by an expensive and powerful light show. Lastly, they have stepped their musical performance up to a level far beyond that which I have ever seen them at before. This was easily, the best all around Ween show I had ever seen.

It’s not that they did anything especially novel or different than any other Ween show. It was simply that they played really well. They also played really long, topping out at almost three hours with no set breaks. As always, they hit on many favorites as they crossed this expansive amount of time, pulling songs from each of their albums but The Pod. This night, there seemed to be a particular propensity toward Chocolate and Cheese and The Mollusk. Of particular note was a rather booming version of “Ocean Man” on which Gene played a mandolin. They also finally delivered a “Roses Are Free” that worked as a worthy visitation to the studio version, whereas usually this song falls flat live when compared to the one found on Chocolate and Cheese. (Phish’s recorded live cover of the track may have set the bar high for Ween, ironically enough. At this show, they certainly cleared it by miles.)

As mentioned, they came this time with a ton of fog and lights. Their liberal use of both made for an incredibly surreal visual experience. The downside is that the haze often obscured Claude Coleman on the backline, which is unfortunate since his powerhouse drumming is something to see. The trade off, though, was a very good light operator who was obviously familiar with the material. Hence, his contribution to the show was also something to see, indeed.

When all was said and done, Aaron Freeman (Gene Ween) hit the road immediately. I was, however, permitted to go back stage to attempt to interview Mickey Melchiondo (Dean Ween) for this blog. I figured, after such an intense show, three simple, irreverent questions wouldn’t be too intrusive. Perhaps I could make three question interviews a regular staple of this site. I sat down catercorner to him, introduced myself again (it was the second time I had met him, actually), explained the deal, then fired the questions:

1. What are you listening to currently?
2. What is the one influence you’d like to keep away from your son?
3. What are you going to be for Halloween?

He looked at me blankly as I rattled them all off at once. Then he broke eye contact, shuffled his head around and mumbled something like, “I don’t know…whaaa mmuuhh hhnnnn.” The girl to his left answered two of the questions for him. According to her (though I question the authenticity of these answers) he was going to be a banana for Halloween and he was listening to…Belinda Carlisle? Yeah. I don’t know.

I tried to thank him for an excellent show, letting him know I had seen many and this was the best. A slightly disturbed look came across his face as he mumbled something else through more slurred and discombobulated speech.

“Well whether or not it felt to you like you did a good job,” I consoled, “from the objective viewpoint of an audience member, it was fantastic.” It still didn’t seem to register with him. Just more incoherency.

The announcement then came that the bus was rolling out and it was time to go. I exited without any of my interview questions really formally answered (though maybe he is being a banana for Halloween and maybe I misheard Belinda Carlisle). However, I did have a larger, more pressing question answered for me and I didn’t have to say a thing.

Is Ween sober these days? Absolutely not.

Here is some video from the show:

Spinal Meningitis (Got Me Down)

Fat Lenny

The Mollusk