“Where are my keys, I lost my phone.”
Lady Gaga put a tag line on my early twenties.
But yesterday, my opinion of her shifted from “another mainstream train ready to run off the track” to “someone who really (f*cking) gets it.”
The shift took root a few weeks ago when I saw her on The Ellen Show.
Until then, I knew her as the crazy pop star whose lyrics and irresistible beats forced me to showcase really silly dance moves in crowded bars. During her interview, she joked, “People are surprised that I actually sing. I’m always like, ‘I thought that was part of the gig?’”
Her interview and her performance gave more depth to the shallow image I had formed of her. At her concert in Miami last night, the roots received more nutrients and some pleather-induced oxygen.
Do You Want a Free Ticket to the Lady Gaga Show? Umm. Yes. Of Course.
My ticket was free.
A squeal (usually reserved for pictures of puppies or cute messages from my love interest) was overheard as I read the text message announcing the nicely rounded ticket price. I used my cruise promotion tactics to announce my winnings to every human I spoke to throughout the remaining hours of the day.
On Saturday morning, unable to concentrate on other tasks, I started preparing at 11:00 a.m. First, I watched Lady G’s “Bad Romance” music video on YouTube (three times) and notified my Twitter and Facebook contacts of the remarkably good luck that had fallen on me. Then, it was time to pick an outfit. I pulled out a recently purchased pair of Express jeans and a top.
“I’ll just add in some fancy earrings,” I thought.
But as the afternoon set in, the thought of wearing a normal outfit became less and less appealing.
I’d seen the wigs. The outfits.
I knew this crowd would be different and I wanted to be a part of it. And hell, who was I to turn down a bonafide opportunity to wear leopard print spandex and a bold red jacket in public?
So I took a $30 concert outfit budget to the Boca Mall and I hit the jackpot.
Time for the Show. Oh Hell. I Have to Stop and Get Beer in this Outfit
As I walked into the ABC store to pick up 6 or 12 bottles of Yuengling, I was legitimately afraid of ending up on a “People of ABC” website. In a combined effort to continue promoting my good fortune and to explain my attire to wandering eyes, I began auto-repeating, “I’m going to the Lady Gaga concert. That’s why I’m wearing this,” to each person who made eye contact with me.
I purchased my beer and proceeded to drive around the vicinity of my friend’s apartment for 45 minutes.
Yes, I was an hour early.
I told you, I couldn’t concentrate on any other tasks. Unfortunately, the combination of my outfit and sobriety made both of my backup time-wasting activities null. I was not going into Barnes and Noble and I definitely wasn’t walking into a bar alone.
Thank God. We’re Here. I Have to PEE.
Twelve hours of unaltered Lady Gaga thoughts were quickly replaced by the pounding of three Yuenglings on my bladder walls.
After three years of legal alcohol consumption (primarily beer), you would think I would know that three beers prior to a 45-minute car ride is a bad idea. But you would be wrong. I’d like to call the final 10 minutes of our ride to Miami “the most painful moments my bladder has ever endured.”
Take 50 Steps and You Will See the First Tranny of the Evening
I walked into the venue next to a transvestite. I heard a gay man tell him he looked great, to which the high heel and wig sporting male replied, “Thanks man,” in a baritone voice.
In hindsight, it seems silly that I didn’t know that the crowd at a Lady Gaga concert would breakdown as follows:
- 70% gay men
- 5% transvestites
- 10% women
- 10% men who bought the tickets for their girlfriends, not realizing that they were committed to take the second seat
The Real Takeaway: Lady Gaga Really (F*cking) Gets It
There’s something about seeing a live performance. You see real passion, exposed and shared. It’s the feeling of seeing someone’s dreams manifested in front of you, in real time.
It makes you feel like you’re on a different level and it reminds you of all of those side projects you’ve been meaning to get to. That grad degree you (I) really should go back and finish. It reminds you that you were put on this little planet for a reason and every day you should be getting one step closer to making that purpose a reality.
I’ve seen the footage of Lady Gaga during her days as a sweet, young woman singing along to a piano.
Thank God that didn’t work out for her. Some see her altered image as a way of “selling out.” She did it for the attention. She did it for the money.
Maybe the latex outfits, the psych ward hairdos and the ridiculous stage name helped her gain more attention than her voice alone ever could. But in addition to the fame and the money, she has created an outlet for an entire subculture.
People call her Man Gaga. If you Google her name, one of the first suggestions is “Lady Gaga hermaphrodite.” Most women would run from such accusations. They would get angry. I would get angry. Hell, I try to alter my personal Google rankings, but I’d be on the phone with Mr. Schmidt’s 3rd cousin if that was a top suggestion for my name.
She doesn’t. She embraces the opportunity to be a mainstream voice for a subculture that is so often misunderstood or misrepresented.
Seth Godin, a digital marketing rockstar, talks about tribes. I’m only halfway through his book, and while it’s good, I think he could have just instructed people to attend a Lady Gaga show and take notes. She has a tribe and she gets it. She knows it’s about more than her.
Her shows begin with a message of support for gays, bisexuals and transgenders. This pre-show acknowledgment illustrates that she knows her base. She calls her fans “Little Monsters” and she invites them to be self-proclaimed “freaks” with her.
Did she start out with these intentions? Who knows. Maybe the fame and the money were her motivations in the beginning, but it’s clear that somewhere along the way, she made a choice to be more.
I loved the show. I bought the CD. And I am a fan.
RAWR. RAWR. LAVA GAGA.
