Lady Gaga, cultural pop provocateur, subverting tabloid culture from the inside as some 21st century femen Warhol, or talentless, crass, unremarkable, dull merchant of shit clothes, insatiable PR and even shitter music? Well, let me save you the bother of reading on: definitely, resolutely the latter.
Ok, so you may not be picking your jaw up from the floor on hearing that I’m not a fan – but I DO love pop music. What does pop music mean? Easy, flowing, unchallenging, jaunty, sometimes life affirming, fun sounds. Well, ARTPOP is difficult (not in the good way), awkward, sonically offensive and all-round risible. Unless you enjoy being terminally bored, flattened by synth bass and autotune, or are so utterly buttfucked by your soul-crushing retail job and meaningless excuse for a life that listening to this, drinking a couple of vodka tonics, getting into a fight and shagging Dave/Chantelle behind a McDonalds hoarding is your idea of a good weekend night out.
Christ her voice is absolutely appalling, dire. The riffs cheesy and predicable. Lyrics: trite, meaningless. ‘Ah yes Sean, but you see, she’s upsetting you, she’s getting a reaction. That’s what she wanted, and she won!’ Well maybe, but Vladimir Putin also gets my attention by being an uninspiring, power-mad arsehole, and that’s even without a nightie made out of chops.
I wanted to do a track-by-track review, show ARTPOP the amount of respect its capitals seem to demand you give it. It’s just too hard, difficult, and quite possibly hazardous to health. There is nothing to differentiate the bad, the pointless, the dull and the annoying. If you buy this album, you are one of the Haterz of music. Simples. End of.