It was at a crappy Long Island bar that heard Lady Gaga and Beyonce’s “Telephone” for the first time, mangled by a desperate sorority sister/bartender in fishnet stockings; a whining, monotonous drunk jam staged in the manner that makes most people my age loathe karaoke. It was not a positive first impression.
It was over this past weekend that one of my favorite lesbians showed me the music video (Why does it matter that she’s a lesbian? Shut up, that’s why). I’ll readily admit that I don’t “get” Lady Gaga. I certainly appreciate her presence in the otherwise painfully redundant pop atmosphere, but I just don’t find her interesting enough as an artist to be enthusiastic about her work. Rumor is MTV has banned this video (which is apparently not true) and it’s become a viral hit. I’m not ready to say whether it’s good or bad, but I can tell you it’s definitely captivating and entertaining.
The first two minutes were filled with me asking “what’s… why is she… what are they… but if she’s… huh?” but it was right around the leather-clad prison girl fight at 2:20 that I stopped asking questions and learned to just roll with Gaga’s punches. There just is no explaining an overwhelming majority of this cacophony.
Gaga also claims to be lampooning commercial America with her use of Diet Coke cans for hair curlers and Wonder Bread and Miracle Whip in poisoned sandwiches, but that doesn’t explain why the prison uses Dr Dre’s Beats branded laptop. Her tour is sponsored by Virgin Mobile and she has that new partnership with Polaroid, so that explains those two brands, at least.
I will say this in favor of the video: it is refreshing to see a major music video so gleefully disregard the entirety of the songs lyrics. Sure, there are telephones, but they’re seemingly out of nowhere, and maybe they’re killing Tyrese because he won’t stop calling Beyonce, but does it matter? No. The entire production revels in its cheese and camp, which I find delightful.
But seriously, that is waaaaay too much poison.
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