Lady Gaga – The Fame Monster

Album Reviews • Tuesday February 2nd, 2010 • 7:21 pm

Climb aboard for the ride, as the pop world’s become Gaga’s oyster, and she’s not slowing this techno-tinged train for anything. These days the singer (née Stefani Germanotta) and budding fashion icon is making just about every mainstream tartlet – or every pop act, period – look downright complacent in her wake.

Lady Gaga’s latest, The Fame Monster, opens with perhaps the most epic “oh-oh-oh”s ever recorded: Lead-off track “Bad Romance,” a buoyant yet slightly dark smash the world over now, is a glorious industrial-pop gem that Trent Reznor might’ve produced had he an ear for unabashed candy-glam. Indeed, as shamelessly pop as she is (for now), the discerning indie kids and hapless hipsters out there find it hard to hate on this golden-domed wunderkind. She’s simply got the goods, having cultivated her wiles by playing NYU talent shows and scores of vaudeville gigs on the Lower East Side (doesn’t get much more “hip” than that). In addition to the costumes, wigs, and clawing/prancing on video, she has bona fide chops and a passion for the keys.

Turning her own moniker into an “ooh la la” chant, she’s nothing if not self-referential, and savvy to the times, as evidenced by her standing as the most downloaded artist of 2009. Previously beckoning all those who would hear her to “Just Dance” – when in this recession many are inclined to take a seat, if not curl up fetal-style – Gaga injects this set with even more capable club bangers: “Bad Romance” “Dance in the Dark,” and “Telephone,” a Darkchild-produced romp replete with Beyoncé cameo that comes with the sublime, escapist refrain, “I got my head and my heart on the dance floor.”

If that Beyoncé collab isn’t evidence enough that the pop soundscape moving forward has been certifiably Gagafied, consider this songstress’s versatility in turning out a sprawling, Elton-kissed piano ballad like “Speechless.” Dedicated to her dad, the song finds the singer once again mining her experiences for a singalong lyric that’s by turns ultra-personal, a bit esoteric, and yet universal. Here’s the hallmark of fine songwriting. (At that, the singer opened this year’s Grammy Awards dueting on a two-headed piano with Sir Elton himself. Persuaded yet that the lady hath arrived?)

Thematic elements aside, dear Stefani (with Gwen already ingrained in the pop world, you can see why she’d fashion herself a new name) has housed in her throat a powerhouse instrument to rival just about anyone on mainstream radio. Once the persona of Gaga has gone gently into that good night, this smart woman can tickle those ivories and sing her life for decades to come. Britney, Janet, and even Madonna – they were never built to be Joni Mitchell one day. Their thin, panting voices and lack of instrumental prowess leave them to be the great dance performers they are, if also my little one-trick ponies. They simply don’t have Plan B. Meanwhile Gaga would seem to have plans B through G at the ready, not that she’ll need them.

The lady has branded her fans – and they are legion now – her little monsters, and this release, a rather bulky “EP” at 8 songs, centers on the concept that each song represents a different “monster” (yea, a fear) in the artist’s personal life. (She thanks her father in the liner notes, “for always protecting me from monsters.”) Demons such as alcohol, sex, men at large, and fame itself rear their brazen heads here, and it’s going to take more weaponry than a disco stick for Gaga to fend them off this time.

Indeed, this album’s better produced, more craftily arranged, and overall simply so strikingly adult compared to its insanely fun but sometimes precious sister disc, The Fame. That record included Mickey Mouse Club-inflected cuts like “Boys Boys Boys” alongside infectious coming-of-age anthems the likes of “Paparazzi” and “Poker Face.” The closer on this Fame Monster, “Teeth,” comes as a saucy stomp that finds the singer feeling out new aural territory and handing her man a randy come-on. (“Take a bite of my bad-girl meat/ Show me your teeth” – now that’s some dirty pap!). It’s breezy, brassy pop with a jazzy beat and muted trumpets. With one song the girl’s brought saxy back.

The atmospheric, pounding “Dance in the Dark” immediately invokes the ghost of Springsteen’s similarly-titled song, which sounds positively batty until you consider that the two met at Madison Square Garden in late 2008, culminating in a big hug. “Then I had a massive breakdown – I cried on the man’s neck!” she told Rolling Stone. “Dance” has Gaga name-dropping (in a near-rap) everyone from Marilyn to Sylvia (Plath, if I must), Diana to JonBenet – those girls done wrong by a world forever seeking to slay the famous blonde. Say what you will of Gaga, and everyone has, but she’s certainly self-aware.

Not all is terribly original here, though Gaga’s clarion voice is convincing no matter what she sings. “Alejandro” is a jouncy slice of Ace of Base nostalgia, nothing more or less. Still, it’s with indubitable force and talent for days that this girl all of 23 going on 24 sings her way out of trouble and into her monsters’ ears.

She’s there to stay.