Wednesday, January 13, 2010


"Dance, you motherfuckers!" Given three words to describe my experience at Lady Gaga's live performance in Detroit, these syllables spewed from the fashionista would be it.

I can't attest to be a secret aficionado to the Lady herself, but presented with a last minute invitation to witness glam pop at it's finest? I'm in.

Before jumping on the expressway to meet my friends, was an hour long wardrobe fitting. What to wear to a Lady Gaga concert? Anything but plain. The fake purple hair left. The pleather short skirt stayed. As did the purple iridescent pumps, silver dangly earrings, and spray-on hair glitter. Two spitzes of perfume and I was about to join the ranks as a Gaga fan.

Finding our seats in the Joe Louis Ice Arena converted to Popland, we caught the last songs of the final opening act. A disappointing amateur oozing his thanks for the thousands of concertgoers for bearing the weight of mediocre entertainment.

In the twenty minutes preluding Gaga's grand entrance, it was recorded versions of Michael Jackson that proved better mood setting than any live pop wannabe. As Lady Gaga lookalikes danced in the aisles to Thriller and Billie Jean; the crowd prepared to be dazzled for a historic pop music event. Lady Gaga's Monster Ball.

The little monsters roared in applause, screams, and cat calls as the platinum blonde strutted her stuff for the first song and continued to do so through the...

costumes...Gaga in a rhinestone studded bathing suit with half naked male dancers wearing masks.

and the dancing..."Dance you motherfuckers" Gaga screamed. And dance they did, fans shoulder shimmeying and booty shaking in the aisles and into the little monsters next to them.

and the bizarre...a repeated moving image of Lady Gaga dressed ala Marilyn Monroe with a brunette self-inducing lime green vomit over her pristine lap. Perhaps an unscrupulous display to the destitute life of a wannabe?

The noise did not abate until she walked offstage hand in hand with her backup dancers after the final act. Show's over. And so the parade of mainly female fans reluctantly exited into frigid temperatures, most still humming the "Bad Romance" bridge.

Waiting amid the sidewalk slush for our ride home, a car full of four young teenage boys stopped next to us waiting at a red light. Gaga beats blasting, the four of them were head banging, clawing the air. As the driver caught our stare he sheepishly shouted, "I have to apologize for my friends!" I laughed.
"Dance away you motherfuckers!" I replied as the car sped away.

No comments: