Gaga recap

Gyroscope! I knew I forgot an abstract descriptor!

My assignment for 'review writing':

‘What do you need me for? There are enough blonde wigs and tight skirts here to make plenty of Gagas!’ Melodramatic self-effacing is part of her paradoxical charm. By now she has concocted the perfect formula for pure, unadulterated pop fame but allows only her flamboyant faux nouveau costuming and mega vixen stage presence to convey her celebrity. She is quiet and shy in interviews but she is a diva.

She is the czaress of pop. This was no concert; this was a coronation. Her purple bus driver’s hat and enormous-shouldered purple blazer in the opening set enhanced her royal-militant image as reigning pop dictator. She does not offer you her sexy lyrics and Lycra; she demands you ingest them and come back for lip-smacking seconds and thirds.

And she brought a camp cast to help with the force-feeding. ‘Posh,’ a rippling black Adonis with a glam loincloth lead a troupe of choreographed followers: backing her, in awe of her. They are her fan-friends; what we all aspire to be - just with impossible bodies and actual dance ability.

On their way to the Monster Ball, a tornado ripped the group asunder and there is Gaga, alone, before an unadorned black grand piano. With a costume of just a square PVC foot, she was similarly black and unadorned. Suddenly, a truly beautiful thing happened: she began lightly fingering the instrument and eventually bled into her heart-broken ballad ‘Speechless,’ minus the synth-fluff. The result was also black and unadorned. And it was beautifully powerful.

For all her pop pomp and electro-sex circumstance, Gaga has maintained her NYU Tisch School musical chops. Her shrill voice soared above the masterfully tickled ivories. Before we were entertained; now we were hers. Now, we wanted her bad, her bad romance.

The audience knew when it was finally time. There would be no encore, only finale. They began to chant the song’s opening lines. Then from the electric darkness, the full glory of the ‘electro-pop orchestra’ shone upon us: ‘Bad Romance’ blasted the arena with full-frontal pop power. The arena shook with every pounding chorus of the super-song. It was like every little monster present had forgotten then simultaneously remembered how good the song truly is. And no one could command such an army like her. We needed Lady Gaga.

Classy

Relevance? No, this is just what came up from a Google Image search for 'cultural journalism.'

For the past five weeks I've been taking a class offered through the magazine I'm interning at. The course title is 'cultural journalism.' Each week we've had a different assignment: interviewing, profiling, reviewing, etc. While I'm working on the write ups of the past month's travels I'm going to go ahead and put up the pieces I wrote for each week's assignment.

Preview writing:

Plenty are outside enjoying the sunlit patio, lounging through the late afternoon. But down the spiraled steps, the cool, dark inner chamber of Den Bosche’s Plein 79 is noticeably quiet and uninhabited, by comparison. An expansive wooden stage and raised bar flank the room and give the distinct impression that quiet is absolutely not something one comes to this place to experience. Like the basement recording studios of Motown, these ancient walls - the basement of one of the city’s oldest buildings, D’Morrian, dates back to the 14^th century - actively reverb from years of acoustic bombardment. It is a lively yet contained darkness, ready for its next coating of sound.

When South Africa’s own BOO! band blows into town at the end of August, Plein 79 will be anything but quiet. Musically self-described as ‘monki-punk,’ this trio’s mix of bopping horns, slapping bass and high-pitched yipping admittedly has a raucous, jungle fever-type vibe at times. But the details in their songs - delicately timed bell tinkling, multiple melodic section changes and whimsically harmonized vocals - prove they are far beyond primitive bush people.

The closest genre umbrella is the horn-heavy ‘ska,’ which is basically fast and angry reggae. BOO!’s sound has that feel on the surface but often deviates with slower tempos, actual melodic lines and just few absurd interludes. Lyrics are simple but catchy: ‘You’re my wishboan, you’re my shooting star, walk with me’ evokes a bit sweeter imagery than your typical punks. Then blaring trombone, thrashing percussion and grand synthesized keyboards drag you back to thoughtless irreverence.

Before disbanding in 2004 BOO! had racked up an impressive seven albums with roughly 800 gigs, spanning 17 countries and 14 states in the USA. Some might think such numbers are paltry for a career that lasted all of seven years, but fear not: these boys know how to work the stage after performing with the likes of hulking headliners The White Stripes, Slipknot and Franz Ferdinand. They were even recognized by their mother country with the South African Music Award (SAMA) for ‘Best Pop Album’ in 2002.

What better for the continued celebration of the group’s February 2010 reformation then, than the packed intimacy of Plein 79? The close proximity of the stage and backyard barn proportions should be perfect for a truly interactive band-to-audience experience. Expect clapping. Expect dancing. Expect ‘boo’-ing.

Creative head and featured electric bass player (read: ‘slapper’) Chris ‘Miss’ Chameleon will undoubtedly receive the most admiring ‘boos’ with his trademark cross-dressing and powerful voice that can go from soulful croon to inspired wail as if with the turn of a dial. Chameleon took some time after the band’s break to pursue a solo career, so be prepared for a fully fresh take the old body of work as well as completely new cuts from their upcoming album release: The Three of Us. Doubtless it will celebrate the renewed creative energy of the band’s reunification. Doubtless it will be loud.

And then a month went by

A month ago I started a whirlwind of concerts, traveling, and family time. Probably the most active start of a summer as I've ever experienced. Multiple countries, multiple states, multiple adventures. There is quite a bit to write about so for the sake of ease of reading/writing I'll just do one event/trip per post for the next couple days to make up for this month-long post drought.

First up: Dirty Dutch vs. The World 2010, Almere, The Netherlands, 19/6

This annual dance festival has moved around the country in previous years, but this edition occurred on a beach located about an hour north of Den Bosch by train. As we're approaching the longest day of the year we were planning to dance the night away in warm comfort and calming wake. Of course, Holland was Holland and it rained off-and-on all day, and got pretty chilly as the sun sank (not completely dark until about 22.00).
The festival featured several DJ stages with large wooden dance floors covering the sand.

This was probably for the best considering Dutch concertgoers don't really understand the concept of garbage cans. Plastic cups, frites cones and little bottles that once contained shots of neon pink energy-booze (called Flugel) carpeted the joints.

Over the course of the day we ventured from stage to stage and back, stopping periodically for a drink or a broodje. Though I enjoyed the various DJ sets, none were particularly memorable. Just plenty of good beats to move to.

One objective was to be in a decent spot under the event's main stage tent for famous DJ David Guetta and a surprise appearance by the hip-hop collective N.E.R.D. The latter weren't even on the program we got at the entrance but had been just recently added to the website, so we were pumped. As it got closer to the time for both of those performances we inched our way closer to the middle of what had become a tightly-packed, tent-covered mass of humanity.

I was reminded of the bars from Carnaval; people didn't really value personal space here. It wasn't the ideal situation for being able to dance. And people were continually trying to push through the group, often with sloshing drinks, even though it didn't ever seem there was room for them to do so. At one point we were behind what appeared to be a gang of overgrown druglords. They did not move when other people pushed in to move past them so the movers were deflected at us. We decided to push-out ourselves before the inevitable electrical fire and mass-hysteria trampling. Guetta had started performing by this point and it was just no fun not being able to dance along.

We found quite a bit more floorspace at the rear of the tent. Guetta played out his hour-and-a-half-long set with masterfully mixed tracks and a number from his latest album, One Love. They were a bit more melodic and sample-based than most of what we'd been listening to so I thought it was a bit more entertaining to dance along with. Afterward we went back out to the smaller stages for even more dancing room and fresh air. We found both, as well as a beautiful, albeit cloudy, sunset.