by MIA FREEDMAN
Let me start out with a strong statement: I love Lady Gaga. I love what she stands for. I love her music. I love what she’s done for the lesbian, gay, bi & transgendered community and I love her message about acceptance and tolerance. Love. It. All.
What I do not love was the Gaga concert I went to last night.
Something else you need to know – I didn’t pay for my ticket. I probably would have bought a ticket but I am notoriously slack about being organised enough to know when concerts go on sale and I had no idea she was even touring. So I was extremely fortunate to be invited to the concert by Coty, the lovely company who are producing Lady Gaga’s new fragrance (which is awesome).
The invitation was for a small cocktail party last night to launch the fragrance followed by a bus trip to the AllPhones arena for her final Sydney concert on Sunday night.
Excitedly, I broke with Sunday tradition of pyjamas, 60 Minutes and an early start to the work week with my laptop and instead slapped on some make-up to go get my Gaga on, along with other invited members of the media.
I’ll cut to the chase.
Grateful as I was for the opportunity to see Gaga – and for free! – I hated the concert.
Well, it was just…so…..joyless. The tour was called the Born This Way Ball but in reality, it felt like being inside a game of Dungeons and Dragons.
The set was a big, medieval castle and while it did some impressively tricky things technically, for large parts of the concert, Lady Gaga was inside it, often very high up in the air and difficult to see. Making it even harder to see her were the various strange hats she wore that almost completely obscured her face.
I know, I KNOW. It’s GAGA. She’s MEANT to wear tricky hats and we were lucky she wasn’t singing inside an egg or some kind of giant papier mache scrotum.
I get that.
But from the audience, it was just very hard to connect. Her costumes were so OTT, that she was often hidden inside them – prompting me to wonder more than once if it was even her.
Then there was the banter. I do love a bit of concert banter because it can be a pervy opportunity to get some insight into the person behind the artist.