natashavc:

“I guess this is how people felt about Madonna?”

I think it’s bigger than that. And more special. After 10 years dominated by female pop idols who were sexual on accident or made up to embody the tired virgin slut aesthetic here we have some one who is all about transgressive female sexuality, theater, kitsch, and fame. It feels more honest, like “Yes, I’m Gaga and I want to be famous. This is me covered in blood wearing antlers.” And we’re like, “Dope. I’ll download this now.”

Yayyyyyyy.

Although I am not a fan of Lady Gaga’s music, I’ve conceded to be a fan of the Lady Gaga “concept” in the past. In so many ways, the spectacle had become so very Guy Debord: “All that was once directly lived has become mere representation.” I can get a little bit Situationist when the moment strikes.

But “Telephone” is an example of the signification losing its meaning, where the acts of so-called transgression no longer produce the intention that Gaga had presumably hoped for but reveal an unintended narrative: For example, the product placement for Miracle Whip might be construed as kitsch, but the Virgin Mobile posturing enforces the dominant discourse of consumerism and signifies bourgeois greed instead. (Unlike OK Go, I’m pretty sure she didn’t need the financial help to produce this video.) Or the idea that Lady Gaga would paint the logo of a British grindcore band on her leather jacket might have been subversive if she were a fan, but as it stands, the Doom logo only signifies a well-researched wardrobe department. And when Lady Gaga says “motherfucker” uncensored, it’s a welcome display of female masculinity and a tinkering with mainstream gender conformity. But when Beyoncé says “motherfucker” — and gets beeped out — we understand that Mrs. Carter is a lady, and it’s heteronormative business as usual.

Putting all that aside, I’m aware that Lady Gaga is only 23 years old, and when I was that age, I also believed that symbols were inextricable from their literal conceits. I also anticipate that Gaga has the promise to create more authentically thought-provoking work in the future — perhaps when she has more experience with the seditious ideas she’s trying to engage with. But it’s important that we don’t give her any more credit than she’s earned, nor should we appoint her a fully-realized artist. In spite of her exciting potential, Lady Gaga is still the naïve pop singer who recently shared this exchange:

Who were your glamour icons growing up?
I would say Leigh Bowery, Klaus Nomi, David Bowie, Grace Jones.

They all turned artifice into the sublime. How important is artifice to you?
Artifice, as in artificial?

No, as in a construct, a stratagem.
I don’t know, that word implies artificial to me.

• DOWNLOAD | KATEY RED “Sissy Clap” 2009

Vanity Fair wrote about the New Orleans “Sissy Bounce” scene this morning and I have been out-of-my-mind obsessed ever since. Urban gay subcultural moments like these have historically become either isolated to their respective corners (as in the underground ball scene) or decentralized from their gay roots (as in the heterosexualization of disco), but part of what makes Bounce so exciting is the fact that straight club-goers in New Orleans and elsewhere are openly championing the music — and regardless of how gay you thought the Village People were, you’d have an impossible time heterosexualizing this.

Katey Red — a transgendered woman and former prostitute who is essentially a godmother of the sound — describes the beginning of the Sissy Bounce scene as we know it:

Katey, who is 6’2” and performs — and looks damn good — in short skirts and heels, was the first of the openly gay M.C.s to get on the mic and get recognized, back in ‘98 at a hall near the infamous Melpomene housing projects, where she grew up. “At first, I was a bit scared,” Katey said of performing. “I know a lot of the boys listening didn’t like homosexuals. But I got over my fright. And they liked my music so much, they was like, Fuck it.”

Think about this for a second: a transgendered woman decided she was going to become a rap star in front of young men that looked like this — and she actually did it. Things done changed in the hood, people.

Here is, perhaps, the latest case of intellectual property theft: Last week on Saturday Night Live, Jennifer Lopez unveiled the first two songs from her forthcoming album, Love? — which was dropped by Epic/Sony last month and will find a new home, presumably, soon. Tucked away in the set design, Lopez was flanked by a logo that we can only assume intended to set up the visual identity for her new record: On the kickdrum and elsewhere, a heart merged with a question mark.

If it looked familiar to many of us, that’s probably because it is. My friend and former bandmate, Jonah Matranga, has been using this symbol for years. It’s found its way onto albums, posters, T-shirts, and stickers; he has it tattooed on his body. In other words, Jonah’s use of the design is well established, whereas J-Lo’s appropriation of the logo is — well, not so much. So he’s putting out a call:

I’ve been told that you can help out by sending photos of ways you’ve used the image in your life, after you found it through my music. So, if you have a tattoo of it, or you’ve made drawings of it, or you have anything at all that shows the many ways the little heart-question has gotten out there, I’d love to see it, and so would the lawyers. You can post your pics (or links to them) here, or send them via any number of internetty ways, or just mail ‘em to me.

I have no idea what will happen from all this, but it seems as good an excuse as any to gather this stuff together and remember the power and fun of making stuff and putting it out into the world.

Also, the new songs she played kinda sucked. But that’s neither here nor there.

GPOYW: Things Were So Much Simpler Then Edition. This is me, roughly sixteen years ago, standing in front of ABC-No-Rio when you could still buy heroin from dudes on the corner whispering, “Black death!” into your ear on the Lower East Side. Because it was 1994, I was wearing a backpack, a red windbreaker with the Embrace album cover silkscreened on the back, and a winter cap — even though it was probably spring. (On my feet, most likely, was a pair of canvas Israeli military shoes that my friends and I were kind of obsessed with at the time. We called them “Vegan Warriors.”) I was 20 years old, I made a living by publishing a fanzine, and my rent to live in Manhattan was $300 a month. Salad fucking days, people.

Photo: Brian Maryansky

• DOWNLOAD | THE FINN BROTHERS “Anything Can Happen” Everyone is Here, 2004

Think about the last time something bad happened to you. Without even thinking about it, I can tell you that your friends and family said at least one of the following three things:

• “It was meant to be.”
• “Everything happens for a reason.”
• “I guess it’s your karma.”

Now think about the last time that something good happened to you. Without even thinking about it, I can tell you that your friends and family said at least one of the following three things:

• “It was meant to be!”
• “I told you everything happens for a reason!”
• “You deserve it; it’s your karma!”

I really hope that I’m not the first person to tell you this, but somebody needs to spread the word: It was not meant to be, everything doesn’t happen for a reason, and there is no such thing as providence or intellect when it comes to cause-and-effect. These are only expressions that we use because, for some odd reason, we are obsessed with finding explanations for the way things happen in the world — even where there are none. We pass these stock phrases for insight, when in reality the truth is less sexy: There is no grand design waiting for you to fulfill your invented destiny. It’s probably better that you get used to this idea now.

Last month, while working with some young people here in New York, a high school senior very casually mentioned that she’d probably be dropping out of school soon. “It’s my destiny,” she said.

I looked at her cross-eyed. “How is that your destiny?”

“Well,” she explained, as if she’d done so a million times before, “both my parents are dropouts, so it was kind of just meant to be.”

That’s not true, I told her. There is no such thing as a predetermined end in life, and even when it seems that way, what you do still makes a difference. Your parents are influential, but they are not necessarily instrumental in the path that you choose to take. “What you are calling destiny,” I argued, “is more of a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

In the end, she seemed to have a revelation. “I have power in this,” she said. And I agreed.

But last week I discovered that this student dropped out of high school, and it’s been bothering me ever since. She relinquished her power to the dominant American fiction that we perpetuate every day, and honestly, right now I’m kind of angry at everyone who has ever lent their voice to inflate the power of this myth — the idea that we all submit to an irrevocable fate. There is simply no way that I can encourage young people to actively engage with their ambitions if the rest of the world is simultaneously sending the message that we have no control over our lives. It’s a terrible lie, and it needs to stop.

Photo: Lyam

• DOWNLOAD | TRAVIS “Colder” The Boy With No Name, 2007

This is the view outside my window as of three minutes ago. I saw the snow-covered trees and said out loud, “That’s beautiful.” Then I ran to the other side of the apartment, grabbed my camera, and preserved the image. With condolences to beach-loving folks everywhere, I can assure you that would never have happened in the summer.