Arts :: Music
Lady Gaga brings Boston to its feet Dec. 1 at the Wang Theater by Hannah Clay Wareham
Associate EditorWednesday Dec 2, 2009 "Gilded" may be the best word to describe both the interior of Boston’s Wang Theater and, consequently, Lady Gaga’s performance there Dec. 1.
In the moments before the Lady herself takes the stage, the theater seems filled to the brim with men and women sashaying down the aisles in their best Gaga finery -- sequined dresses, blue lipstick, and yes, hair bows. An impromptu dance party quickly clogs the aisles while vintage Michael Jackson serenades the waiting audience.
Gaga’s appearance is preceded by holographic images of herself in Marilyn Monroe-esque attire, dancing in slow motion while a clock counts down the last minute before her arrival, second by second.
The pop diva who has, in the past year, taken the world’s music scene by storm, emerges from the smoke behind a grid of turquoise lights dressed in -- what else? -- a sequined unitard with enormous shoulder pads and matching silver sequined thigh-highs. As she launches into "Dance in the Dark," her movements are reminiscent of the "vogue-ing" gay men of ’Paris is Burning’ fame.
In between "Dance in the Dark" and "Love Game," a video segment of Gaga in a haute couture white dress is projected onto large screens behind the stage. She’s straddled by dark-haired girl in a leotard, who pulls two fingers from her throat and regurgitates blue liquid that looks like windshield wiper fluid onto the stoic Gaga’s chest, much to the delighted confusion of the audience, willing to gratefully accept anything the Lady has to offer.
Gaga reappears onstage. "Get those dicks out!" she yells to the front row, mimicking masturbation as the beat quickens and "Love Game," the song that scored her a 2009 Grammy nomination for Best Dance Recording, starts.
"Scream," she says calmly, pointing an illuminated magic wand at her abiding audience, who obey every order with the passion that comes with those who believe themselves to be in the presence of a deity, blessed somehow.
Gaga waves like a queen as the house lights come up so that she can better view her adoring public, before introducing her next number by dramatically: "The monster’s name was Alejandro."
During the Ace of Base-esque song, she wraps herself around one backup dancer at a time in a way that could have been inspired by the tango if it weren’t so vulgar. Each dancer is wearing nude colored, skin-tight body suits and bone-like hats that remind me of the one paleontology class I took in college.
Gaga skips off stage after performing "Alejandro," holding hands with one of her dancers.
The Lady’s on-stage persona vacillates so quickly between a rosy-cheeked kindergartner and the nastiest S&M vixen you never wanted to meet that no one can keep up, and the audience is left out of breath and turned on.
During "Monster," Gaga is clad in black feathers that quiver with the singer’s every movement. Her dancers lift her alabaster body toward the heavens as though she were a sacrifice to the gods, and I can’t help thinking they’d be happy.
"Do you think I’m sexy?" she asks the audience in between songs. (Really? I mean, really?) Lying pitifully prostrate on the stage, Gaga says, "If you don’t clap for Tinkerbell, she dies." Dripping with vanity and sexuality, the Lady gets up and launches into "So Happy I Could Die."
Gaga treats the audience to an anecdote of that day’s encounter with a gay barista at a local coffee shop who said nothing to her except, "I’ll see you tonight," complete with a diva snap. "That’s why I love Boston," Gaga said. Her love for her gay fan base is no secret, and I’m just thankful she’s using her paramount powers for good rather than evil.
Now wearing a barely-there black leather bustier, Gaga brings the crowd to their feet with "Teeth."
"Show me your fucking teeth!" Gaga screams, hoarse already. Shockingly -- in the day and age of synthesizers and Britney Spears (sorry, but it’s true) -- the Lady does not lip synch.
Alone on the stage, Gaga endeavors a piano-accompanied coffee house-style reprisal of "Poker Face," much to the delight of the (literally) drooling crowd. Standing on the piano bench, bent at the waist, Gaga continues to play before lifting one leg like a dog in heat offering herself to the clamoring crowd.
During her performance of "Fashion," Gaga comes out dressed like the Egyptian cat goddess Baset. A cross-dressing male dancer flounces around her wearing a bra and suspenders, and I can’t help but think that so far, the show is putting Adam Lambert’s American Music Awards performance to shame.
"Do you wanna fuck me?" she screams (again, really?) before her fourth costume change into a gold conical bra à la an Egyptian Madonna (both the pop singer and Jesus’ mother are applicable here). A backup dancer appears and lights a cigarette perched between the Lady’s lips. "Is this a menthol?" she asks. "That’s terrible." Gaga puts the cigarette out on the stage, grinding it with the toe of one of her black high-heeled ankle boots.
The crowd goes especially wild during Gaga’s over-the-top performance of "Beautiful Dirty Rich." It’s no wonder songs and shows of such great excess are appealing to today’s young workforce, perhaps those suffering the most at the hands of the nation’s economic crisis.
Another costume change is required for "Boys Boys Boys." There’s no way to describe her fifth outfit except to say it looks like something that crawled out of the La Brea tar pits -- black and slick, the leotard seems to drip along her body, selectively covering what the audience clearly wants to see most. At the end of the song, the Lady forfeits the stage to her male backup dancers, who gyrate half-naked until the crowd is beside themselves.
Gaga next emerges lounging in a white dentist’s chair as her female dancers languish themselves across the stage like strippers swimming through molasses. During the course of "Paper Gangsta," all four of the dancers somehow fit into the chair, contorted and grasping one another, and Gaga slowly winds black duct tape around them before the curtain comes down.
While performing "Paparazzi," the Lady encounters what may be her most creative hour. She steps onto the stage dressed as Rapunzel, trailing five super-long blonde braids, carried by her backup dancers like the train of a wedding gown. Gaga is lifted into the air on a system of metal scaffolding and sheds her braids to her dancers, who are waiting below, wielding giant pairs of scissors.
A recording of Gaga reading from the "Manifesto of Little Monsters" echoes throughout the theater after she exits from the stage. "They are the kings. They are the queens," she says of her fans. "They write the history of their kingdom. I am, you could say, a devoted dancer."
Gaga’s encore performance kicks off with "Nothing Else I Can Say (Eh, Eh)." I could’ve sworn it was Gloria Estefan standing inside that system of gyrating metal rings (picture what astronauts train on) in a white pantsuit complete with coattails, gigantic shoulder pads, and classic Gaga glasses covering half of the singer’s face. The Lady keeps one hand up, palm facing the audience, like the patron saint of hipsters and young gay men.
During the final performance of the evening, Lady Gaga’s new hit single "Bad Romance," the theater turns into the Fundamentalist Church of Gaga as people sway with their arms up, entranced. "You will not be a human being anymore!" Gaga shouts. "Tonight, you will be a monster!"
The transformation seems complete. Glossy-eyed, audience members watch as the Lady loses the suit jacket, mouths open as though these zombies ("monsters," if you will) have witnessed not a king, but a god.
Hannah can be reached at hclaywareham@baywindows.com.
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