The Nativity, The Passion, The Pascha Pop Soul of Lady Gaga’s “The Cure”

Anthropopogy // Culture, Deconstruction, Prophile, Soundtrek, TK:LA

Live from the Calvary that is Coachella, welcome to this Pop Communion that is The Cure …

The-Cure

Feels, on, reals.

So it is and, again, here we are… and #againagain I don’t really know where to begin or end with this one as again again again there is no beginning or end to the perpetual Pascha that is “The Cure.” I still haven’t figured it out yet, but I enjoy musing in the meantime… #fortherecord #noneofthisisbinding #itsalljustmakebelieve #dontciteme

On the seventh day, Gaga had finished this work of creation, so she put to rest this Famous curse…

The Pretense

So, “The Cure.” I guess, broadly, briefly, it feels like… surrendering into the unknown abyss after a forty-day desert trek, only to find… that the hard-fought rock bottom was but a bridge, all along, before that luminous cloud rocket number nine.

The Past Tense Rewind

So, in this going-on seventh (eighth?) annual progressive cycle in literary association with a one said aforementioned Lady, I’ve learned something (just one something, no need for greed), “This” in all its “Thisness” has always, is always, and will always be happening in increasing measure well into the foreseeable future. While I have yet to identify the source of this odd compulsion to narrate creative works which are, by definition, already complete narratives; I exist with the knowledge that said compulsion will kick-in upon each and every Gaga release –– so why fight it? #hookahsnotbazookas I don’t always have the time, energy, or resources to make proper sense of existing narratives which, again, were published with enough existing sensibility to render any further commentary moot, unnecessary, and quite frankly, distracting; but again, the music marketplace didn’t ask Gallop to poll me on my feelings, and the internet doesn’t recognize expression or human existence unless translated into code and content; so, that said: *gestures toward face* this is me caring, and *places fingers back on keys* this is me continuing.

#imaginaryreadersayswhat “Oh, wow:” #translation ▼

#SWIPERMAKEAFXXKINGPOINT

Now then, where were we supposed to be… right, so, “The Cure” within the historical literary context of Lady Gaga’s existing zeitgeist anthology / pop biography. So, Catholics and Pop acolytes have much in common #shockofallshocks, not the least of which being a fervent allegiance to the magnanimity of ritual, the experiential translation of alchemical mystery; and that fundamentally –– beyond mere Genesis, Nativity and Passion –– we (yes, I am a part and parcel of all both within said “we”) are natural-born Easter People. And “This” in all its “Thisness,” that is The Cure, is nothing more and never anything less than the Paschal Gospel’s Contemporary Record

#WELCOMEBACKTOTHENEWTESTAMENT #OHTHISOLDNEWTESTAMENT

PIWTTNT

#gottaremembertoreadthememos #literallytheonlyfeaturedreference

In a nutshell, The Cure’s world release reads like whatever Easter means to a displaced group of Millennial anybodies who happened to follow a certain frequency to the California desert by way of caravan scene or computer screen.

Letters to a Pop Poet: “Million Reasons”

Pop Culture, Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

Welcome, welcome back… #howdypartner

So it is, and here we are … again, again. Another release, another write to go left… I still can’t help it, it just happens; I still love my life, I still love this record, and yet, I still don’t like pretense, that said —

Pretense:

So, since Joanne “is like, you know, Lady Gaga if you erase all the fame,” which is all well and good and full-stop brilliant, and since we know for sure the album is an entirely autobiographical work from the lady behind the fame, you might ask:

“What’s the point in delving into a work which said lady has already placed meaning and quite fully explained?”

(Likely in not so many syllables, but you’re not me elaborating on what you, an imaginary reader, might or might not say or do, so, alas, I digress, proceeding…)

I like conversations and dialogues #shockofallshocks There’s always an alternate perspective, an element which has not been brought to light, that other manner in which something can be read, regardless of if at the genesis it was “right.”

So, here, I didn’t go into “Million Reasons” with any rhyme or reason to wax or wane poetic, and it would be disgraceful to critique or analyze an autobiographical work as such (I mean, how, can you possibly judge someone else’s expression of their perspective on their own life). I didn’t intend to write about it, it just… happened. I was making breakfast, pouring over coffee, and a verse into the tune, it hit me: Rilke.

lg-rmr

What if this was just a letter to a Pop poet… Stef’s response to Gaga or vice versa (it’s not, for the record)… just a dialogue that could mean anything… just a conversation between a fan and her flame… it’s never just about Gaga, it’s about the Gagas in us all… and if this was for that girl in the back of the crowd with the Grigio in one hand, and the baby cradled in the arm of the other… how is this not, within some capacity, about that fameless face aiming to connect in that fameless space with us all?

(Less pretense, more standard illustrative intro #likewealwaysdoatthistime #egregriousamounts #improperlyplacedrhyme #egrigiogirlslife)

Ciao Manhattan… Sunset Genesis in the Living Lens of Perfect Illusion

Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

Three years later: Perfect Illusion; welcome to the new testament.

^ #thatsliterallygoingtobetheonlyfeaturedreferencedirectlyexplainingwhatanyofthatmeans

Perfect Illusion, as its own release is a mirror, an aural gaze inside the disco boulder of sonic self-realization. Building scene from a grain of salt, mother of pearl emerging from this her world oyster, three lifetimes later emerges the post-pressurized diamond, setting sail from Shangri-La, steady rolling along the PCH with a rhythmic detour down Laurel Canyon, from rebel hippie rock through the Sunset Strip’s Electric Ladyland until we settle in the gapless gallivance of Xanadu’s disco wonderland – that living pantheon for all Angeles-bound-and-stellar-bred cosmic artists.

That boulder, that diamond, that crystal gem here finds its sonic identity in the literal pop; that cataclysmic synthesis of hard rock and disco inferno – that blast to birth the boulder’s mirrored glass.

So here, as its own entity, Perfect Illusion is the synergy of Golden Coast tones maximalized and harmonized with that most signature human chord, to the point of genre eradication in the face of just well-crafted tribal opus soundtracking. Rock, Folk, Disco, R&B (check the background vocals, kids, some kind of rhythmic blue), together, in a manner most-threatening to the sonic status quo… any time we merge those most marginalized Canyon dwellers, city slickers, urban denizens, soulmen, cosmic dancers, punk rockers, jazz cats, and funk grooveallegiant together in that secret space of aural invisible, we usurp the very system that gentrifies through genre and “mainstreaming.” Welp, with Mark Ronson, Kevin Parker, BloodPop, and Josh Homme (get it, Queens of the Stone Age… get it, Radio… GaGa… Queen… of the… never mind) on soundboard as the latest four Gospel Unicornmen of the Apopcalypse squad: buckle up buttercup, bricks-and-string are back on the airwaves #catchthebeat

Perfect Illusion, as the lead single of a comprehensive record album, is the first law of universal dynamics; the Law of Mentalism: the all is mind, the universe is mental.

per·fect
adjective: ˈpərfikt/

  1. having all the required or desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics; as good as it is possible to be.

verb: pərˈfekt/

  1. make (something) completely free from faults or defects, or as close to such a condition as possible

+

il·lu·sion
noun: iˈlo͞oZHən/

  1. a thing that is or is likely to be wrongly perceived or interpreted by the senses.

=

TL TULOMTULOM FTK

read: this life and this record are your perfect illusion, so… perfect the illusion and manifest mental reality #FREEYOURMIND

Mathemagical, isn’t it? #itsallmakebelieveisntit ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

***

Vinyl Cut Prose // Be Scene: Lady Gaga, “I Want Your Love” (#TFWSS16)

Deconstruction, Soundtrek, TK:LA, TrapperKeeper, Vinyl Cut Prose

Whatever this is… – all of it. Forever and always. #andthatsallweneedtosayaboutsaidthus #always #paris #with #kids #these #daze

pretense: if only all covers projected couture #hauteculture #immerseinthepresent

If, If, I were to blinkk this I’d probably say… Disco Heaven, lucky sevens, “‘Bad Romance‘s bigger, badder, bolder older sister, the one who apprenticed under Baudrillard, and eloped with Josephine Baker one artful midnight in the city of lights – that older sister,” genes and jeans, harlows sprawled along quicksilver silkscreens, poetry in motion, paucity exposed gilded within, break beats, parisian heat, always Paris with artpop stars, bars and brilliance, every motion masterpiece a time and space void of twain…

always the anthem, all alone, because to go through life like a karate kid, eyes dream infinitely of love supreme… haus chic, somewhere basquiat and reagan… somewhere on sandbar 45… soulboxing with the luminaries… serving with edie and mcqueen, plato’s atlantis persephone’s renaissance, pandora’s fanmade scene… hemlines and basslines, well-tailored tempos… this is artpop as much as it is the fame as much as it is the electric kiss manifest boogie elastic…

Serving with Slaysia, Ep. 4

Popisodics, TK:LA, TrapperKeeper, Vinyl Cut Prose

Asia… Asia, Asia: Asia. Is a very real thing. And reality will deal. In increasing measure. Well into the forseeable future. Asia is a Hollywood Renaissance. Black, Female, French, Bulldog. Serving for the stars. Slaying for life. Sitting sideways. Shading moonlight. Asia didn’t sign up for this, but — as a wise man once said: you don’t sign up for what you’re born into. Asia was born to slay for life and serve the light. Werk. It. Black. Sheesus. #amen

https://igcdn-photos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xaf1/t51.2885-15/11351940_1602801276627471_1148785205_n.jpg

I stole Mommy’s cellphone and will be posting photos all day long. I HAVE A BIG ANNOUNCEMENT!” – @MissAsiaKinney 💗

Act 1: Serving “I’ll Worry About My Opposable Thumbs – You Worry About Your Data Plan” Realness

· · ·

https://igcdn-photos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xaf1/t51.2885-15/11258805_887130018020775_1591761805_n.jpg

I love to eat while I sketch my ideas for the fashionable puppy line I’m starting! 🎀

Act 2: Serving “Let Them Eat Couture” Realness

The Hills are Alive… with the sound of muses

Anthropopogy // Culture, Deconstruction, Soundtrek, TK:LA, TrapperKeeper, Vinyl Mind Flow

I riffed on The Sound of Music tribute at The 87th Annual Academy Awards Ceremony for ten minutes and twenty-eight seconds: this is the verbatim transcription…

So it would seem the hills are alive with the sound of music… the Hollywood Hills to be exact, this night, this beautiful night, Oscar Sunday… and amidst all of the flashing lights, Mother Monster, the pop mistress, the matriarch of music on behalf of a flailing industry – thought to be dead thought to be gone, thought to be sold out – rose to the occasion only to prove that all the charlatans were dead wrong.

Music is that which cements the experience of any moment, that auditory moment where those aural architects, as I said before, are able to manipulate the invisible… to be able to tap into those currents and those frequencies that you cannot see, but that you can feel stronger than any other sensory experience you’ve ever felt before… when you close your eyes, and you can feel your heart beat. When you close your eyes, and you can feel the goosebumps rising; when you can feel that ugly duckling becoming that beautiful swan, rising above it all because it found the rhythm, and it could never fall – it would falter – but never off that cliff never to never be seen again…

My Selfie is a Soundtrack, Ep. 1: Swiper

Soundtrek, TK:LA, TrapperKeeper, Vinyl Cut Prose

I’m an interesting one, like many. I love and live my music. Music is the score of said life. So, a playlist sonic biography of the slightly younger, significantly wiser self. Mood music … immune muses … Just a spin in the soundtrack of swipe’s life… Enjoi.

I see in sounds: my selfie is a soundtrack.

The (S)tar Spangled Banner – Whitney Houston [1991]

Pledge allegiance. The dawn, the genesis. Born stellar.

(W)ho Do You Think You Are – Spice Girls [1996]

When this launched, who did I think I was… who did I perceive myself to be… well, I was a bouncing Baltimore baby, the charmed second, bite-sized cerebral stellar body in orbital training, traversing the globe from within the four walls of my elementary boudoir. Reach up, maintain soul, get down, claim control… move, swing, shake, for life, for lyric, for rhyme, or reason (whichever’s in season): a la mode, a la monarchy, nine years young, forever the groovy one… cheers.

Fifteen Minute Transcription: Cheek to Cheek – Lady Gaga, Tony Bennett

Anthropopogy // Culture, Deconstruction, re:brand – America, Soundtrek, TK:LA, Vinyl Mind Flow

Cheek to Cheek is an aural alloy of the most masterful. Elements converge in a record album of jazz standards and one-take suzies, tears and tempos, fine-tuned fibres of the greatest art form to emerge from this American soil… classical and contemporary pillars found a musical canon of the most necessary, that which maintains the known order between high art and popular culture by collaboration and hybrid creation… in its pairing of Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga, the immense everything of said reality (think about it, think harder) Cheek to Cheek is ARTPOP, Vol. II.

http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/ladygaga/images/8/8a/Cheek_to_Cheek_Standard_Edition_artwork.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20140818233605

If, IF I were to blinkk this I’d probably say… don’t rush it, let it linger and waft along those invisible currents only the audible architects can manage to manipulate with their coursing lyrics and lifted crescendos…

For a girl who doesn’t wear pants, who dons only the holiest of stockings… and for a gentleman who watches an industry of beat-backed four-letter woes, where he once wailed infinite rhythms of legendary prose – anything goes. What’s old is new, and what’s new is never lost, just hidden beneath the aura of pop culture:

[Tony Bennett:]
The world has gone mad today
And good’s bad today

[Lady Gaga:]
And day’s night today
And black’s white today

[Tony Bennett:]
When most guys today that women prize today

[Lady Gaga:]
Are just silly gigolos

Heaven… I’m in Heaven… rocket number nine blast off to the planet: Heaven. Upon the melodious manifesto of eponymous nomination, one must step back from the phonograph and ask themselves: “What is an artRAVE, really and truly, beyond a neon-flashed, adrenaline-fueled speakeasy of the cheekiest nature? Boy…” When was the last time you saw divinely choreographed dialogues between musically-driven facades and figures… dancing and bad romancing in the elevated state of sonic sublime…

It was at this point in time when I pressed pause and decided, this is not a blinkk… I cannot contain the breadth of this “beat.” So, I tried something new… I riffed for a few… fifteen to be generally exact… because, well, this is The Fame… part forever and always.

Lyrically Speaking: “PARTYNAUSEOUS,” Lady Gaga

TK:LA

Good music speaks volumes… listen, look, and linger in fantastic rhythmic reality: lyrically speaking

“PARTYNAUSEOUS,” artRAVE (2014)

Hi, I want to come and make peace with you
but they won’t let me, no, they won’t let me through
I don’t mind if they a-arrest me
’cause I’m wearing my Versace

Why can’t we just put on a smile
and a buzz buzz buzz buzz? We all might be sick
Whether it’s at first or after a few
drinks; we’re gonna unite, don’t they?