On Lady Gaga and the boredom of gay mainstreaming…

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. In the case of Lady Gaga, it’s the story of a career based in devotion, lacking innovation, fostering a society based in memories, now yawning in the face of the end game of a progressive reality.

The Lady Gaga story starts with Bette Midler singing torch songs for gay patrons at Manhattan’s Continental Baths and is improved upon with Madonna taking Jellybean Benitez’s freestyle from the feet of gay Latinos and into the imaginations of the universe. Gaga? Everything that happened from Midler’s success forward, “Holiday” and “Vogue” being bolstered by the “Wind Beneath (Our) Wings” into the mainstream.

Gaga’s the child of gay marriage, an amalgamation of the meeting place of heterosexual and homosexual ideals. Where Midler pandered and Madonna dared, where Europop’s ersatz charm became coded gay language in the underground, Gaga merely exists. Because nobody else dared to embrace the power of this historical moment, all gay roads now lead to the Mother Monster. Her creativity, not very creative at all,  a lazy remembrance of things past for a generation so filled with mirth that knowledge or appreciation of their own history is sitting squarely in the backseat.

Take a second today and do two things. Foremost, be proud of the fact that gay liberation is a proudly accepted mainstream issue. It’s a beautiful moment and deserving of a moment of realization. Next, gird yourself and prepare for an acceptance of hackneyed bullshit as artistic quality. Much like other successful historical movements, the finish line is a place for celebrations based in historical remembrance. Lady Gaga? Smart enough to own the stage.