Since she’s the opening act at the Grammys on Sunday, both the Wall Street Journal and the Times Of London have pieces on Lady Gaga, and you’ve got to love the things random people say about her:
“She’s very vaudevillian,” says an admiring Alice Cooper, the rocker whose history of stage theatrics includes simulated decapitations. But he says Gaga’s antics only work because “she can really sing.”
And:
Alice Cooper suggests softening things up: “I’d love to hear her sing a Karen Carpenter song.”
…It’s because in the 21st century what women need – second only to some watertight equal-pay legislation and, possibly, slightly wider parking spaces – is other women who are involved in popular culture but don’t give a toss what anyone else thinks of them. I don’t mean the faux-attitude of, say, the Pussycat Dolls or Fearne Cotton, who manifestly do care what people think, what with their carefully shot publicity material, alluring, non-scary outfits and auras of constantly available, non-threatening, mainstream sexuality. These women are little more liberated than cigarette girls in 1950s nightclubs.
No. I mean women who are right out there, doing what the hell they want, and who would clearly greet any attempt to criticise their appearance or attitude with wildly disbelieving laughter. Women who are unafraid to express aspects of themselves that seem alarming, unpalatable, uncontrollable or just plain horsescaringly bizarre. We need more rolemodels such as this. After all, it’s hard to oppress a generation of women who, under the influences of their new heroes, are intent on dressing like hermaphrodite robots with fireworks coming out of their breasts.
Not singing her praises? the Westboro Baptist chuch. Have you seen their “parody”?
