Against my better judgement, breeding, and the terms of my witness relocation contract, I squat before you here today a Lady GaGa stan, on the verge of a new era, humbly demanding that she slam her whole FUPA down on the track. Slam it down in a way she seems to have not just failed to do since Born This Way, but somewhat unlearned how to? Remember when she said that Mark Ronson made her take hooks
out of the songs for the pink hat album, ha ha he he? Warcriminality, disgusting. Straightwashing. His and Hers bathrobes manifest in my bedroom. I haven't slept since. Obviously I will pretend to stan anything it puts out because too much of my psychic scaffolding depends on it, but nothing has really touched her first three albums AS PACKAGES I said FOR ME because of this... "creative" choice that is being made? That is my truth and today I will lisp it.
@Babylon said maximalism and I said, I'm having that, that word. That's mine now. Maximalism. Lord Googoo, frankly, was, is and will forever be, I choose to believe, a pop maximalist at heart. Invented vocodered stuttering. Did too. BIRTHED football chant post-choruses. Touretted on the mic and called it a chorus-verse bridge. Rah-rah ah ah ah. That's drivel. But that's Pop. That's Lardy Gogo. Unrestrained, unfiltered and frankly unwise. Bad Romance is fourteen minutes long. That's four Ice Spice albums. Just let that sink in. Do not make me invoke the 4x4 beat tiered waterfall chorus. Don't do it Judy. Not on this good day.
I draw the curtains, light my alejandro candles, burn a photo of Lina Morgana and chant. Please stop with the adult contemporary milquetoast soccer mommery, please. Enough is enough. You've (somehow) got your acting nonsense credibility. You did your fischer price beats lazytown record. You got your outreach LP with the saxophone man. Return to your roots, Germanotta. Pay tribute to your
self, for once. Garble gibberish on the track.
Add another post chorus. Accidentally inflame social tensions with another ill-advised rap. You'll probably never have a number one again anyway, no matter what you do. Go full cringe. Feed. Your. Frigates. Stop chart chasing start
heart chasing. Tabernacle Roan is right there, pandering on the Fameprint. You have what she wants and she's taking it, Mother. She is. You need this as much as I do, Stefani. You do.