Lady Gaga-Bad Romance
Pixie Lott-Cry Me Out: follow link below.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emQQERp_vTI
These 2 music videos make an interesting comparison when considering representations of gender in the media.
This article in the Guardian from Thursday 3 December by Jude Rogers compares the 2.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2009/dec/03/lady-gaga-pixie-lott
I've been busying myself this week with two glamorous blondes we didn't know this time last year. Both have spent 2009 topping the charts, and prancing about in little more than their underwear. Now, both are ending the year with dramatic singles, accompanied by videos that show us how arty they are. But while Lady Gaga's Bad Romance reveals the strength of the modern pop promo, Pixie Lott's Cry Me Out shows how weak-willed they can be.
First, a confession. In January, I called Lady Gaga a terrible copycat, and challenged her, rather sniffily, to start living dangerously. Bad Romance is the sort of song I've dreamed she would do, mainly because it accentuates her most interesting elements, such as her humour – so obvious when we watch her prancing about in jackets made out of Muppets, but often hidden in her songs by her icy delivery. In Bad Romance, this humour reveals itself in the harpsichord-led introduction, a silly but brilliant classical pastiche that nods towards Lady Gaga's piano playing, but also giggles at her grand image. Even better, the melancholy that lurked within the chorus of Paparazzi – as Lady Gaga sighed "do you love me" – also takes centre stage here. The descending "oh-oh-ohs" at the end of each chorus yearn and ache with the stuff, and I admit I was wrong about the woman who made it. This single is one of the best of the year.
And it is the sense of sadness that gives the Bad Romance video its power. On the surface, it is a hotchpotch of costume changes and product placements, but beyond that it makes points about the trafficking of women. Here, they are coming out of flight cases bound in white outfits; here is a strange version of Lady Gaga, looking wide-eyed and drugged; here she is performing for men who are bidding for her; here she is burning the winner to a cinder, lying next to his skeleton, puffing on a victory fag. But another image of her in the video is the one that lingers in the mind. This is an unvarnished Lady Gaga wearing hardly any makeup, not dressed up or dancing, simply crying into the camera. She appears at three crucial, emotional moments: just after the trafficked version of her is forced to drink alcohol; as she sings, "I don't want to be friends", like a woman still in love with her ex; in the last chorus, as the song reaches its climax.
It works brilliantly. Like Sinéad O'Connor's famous performance in Nothing Compares 2 U given a weird, modern twist, it reveals another side of an artist who has become so ubiquitous; another dimension beneath all her shimmering surfaces.
The video to Pixie Lott's Cry Me Out, however, does something quite different. Shot in dramatic black and white, and full of fancy, flouncy outfits, you can tell it probably fancies itself in the same league as Bad Romance. It uses similar metaphors to talk about a bad relationship: here is Lott, on a dining table, ready for men to consume her; here is Lott staring into a mirror, reappraising herself. But when she reveals she is leaving her man, you don't cheer for her. Instead, you watch her arching her bottom on a staircase as she mocks her boy blandly ("I've got your emails/ You just don't get females now, do you?"), and makes a grumpy maid put her coat on as a sign of her liberty. You realise this isn't power after all. This is coquettishness and privilege masquerading as empowerment; a pop star only performing rituals for herself.
I'm not arguing that pop stars should display vulnerability, as Lady Gaga does, to make us buy their records. Nor am I demanding that female singer-songwriters reveal their sensitive sides to prove that they are rounded characters. I'm simply saying this: when pop videos are high-budget, high-concept creatures that are supposed to make an impact, and make profound statements about the strength of a gender, a glimpse behind the glamour can often speak volumes. We know all the tricks, but we are rarely shown the truths. It is also easy to forget, and wonderful to remember, that behind the dance routines, the dresses and the eyeliner, pop, at its best, has a human face.
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