It’s hard to believe, but Lady Gaga is inching closer to 20 years in the pop-culture limelight.
OK, not quite. But since her arrival in 2008, we’ve watched her evolve in a variety of directions. When she burst onto the scene, her synth-pop sound brought to mind early Madonna. It was clear she was going to be big. And she has been.
And like Madonna, Gaga has moved through multiple stylistic evolutions—both visually and sonically. There was the infamous meat dress, of course. And other outfits for performances and award shows that had the paparazzi waiting for her arrival with breathless anticipation.
Gradually, though, you could argue that Gaga’s celebrity trajectory has felt increasingly, well, normal. She collaborated with Tony Bennett back in 2021 on an album of decidedly old-school standards. She’s done country/Americana (2016’s Joanne). She’s starred in a variety of TV and movie projects that have earned still more critical praise (American Horror Story, A Star Is Born) as well as one of the bigger stinkers of 2024 (Joker: Folie à Deux).
One can imagine, then, that in her few idle moments, perhaps she longs to get back to her roots, the early days of synth-pop dance hits meticulously crafted to be bangers at the club.
And that’s exactly what her latest effort, Mayhem, delivers, complete with plenty of provocative lyrics blurring the boundaries between love, pain, sex, sin, spirituality and death.
Oh, and Bruno Mars shows up, too. So let’s start there.
Album closer “Die With a Smile,” featuring Bruno Mars, is by far the most conventional pop song here, feeling like it could have found a home on the radio any time after about 1950 or so. It’s one of the few songs that tip the proverbial hat to romance without focusing too much on sex: “If the world was ending/I’d wanna be next to you/If the party was over/And our time on Earth was through/I’d wanna hold you just for a while/And die with a smile.” A bit grim and melancholic? Sure. But still fairly sweet.
“Perfect Celebrity” offers some biting commentary on how anyone as famous as Gaga must endure corrosive criticism: “I’m made of plastic like a human doll/You push and pull me, I don’t hurt at all/ … You love to hate me/I’m the perfect celebrity.” The song also includes a nod to the pressure female performers feel to be unhealthily thin (“I look so hungry, but I look so good”) as well as the morbid pleasure society takes in watching these stars implode before our very eyes (“Sit in the front row, watch the princess die”).
A “Blade of Grass” seems to be a naturalistic substitute for a wedding ring: “Come on and wrap that blade of grass/And we’ll make it last/ … Yeah, it’s no diamond ring/ … I’ll be your queen without a crown.”
“Vanish Into You” wistfully recalls a lost love: “Saw your face and mine/In a picture by our bedside/It was cold in the summertime/We were happy just to be alive.”
The album’s first three songs are vintage Lady Gaga. Lyrics blend references to sex, love, death, prayer, sin and God: “I could play the doctor, I can cure your disease/If you were a sinner, I could make you believe/ … You reach out, and no one’s there/Like a god without a prayer,” we hear on “Disease.”
Next up, “Abracadabra” brings references to magic, angels, the devil and—of course—dancing: “Phantom of the dance floor, come to me/Sing for me a sinful melody/ … In her tongue, she said, ‘Death or love tonight.’”
Sex is on the menu, along with a side dish of biblical allusions, in the song “Garden of Eden”: “I could be your girlfriend for the weekend/You could be my boyfriend for the night/ … Bodies gettin’ close under the lights/ … (Oh) Take you to the Garden of Eden/Poison apple, take a bite (Oh).”
“Killah” blends imagery about sex and death in such a way that it’s not completely clear if Gaga is using sex as a metaphor for death or actually threatening to kill someone she’s spending the night with: “I’ma be a full-time bedroom demon/I’m gonna make you scream, that’s a matter of fact/I’ll be your fantasy/I’m a killah/And, boy, you’re gonna die tonight.”
“Zombieboy” uses zombie cliches to describe a hookup the singer is hoping for (“I could be your type from your zombie bite/Put your paws all over me, you zombieboy”). “Love Drug” and “Don’t Call Tonight” both explore themes of emotional numbness in dysfunctional relationships.
“How Bad Do You Want Me” finds Gaga trying to tempt a guy with a “good girl” at home to sample what a “bad girl” like her has to offer instead: “You like the bad girl I got in me.” This song includes the albums only profanities, two uses of the f-word.
Listening to most of this album, Gaga fans would be forgiven for thinking she’d just pulled a dozen tracks out of a vault of unused material from her massively successful debut in 2008, The Fame.
And, look, I’m not going to lie: Lady Gaga knows how to write a dance song.
Several tracks seem scientifically engineered to top your Spotify playlist, because they’re the kind of high-energy club songs that dare you not to dance to them. It’s like she took one look at Chappell Roan or Rosè or Olivia Rodrigo and said, “Pfft. Watch this.”
Indeed. Lady Gaga is good at what she does, by the world’s standards at least.
But Gaga’s gospel, such as it is, is like neon cotton candy. It might taste good for a moment, but it’s going to give you a stomach ache if you make a steady diet of it.
Gaga has some sweet moments, and even a few where she looks at life with honesty and clarity. Much more often, though, she’s serving an inebriating cocktail we might call “Gaga’s Gospel,” a blend of euphoric dance-floor excess and reckless sexuality, with some Christian imagery tossed into the drink as a stir stick just to rile Christian reviewers like me, right?
Still, the fact that Gaga flirts with imagery related both to Christianity and death possibly hints even she doesn’t totally believe what she’s selling. I wonder if she suspects, deep down, that there’s got to be something bigger than a hot night on the dance floor or in bed with someone.
If so, however, Lady Gaga can’t quite bring herself to relinquish her toxic infatuation with bad romance. She’d rather embrace Mayhem, as she does again here.
After serving as an associate editor at NavPress’ Discipleship Journal and consulting editor for Current Thoughts and Trends, Adam now oversees the editing and publishing of Plugged In’s reviews as the site’s director. He and his wife, Jennifer, have three children. In their free time, the Holzes enjoy playing games, a variety of musical instruments, swimming and … watching movies.
