Like this:

Lady Gaga appeared by fluke. Delivering papers to an economics class, “muh-muh-muh” blared on the stereo, and for the first time I heard “Pokerface”, love child of techno synth and pop earworms. It was hard bassline driven by futuristic touch, relying on robotic dialogue to contrast actual music.

I hated it.

“Pokerface” may have assumed dictatorship of international airwaves, but my ears remained confined to classical dogma. Music needed structure- melodic lines in sonata, concerto form- and not cheap hooks and gimmicks to headline the #1 single. And that was Gaga, parvenu of pop, riding on senseless musicality: she sung in a low register, flaunted sex appeal, and played auditory assault on my ears.

“Paparazzi.” The emancipator, topping off at #6, on the Billboards, belied her critique on pop culture and revealed an innate ability to thread the classical form into modern sound. It was a different voice, one that mixed “Starstruck” and “Just Dance” into a display of vocal talent and impressive songwriting. Dance became my muse, Gaga my mantra, and these four tunes assumed leadership of my musical company.

On a limo ride, radio station KISS.fm’s Top 9 at 9 wrung out “Bad Romance.” That was it. A song that challenged contemporary critique while incorporating disco tech and powerchords- I acquired the entire Fame Monster album thereafter. “Dance in the Dark”, with its poignant chorus, and “Telephone”‘s chaos muzak instantly appealed; exotic “Alejandro” and “Teeth” slowly eased in. Midway between “So Happy I Could Die” and “Speechless”, I stumbled on the rest of The Fame, where Gaga proves her indisputable connoisseurship on social modes. Beyond the dance-heavy exterior, the glamor fades and songs like “Disco Heaven” and “I Like It Rough” edge into variety.

Then it became art. She calls her music “liberation”, and aptly so. Love life, pursue your love, and enjoy your pursuits- be yourself at all times. Fashion for a reason, performances bordering on societal criticism, topped by an intrinsic appreciation for the individuality and creativity in all of us. For every Fame article, I constantly replay the respective tune till the essay is over, for rehashing Gaga in the brain is juggling my muse in the heart. Apparently for others to- Fame received over 2,000 hits on this burgeoning project. But the counts don’t matter.

The avant-garde pop culture experiment ends today. I hope it’s been successful (this site has proselytized a few new converts to Gagadom). It bears a message worth spreading, a woman deserving recognition, and music able to shake up any dance floor.

This is the avant-garde pop culture experience: Lady Gaga blasts from my car speakers.

I love it.

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