As the background soundtrack to a low budget horror slasher film, Lady Gaga simmers in a lesbian love that isn’t quite as hot as Mexico. Instead, across the border, fame has dumped Alejandro for a more tangible relationship, even if this “techno-mariachi” record bleeding in flamenco rhythms and shaky violins can’t offer the classical credibility of Alejandro‘s Csardas. A killer hook- a platitude of staccato la-la-la-la-la’s- can only be caught by the audacious “ah-ah-ah-america”, whose sandpaper edge can murderously incite its own national revolution if you’ve left the speakers on for too long.
The song’s ultimately successful in Gaga’s coy authorship- whereas Born This Way broadcast the national anthem for LGBT parades everywhere (I’m going to receive much flack for this), “Americano” hammers out its subversive liberal agenda just a little more softly. “We fell in love- but not in court”- in a country where gay recognition continues seeing gains, Gaga is the first Top 40 artist to actively pursue anti-homophobic legislation through vocal support, online campaigning, and concert rallying. And when she cranks out that Spanish- “y los chicos, y los chisos, estan besando” trans. and the boys, and the boys, are kissing- I’m slightly perturbed by the lack of castanets. And maracas, where are the maracas?
“Americano” sums up what Gaga calls the “disenfranchisement of many groups of people” in, well, America. You have the California gay community, where Prop 8 was overturned, August 4, “on a Wednesday, en el verano, en augosto.” Then there’s “languagono”, the unknown spaghetti recipe hashed from too many missed weekend Spanish lessons, and “dont you try to catch me”, either a line that goads Leonardo DiCaprio into forgery or SB 1070 and illegal immigration. For those feeling spiritually bamboozled after “Judas”, Gaga rejects the Anglo-Saxon Jesus for some Latin spice in the video, referenced in “I won’t speak your Jesus Cristo.”
Gaga’s only salvation from the bargain bins at Border is her sincerity, and these eclectic social discussions are made credible by her almost ruthless cannonball mentality towards gay rights, illegal immigration, and religious tolerance. “I will fight for how I love you, I will cry for…how I care”- there is no alien at the Monster Ball and certainly no alienation in her music. If a homosexual progressive-protestant nun-escapee from Europe managed to meet Gaga, I’m sure there’ll be enough contradictions for her to be making music for centuries and finding languages to oppose injustices to come.
“Americano” suffers as a piece more tied to her advocacy than artistry, where the political implications overshadow the 4 A.M. club-thumper’s heavy bass and mariachi flair. It takes a few runs to notice Fernando Garibay’s guitar chords and trumpet burps, the “Spanish roots” Gaga asked him to bring out for the record, but its screeching chorus provides no safety for ears anywhere, appropriate for separating those tenacious enough for activating the rights of the systemically oppressed and Born-This-Way-less everywhere.
Gaga imagines Edith Piaf singing “Americano” in a soft spotlight; I liken it more to a “La Vie En Rose” sparkling with dual carbine pistols, masted on a metallic unicorn angry at the impracticality of being unable to marry some from of darkness.
