Arts & Entertainment
Album roundup: Gaga just so-so on new album ‘Chromatica’
Indigo Girls shine, Adam nails it and Perfume Genius — wtf?
Lady Gaga
Chromatica (**1/2 out of four)
Streamline/Interscope
Although Lady Gaga has never had an out-and-out bomb, she lost her footing a bit with her 2013 album “Artpop.”
Her fans point to its decent chart performance (it debuted at no. 1 and went platinum) and say that’s more perception than reality, but she was starting to experience a law of diminishing returns. The danceclub hits and outrageous fashion upon which she built her brand didn’t resonate the same way five years into her career.
She wisely recognized that and veered hard left making an album with Tony Bennett (of all people; 2014’s “Cheek to Cheek”), recapturing the pop culture zeitgeist with movie debut “A Star is Born” (pleasantly, she actually can act) and go mellow and subdued with her last studio album, 2016’s more singer/songwriter-oriented “Joanne.”
“Chromatica” (out May 29) is her official return to form. It all goes down breezily enough — it’s an easy, catchy listen — yet it’s also not quite the reclaiming of the pop diva throne she clearly intended it to be. It’s good, not great; her fans will love it and it will make a respectable chart dent but creatively she’s painted herself into a corner. While some of her unexpected (at the time) career swerves served her well and were well received, you can’t build a whole career on stunt casting — the meat dress! the Tony Bennett duets! “American Horror Story”! a “normal” album from kooky Gaga! Stuff like that only gets you so far then you’re kinda back where you were five years prior (albeit with an Oscar in tow).
Eventually you have to return to the business of doing what it is you supposedly do and a decade in to her admittedly impressive career, it feels like she’s reaching the bottom of her bag of creative tricks. “Chromatica” suggests to me we’ll look back on her in 50 years more as a Petula Clark (the singer of a decent string of era-defining standards)-type figure rather than a Bette Midler or, heck, even a Kelly Clarkson.
Gaga takes the “Confessions on a Dancefloor” approach here — there’s not a ballad in the batch. Track after track — first single “Stupid Love,” “Plastic Doll,” “Replay” and dozens more — are full of big, luscious, vaguely ’80s-tinged club beats courtesy of producer BloodPop (Justin Bieber, Britney Spears, et. al.), and melodies that take advantage of her impressive set of lungs. The lady can sing — nobody is arguing otherwise.
But it all gets a little samey sounding by the album’s end and a trio of orchestral interludes (dubbed “Chromatica,” “Chromatica II” and “Chromatica III”) sound like they were yanked off some poor man’s Ralph Vaughan Williams imitation attempt and tacked on for contrast and gravitas. They backfire though, sounding like ludicrous non sequiturs.
Lyrically there’s nothing terribly interesting happening but the guest spots — Ariana Grande on second single “Rain on Me,” K-pop girl group Blackpink on “Sour Candy” and Elton John on “Sine From Above” — work slightly better than you’d think. She doubles John’s vocal an octave above to pleasant effect. Glammy, campy (but fun!) final song “Babylon” had me picturing the “Queer as Folk” cast on the dancefloor.
Indigo Girls
Look Long (***1/2)
Rounder Records
It’s easy to take the Indigo Girls for granted. Although it’s been five years since their last studio album (2015’s “One Lost Day”), they keep busy with constant (pre-COVID-19) touring, regular solo outings from both members (Emily Saliers and Amy Ray, both lesbians) and even a live symphony album “Indigo Girls Live with the University of Colorado Symphony Orchestra” (2018).
Their new album “Long Look,” (May 22) however, is a pleasant reminder that not only are they greater vocally than the sum of their parts — their harmonies are truly heavenly — their songwriting is so assured and mature, they’re doing some of their best work now ages after aging (sadly) out of commercial relevance. John Reynolds, who also produced their 1999 album “Come On Now Social,” is back at the reins.
Standout cuts are the groovey, swampy opener “Shit Kickin,’” dance-around-the-campfire-esque “Howl at the Moon,” the plaintive title cut (in which they sound vocally as lovely as Emmylou Harris) and sonic curveball “Favorite Flavor.” Musically overall, this is Americana.
Topics are lyrically varied. “Feel This Way Again” is an urge to teens to savor emotions, album closer “Sorrow and Joy” is a well-crafted examination of ‘80s-era politics and it varies outward from there. Only occasionally (the chorus of “Flavor” or the slightly cloying “Country Radio”) do things feel a tad forced.
Perfume Genius
Set My Heart on Fire Immediately (*1/2)
Matador
Perfume Genius (aka Michael Hadreas) is back with his fifth album (it dropped mid-May) and while it’s more accessible (which isn’t saying much) than his previous efforts — some tracks actually feel like songs — it’s still a tough listen and something you have to be in the mood for.
Atmospherically, there’s a lot here to appreciate — the dreamy, ethereal “Whole Life,” the gauzy, fuzzy rock guitars on “Describe,” the retro organ underpinnings of “One More Try” and so on. One senses here that no instrumental choice or sonic effect was chosen haphazardly; Hadreas (38 and gay) and producer Blake Mills (who returns after 2017’s “No Shape”) took obvious care and mood and texture, to them, is everything (it certainly trumps melody and tempo).
The degree to which you like this album will be proportional to how much avant garde you can stomach. I tried to just close my eyes and savor it on its own terms but I also couldn’t wait for it to be over. The too-precious-by-half, whispery falsetto vocals on “Jason,” the plodding, uncategorizable “Your Body Changes Everything” and the sonic whiplash of “Some Dream,” which sounds like silly nonsense, had me itching to go put on some Jonas Brothers.
In fairness, though, could this be one of those magical albums that just needs time to seep into your pores? An album you endure on the first listen but can’t get enough of three months later? It’s a fair question, but I’m going with no. Texture solely for the sake of texture — and that’s what this feels like — just isn’t enough for me.
Adam Lambert
Velvet (***1/2)
Empire Distribution
An album you might have missed (somehow I did) that dropped in late March is the new Adam Lambert project “Velvet,” the gay “American Idol” runner-up’s fourth.
Lambert here manages to hit that sonic sweet spot where the production sounds both retro yet uber contemporary. There’s a funky, groovy, ’70s/Stax vibe here but also a 2020-kind of top coat on everything that sounds utterly of the moment.
Stylistically it’s still varied. “Superpower” is slutty and all attitude, “Loverboy” is a neo-disco shuffle, “Comin’ in Hot” is slinky and skanky and “Love Don’t” is a gritty rocker. “Ready to Run” has rock swagger and gospel organ accents. First single “Roses,” a duet with Nile Rodgers (of Chic) has lovely hooks and atmosphere to spare. It’s a romantic kiss-off to a lover who offers gestures but little else.
There are only a handful of slow songs, a straightforward piano ballad (“Closer to You”) and closer “Feel Something,” the album’s only pensive, moody moment.
Only occasionally and fleetingly does Lambert fumble — a weak chorus on “New Eyes,” a couple spots where the hooks aren’t quite enough to undergird the swagger and energy, but even then, Lambert’s shimmering whale of a voice — his calling card — is enough to sustain pleasure throughout. This is my summer car album for sure.
The LGBTQ+ Victory Fund National Champagne Brunch was held at Salamander Washington DC on Sunday, April 19. Gov. Andy Beshear (D-Ky.) was presented with the Allyship Award.
(Washington Blade photos by Michael Key)
The umbrella LGBTQ sports organization Team D.C. held its annual Night of Champions Gala at the Georgetown Marriott on Saturday, April 18. Team D.C. presented scholarships to local student athletes and presented awards to Adam Peck, Manuel Montelongo (a.k.a. Mari Con Carne), Dr. Sara Varghai, Dan Martin and the Centaur Motorcycle Club. Sean Bartel was posthumously honored with the Most Valuable Person Award.
(Washington Blade photos by Michael Key)
Television
‘Big Mistakes’ an uneven – but worthy – comedic showcase
In the years since “Schitt’s Creek” wrapped up its six season Emmy-winning run, nostalgia for it has grown deep – especially since the still painfully recent loss of its iconic leading lady, Catherine O’Hara, whose sudden passing prompted a social media wave of clips and tributes featuring her fan-favorite performance as the deliciously daft Moira Rose. Revisiting so many favorite scenes and funny moments from the show naturally reminded us of just how much we loved it, even needed it during the time it was on the air; it also reminded us of how much we miss it, and how much it feels now like something we need more than ever.
That, perhaps more than anything else, is why the arrival of “Big Mistakes” – the new Netflix series starring, co-created and co-written by Dan Levy – felt so welcome. We knew it wouldn’t be the Roses, but it seemed cut from the same cloth, and it had David Rose (or at least someone who seemed a lot like him) in the middle of a comically dysfunctional family dynamic, complete with a mother who gets involved in town politics and a catty sibling rivalry with his sister, and still nebbish-ly uncomfortable in his own gay shoes. Only this time, instead of running a charmingly pretentious boutique, he’s the pastor of the local church, and instead of a collection of kooky small town neighbors to contend with, there are gangsters.
As it turns out, it really does feel cut from the same cloth, but the design is distinctly different. Set in a fictional New Jersey suburb, it centers on Nicky (Levy) and his sister Morgan (Taylor Ortega) – he openly gay with an adoring boyfriend (Jacob Gutierrez), yet still obsessive about keeping it all invisible to his congregation, and she drudging aimlessly through life as an underpaid schoolteacher after failing to achieve her New York dreams of show biz success – who inadvertently become enmeshed in a shady underworld when a gesture for their dead grandmother’s funeral goes horribly awry.
They’re surrounded by a crew of equally compromised characters. There’s their mother Linda (Laurie Metcalf), whose campaign to become the town’s mayor only intensifies her tendency to micromanage her children’s lives; Yusuf (Boran Kuzum), the Turkish-American mini-mart operator who pulls them into the criminal conspiracy yet is himself a victim of it; Max (Jack Innanen), Morgan’s live-in boyfriend, who pushes her for a deeper commitment and is willing to go to couples’ therapy to prove it; Annette, his mother (Elizabeth Perkins), who lends her society standing toward helping Linda’s campaign against a misogynistic opponent (Darren Goldstein); and Ivan (Mark Ivanir), the seemingly ruthless crime boss who enslaves the siblings into his network but may really be just another slave himself. It’s a well-fleshed out assortment of characters that helps our own loyalties shift and adapt, generating at least a degree of empathy – if not always sympathy – that keeps everyone from coming off as a merely “black-and-white” caricature of expectations and typecasting.
To be sure, it’s an entertaining binge-watch, full of distinctive characters – all inhabiting familiar, even stereotypical roles in the narrative – who are each given a degree of validation, both in writing and performance, as the show unspools its narrative. At the same time, it makes for a fairly bleak overall view of humanity, in which it’s difficult to place our loyalties with anyone without also embracing a kind of “dog eat dog” morality in which nobody is truly innocent – but nobody is completely to blame for their sins, anyway.
In this way, it’s a show that lets us off the hook in the sense that it places the idea of ethical guilt within a framework of relative evils, as it permits us to forgive our own trespasses by accepting its “lovably” amoral characters, each of whom has their own reasons and justifications for what they do. We relate, but we can’t quite shake the notion that, if all these people hadn’t been so caught up in their own personal dramas, none of them would have ended up in the compromised morality that they’re in.
However, it’s not some bleak morality play that Levy and crew undertake; rather, it’s more an egalitarian fantasy in which even “bad” choices feel justified by inevitability. Everybody’s motivations make enough sense to us that it’s hard to judge any of the characters for making the choices – however unwise – that they do. In a system where everyone is forced to compromise themselves in order to achieve whatever dream of self-fulfillment they may have, how can anybody really blame themselves for doing what they have to do to survive?
Of course, all things considered, this is more a relatable comedy than it is a morality play. As a comedy of errors, it all works well enough on its own without imposing an ideology on it, no matter how much we may be tempted to do so. Indeed, what is ultimately more to the point is how well this pseudo-cynical exercise in the normalization of corruption – for that is what it really about, in the end – succeeds in letting us all off the hook for our compromises.
In the end, of course, maybe all that analysis is too deep a dive for a show that feels, in the end, like it’s meant to be mostly for fun. Indeed, despite its focus on being dragged into the shady side of life, the arc of its messaging seems to be less about a moralistic urge toward making the “right” choice than it is a candid recognition that all of us are compromised from the outset, often by choices we only force upon ourselves, and that’s a refreshing enough bit of honesty that we can easily get on board.
It helps that the performances are on point, especially the loony and wide-eyed fanaticism of Metcalf – surely the MVP of any project in which she is involved – and the directly focused moral malleability of Ortega; Levy, of course, is Levy – a now-familiar persona that can exist within any milieu without further justification than its own queer relatability – and, in this case, at least, that’s both the icing on the cake and substance that defines it. That’s enough to make it an essential view for fans, queer or otherwise, of his distinctive “brand,” even if he – or the show itself – doesn’t quite satisfy in the way that “Schitt’s Creek” was able to do.
Seriously, though, how could it?
Australia lifts additional restrictions on LGBTQ blood donors
Top EU court strikes down Hungary’s anti-LGBTQ propaganda law
Tennessee’s Charlie Kirk Act is harmful
Victory Fund brunch draws top LGBTQ officials, 2028 hopeful Andy Beshear
Inside the lonely world of MAGA gay men
Charlie Kirk Act advances in Tenn.
LGBTQ Catholic groups slam Trump over pope criticism
Grindr to host first-ever White House Correspondents’ Dinner party
Calendar: April 17-23
