Let it be clear that I don’t enjoy lauding a man—least of all, in these times. But after the release of Mayhem, Lady Gaga’s sublime seventh solo studio album, I fear it must be said: Thank you, Michael Polansky.
Now, before anyone confuses my gratitude for undue glory, let me explain. It’s long been reported that Mother Monster’s fiancé (who served as a co-writer and producer on the album) has been among her biggest fans when it comes to her early pop music. In an interview with Vogue last year, Gaga credited Polansky with encouraging her to return to her roots.
“He was like, ‘Babe. I love you. You need to make pop music,'” she recalled. “On the Chromatica tour, I saw a fire in her,” Polansky added. “I wanted to help her keep that alive all the time and just start making music that made her happy.” Well, whatever he did worked, because after memorable (some more than others) forays into a myriad of genres—from jazz to blues rock to electronic—in recent years, Mayhem seems a reminder that Gaga will always be, first and foremost, a pop icon. And critics agree. “Lady Gaga’s ‘Mayhem’ is more than just a return to her pop roots,” says Rolling Stone, and the album is “retro but relevant,” according to the Guardian.
Released on Friday, Mayhem sees Gaga at her most honest. Where “Disease,” the album’s first release, is an embrace of her own “inner darkness,” “Perfect Celebrity” seems a middle finger to fame, her public image, and an industry that’s historically misunderstood her.
“So rip up the face of this photograph/You make me money, I’ll make you laugh,” she dares on the chorus. “You love to hate mе/I’m the perfect celebrity.” The through lines to Gaga’s debut, The Fame, are obvious and, to fans like me who fell in love with her singular perspective on the glares of superstardom, a very welcome sound. Seventeen years later, Gaga still has something smart to say about it all. But Mayhem is not all meditation on one’s shadow self. Unmistakable themes are self-awareness and acceptance, too.
On “How Bad Do U Want Me?” Gaga asks her lover whether they actually love her or if they’re simply infatuated with the image that best suits them: “That girl in your head ain’t real/How bad do you want me, for real?” And on “Lovedrug” (perhaps the most noughties-era Gaga track on the album), she makes the case for the healing properties of dissociating on the dance floor: “I don’t wanna feel, I don’t wanna cry/So I’m gonna dance until I feel alright.”
By the end of the album—punctuated by ballads inspired by Polansky—one thing is certain: While this may be the same Gaga we met 20 years ago, she seems happier than ever. “Blades of Grass” inspired by Polansky’s proposal, and “Die With a Smile,” make that much very plain. Mayhem is an amalgam of nostalgia, and a danceable ode to Gaga’s unrelenting authenticity, to be sure. But it’s also a testament to her current contentment.
“I think my biggest fear was doing this by myself—doing life on my own,” Gaga recently told the BBC. “And I think that the greatest gift has been meeting my partner, Michael, and being in the mayhem with him.”
What a relief to hear that dancing with our demons doesn’t have to be so dark. Or so lonely.
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Still here. Still without airbrushing. Still with teeth.
