Our favorite New York Times moralizer David Brooks, better known for trolling Ta-Nehisi Coates (While White!) and richsplaining poverty to poor people, unexpectedly found himself at a Lady Gaga event earlier this week. And he. fucking. loved. it.
I wouldn’t have pegged Lady Gaga as David Brooks’ musical cup of tea (I’d have guessed, like… Olivia Newton John, maybe?) but it turns out that ol' Brooksy is super down with Mother Monster, to the point that merely being in the presence of Gaga caused him to have a numinous experience where he transcended his earthly body and discovered firsthand the true meaning of passion. Here he goes:
Some people are seized by this task with a fierce longing. Maybe they are propelled by wounds that need urgent healing or by a fear of loneliness or fragmentation. Maybe they are driven by some glorious fantasy to make a mark on the world. But they often have a fervent curiosity about their inner natures and an unquenchable thirst to find some activity that they can pursue wholeheartedly, without reservation.
And who embodies passion, for David Brooks? Lady Gaga, of course:
Gaga is nothing if not permanently out there; the rare celebrity who is willing to portray herself as a monster, a witch or disturbing cyborg — someone prone to inflicting pain.
Of course, passion isn’t all fun and games:
For Lady Gaga fame and body issues predominate — images of mutilation recur throughout her videos. She is always being hurt or thrown off balconies.
But being passionate is fun, too!
Gaga, to continue with today’s example, has always had a sense of humor about her projects, about the things that frighten and delight her.
Is this Gaga woman playing a concert anytime soon? Where can David Brooks get tickets?
Lady Gaga is her own unique creature, whom no one could copy. But she is indisputably a person who lives an amplified life, who throws her contradictions out there, who makes herself a work of art. People like that confront the rest of us with the question a friend of mine perpetually asks: Who would you be and what would you do if you weren’t afraid?
In conclusion... ugh, I don't even know what to conclude here. Why is David Brooks writing about Lady Gaga? I guess they don't have satellite radio in the dank, candle-lit cave that Brooks inhabits, seeing as he managed to discover one of the biggest pop-stars in contemporary music, oh, about seven years too late. And is he really still getting paid for this?
Let's make a deal, David Brooks: You stick with getting the lessons of the Iraq invasion all wrong, and I'll overwrite the effusive think-pieces about controversial pop culture figures. Sound good?
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