The hardest thing about picking a finite list from a virtually unbounded universe of choices is making sure you didn't miss anything obvious. Well, when I wrote about my 100 favorite songs ever, I fucked up. I forgot Lady Gaga.
I don't know how--I went over every playlist I'd ever created and could find, I asked friends, I looked at my Spotify history, and I just never thought about Lady Gaga.
This is not a minor omission. I can't run for political office, ever, because when I was in grad school I went to live band karaoke at Paddy Whack's on South Street in Philadelphia and requested "Bad Romance." When the guitarist called my name and told me where I could find the lyrics, I told him that wouldn't be necessary and sang the whole song, in her register, from memory. And there is, somewhere out there in the universe, a video of this incident.
If I'd remembered Lady Gaga, at least one of her songs, probably this one, would've made the top 30, if not higher. This was not a minor omission.
In the key of A-flat major, the chords of the chorus go I-V-vi-IV, which is the pop/rock four-chord progression. That's "Glycerine," that's "With or Without You," that's "Wrecking Ball," that's "When I Come Around," that's "Africa" by Toto. It's a chord progression with virtually unlimited utility, and Gaga makes it sound eeire while not surrendering even a subatomic measure of fun.
Let's examine this chorus. "I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me. Papa-paparazzi / Baby there's no other superstar; you know that I'll be your Papa-paparazzi"
First of all, each one of these lines uses a familiar melodic trope--the repeated rhythm, different tune melodic progression--to carry the lead vocals, while the harmony keeps the flightier melody anchored to the ground.
"Promise I'll be kind, but I won't stop until that boy is mine"
And on the third line the base melody changes to something completely different, from staccato to legato. The first two lines were the ladder, and this is the slide. Then the fourth line sends you back up the ladder again:
"Baby you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me. Papa-paparazzi."
The weird thing about Lady Gaga is that by solo female pop star standards, she's not really an incredible singer. She's good, don't get me wrong, but she's not a Mariah Carey or even a Kelly Clarkson--the stereotypical belty soprano. In "Paparazzi," she hangs out in a lower register, ironically enough considering her costuming, in a very conservative vocal range. She's a very good singer, but an exceptional songwriter, and she plays to her strengths in her music.
But "Paparazzi," densely orchestrated though it is, is a vocals-driven song. There's a great drumbeat, but most of the backing instrumentation is just kind of going "oooh-wah" in the background. There's no killer guitar or synth lick you walk away humming to yourself, just the vocal melody from the chorus. The vocals are the undisputed star of the song, but in an oddly understated way, like the rhubarb in a strawberry rhubarb pie.
But that great arrangement and supremely catchy vocal melody aren't the most important part of the song.
Go back to the chorus and listen carefully to the last two beats of each of the first three lines. Do you hear it, on the upbeat of three and the downbeat of four? It's very faint, crying out in the distance, like the clarion call of the familiar shores of your ancient ancestral home, but you can hear it all the same.
"Yeah-uh!"
That's what makes the song. It's the exclamation point, the stinger, the Koy Detmer whip-your-dick-out touchdown celebration. It's the little bit of kick that separates Lady Gaga from all the other pop stars and synthpop acts and emotionally heavy lone-woman-with-a-piano acts. It's that bit of pageantry that makes her an iconic crossover star. The Stefani Germanotta that doesn't add the "Yeah-uh!" to the end of that line winds up sounding like Christina Perri.
The Stefani Germanotta that does turns into Lady Gaga.
