“This is my dance-floor/I fought for” the pop veteran cries on 90’s house infused track, “Free Woman.” It’s the battle cry that Little Monsters worldwide have been hoping for; after 2016’s country-tinged Joanne and the detour that was A Star Is Born, Lady Gaga’s latest album Chromatica promised a return to the club scene that Gaga dominated with the likes of 2011’s The Fame Monster and the career-defining Born This Way.
Chromatica, however, is neither as ambitious nor statement-loaded as 2011’s Born This Way, which tackled issues such as same-sex marriage and gender identity. The product of a slew of producers including Bloodpop, Axwell, and Tchami, Chromatica‘s eclecticism is more reminiscent of the self-indulgence of 2013’s Artpop than of the cohesive, RedOne-helmed project, The Fame Monster.
Many tracks, including the Ariana Grande duet, “Rain On Me” and “Enigma” use 90’s house as their blue-print, a habit that curbs much of the experimentation found on earlier releases. While the ferocity of Grande and Gaga’s vocal battle make for an invigorating single, other tracks end up drowning in 90s electronic music tropes. The biggest culprit is the pseudo-gospel of “Babylon,” which sounds like a RuPaul outtake from his Supermodel days. Exceptions, such as the Nu Disco slink of “Replay” and the robotic ode to anti-psychotics, “911” offer glimpses of the meat-dress-wearing Gaga we adored: a performer as bold in her music as she was in her fashion statements.
With Chromatica, Lady Gaga tries to stuff 16 tracks into a 43-minute listening experience; the result is a hectic collection of 90’s odes that never get the chance to catch their breath. Even the drum n’ bass anthem featuring Elton John, “Sine from Above” feels like a rushed wardrobe change. Three years in the making, Chromatica sounds like an assorted grab-bag of tracks from a 2k Club Spotify playlist; some tracks veer dangerously close to the Madonna-comparisons that have come to haunt her twelve-year career.
As a dance record, Chromatica gets the job done. Still, none of the line-toeing antics found in Gaga’s catalog make an appearance here. Morbid critiques of celebrity culture a la “Paparazzi? Nope. “Government Hookers” raunchy tongue-in-cheek sleaze? Not here. The album feels like a collection all too eager to stay in the comfort zone of Gaga’s influences. In the meantime, don’t worry, Gaga: the dancefloor will still be here when you’re ready.
