In my lifetime, there are many things that I’ve failed to experience. I’ve never managed to catch a Broadway play. I also failed to catch Michael Jackson on stage before his death. However, after seeing Lady Gaga at Sprint Center in Kansas City, Missouri, I can’t imagine either example being much of a reach. 
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Prior to discussing Gaga’s obsession with little monsters, we have a little bit of glam to discuss.
Semi Precious Weapons, the evening’s opener, is a dead ringer for what Hedwig (and his angry inch) would have been had he grown up on a steady diet of Van Halen instead of Ziggy Stardust. Their self described “rock and roll you can still fucking dance to” shifts all over the spectrum of entertainment. Shooting from CBGBs to Sapphire New York in seconds, the band’s superfluously spastic set bounces from champagne gestures to full frontal nudity. Following a wardrobe change, live and unedited before a sold out Sprint Center, Justin Tranter, the band’s mildly abrasive yet charming frontman bluntly stated, “Don’t hate Semi Precious Weapons because my legs are better than yours. Don’t hate Semi Precious Weapons because we’re offensive. You should thank us for exposing your kids to real rock and roll.”
And honestly, he’s right. Semi Precious Weapons burst energy from every angle. Every leg kick, fist pump, guitar nudge and jump filled the room with an energy that only flamboyance and glitter could create. Humping stage left and flashing stage right, the band won the hearts of Gaga’s little monsters, bidding farewell to their newly acquired fans with the simplest of requests; “We are Semi Precious Weapons and we hope you all get laid.”
However, if anyone in the world possessed the ability to outshine Semi Precious Weapons, it is Lady Gaga (…or Prince).
More like a Tim Burton movie than a night at a club show, the evening takes off into a cinematic supernova with a stage setup featuring a Mad Max: Beyond the Thunderdome worthy car and a Back to The Future II borrowed costume by Gaga, doing her best Madonna impression. Revealing what’s hidden beneath both the car’s hood and her clothes simultaneously, Gaga somehow manages to spotlight her hind quarters and a piano in perfect harmony. While I like ass as much as the next guy, every bitch has back. A piano in a pinto however, is one of a kind. Though slightly confused sexually, you can color me impressed, Gaga.
Joined on stage by a group of transgender dancers releasing their inner-New Kids on the Block, Gaga hops into her first choreographed number. While both the number (“Just Dance”) and steps (The Roxettes make a porno) seem tight, I find myself distracted by the fact that the stage seems littered with more pleather than a Creed reunion tour or roadside porn store. Regardless, I still find myself oddly content. Despite the over the top, arena rock antics that I normally bite my thumb at, Gaga seems to be drawing me in with her clever use of stage props. Electric jungle gyms (stripper poles) and flashy lights lull me into a slight sense of comfort. Who knew, right?
Despite my initial reluctance, I find that the longer I pay attention, the more I discover. It turns out, Lady Gaga couldn’t actually be any further from the genres she often gets lumped into. In reality, she’s actually kind of the anti-pop star, selling sex to those not blessed with a Johnson County check book or Beverly Hills boob job. Sending shock through the industry, she’s honestly more Marilyn Manson than Marilyn Monroe.
Furthermore, Gaga and her gang have chops. Sitting perched at a (flaming) baby grand for “Speechless” and the unreleased “Me and You,” I find myself impressed in the manner in which Gaga’s voice shines as it soars over the sold out crowd. She also left me intrigued with the completely obvious fact that she is no musical hack. Gaga and her band know their way around their instruments, raising the bar for all of the Christinas and Britneys of the world. Standing on the piano in 6 inch heels, Gaga proves that while she may have borrowed her image from Cher, her energy and theatrics came from the likes of Meatloaf.
Nealy two hours, nine outfits and three encores later, I think Meatloaf would be proud. Anyone in their right mind would be.
