Here's the thing: Lady Gaga doesn't want to talk about herself. She will, because that's what's been asked of her throughout a 20-year-long career spanning music (13 Grammys), film (four Oscar nominations, one win), television (four Emmy nominations), fashion (where to start!), and her very own beauty range (Haus Labs). And she'll answer my questions with a disarming vulnerability and level of self-reflection. But, she admits toward the end of our afternoon together at her record label in London, "I can't tell you how much I wanted to ask you questions, too, this whole time. You have no idea how unnatural it is to meet someone and not be able to ask them about themselves. I don't want to ruin the interview time for you, but I also want to give to people who give to me."
And it's this that I find so surprising about meeting the icon, the idea, the moment, or, as she refers to herself at one point, "the product" that is Lady Gaga in person. Before me is a petite woman with artfully disheveled auburn hair and little makeup, wearing a vintage lace dress, oversize biker jacket, and ankle boots. She's funny, self-deprecating, warm, and comfortingly present. I can't help but wonder what dark arts, what spell it is that transforms her into such a terrifyingly brilliant powerhouse of a performer.
She's gearing up for the release of her seventh album, after what fans (a.k.a. Monsters) might consider creative detours, but she feels are all part of the same journey—an album of jazz standards with Tony Bennett, and Harlequin, a companion to the Joker sequel, Folie à Deux. The appetite for this record is huge. Her last pop album, Chromatica, dropped at the height of the pandemic and missed out on the hype it deserved. So the Monsters are hangry. I'm here to tell them that her latest album, Mayhem, is a feast.
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