I went to one of the most riotously mismanaged press events ever Monday night—and that's saying a lot, considering I've been to hundreds over the past 15+ years, from rinky-dink teen parties to massive, mainstream clusterfucks. But oddly, as horrible as the press part was, the event it preceded went off without a hitch. In fact, the event—Lady Gaga's much-ballyhooed artRave—was really a blast, and would've been even more so had I not been having a bad age day and if I were more in love than in hate with her new record, ARTPOP.
I don't want anyone's "fucking throne" any more than Gaga, but I do expect to be treated respectfully, which was not on the menu.
Hear me out, Monsters, before sending me GRID-infected needles in the mail—and then if you're still not satisfied, hold your venom and just use me for the great pictures.
First, all press needed to arrive by 4:15PM at E. 35th and FDR to board a ferry, which would take us to the secret location, the Brooklyn Navy Yard. This meant it would be a torturously long evening, considering the party was starting at 9PM and rumor had it Gaga was going on around 1AM. But I showed up on time, only to find a gaggle of creatively attired Little Monsters cheerfully lined up on the pier, all hoping their chic sassiness would get them into the party, even without invitations. They were pretty adorable, but like gremlins, do not add water or all hell breaks loose. (I later heard zero fans were allowed into the event, only those with tickets, so it seems inhumane not to have rewarded at least the ones camped out and dressed up.)
The first harrumph came when I checked in, only to be told the PRs had no idea I was going to cover the red carpet, so they couldn't accommodate me. Uh, the event was structured as a press conference, tour of the space, red carpet and then party. Why on earth would I cover everything but the carpet? "I'll try to accommodate you, but it's very full," my contact said, unconcerned. Okay.
Ferried over, having to listen to some of the photographers being assholes (they're not all assholes, far from it, but they're like the dwarves in Lord of the Rings—very clannish). One woman always acts like Queen of the Event Photogs, relaying info to us like she's our union rep. Unnecessary and presumptuous.
I'm so glad this is not my living. I give much respect to my sweet pal, who was with me but who shall remain nameless so as not to jeopardize his standing in said clan, who manages to do his job without being a jerk and without letting it drive him nuts. (He's nuts for different reasons.)