There was a great crush in V Festival, Staffordshire tent. This was where people wanted to be. Perhaps they would one day tell their great-great-grandchildren this was where they had been. We found ourselves in the kind of crush we had not witnessed since the Reichstag Shambles.
The show opened a little late promising spectacle. Andy Warhol popped up on a big screen and many dancers appeared.
Then it all fell apart. The show was clearly too ambitious and was woefully underrehersed. There were pauses. Long pauses. Then there was the self-indulgence. GaGa became maudlin. The shambles was complete when she began Poker Face a capella, only to have the plug pulled part way. She had wasted too much time complaining about what they say about her in press.
Thought I: ‘Didn’t you write Paparazzi before you were famous? Gaga: “You don’t fool us. You’re living the life to which you aspire, now follow your audience’s lead and fuck off!”’