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That time I saw Lady Gaga perform a secret show in a gay club

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Monday, July 11 2011

2pm
I get an email from subeditor, Gen. Nevermind, a small club on Sydney’s Oxford St, is alluding to a “very special” guest appearance that night. They won’t say who, just that the night will “be one for the history books.” As we know, Gaga is in town for a one-off show at Town Hall on Wednesday night. But would the world’s biggest pop star, who’s used to playing to thousands of people at sold-out arenas, really hop on stage at the tiny venue?

2:30pm
The lady herself tweets, “Thinking of going out in Sydney tonight. How I wish we had a show. NEVERMIND, don’t listen to me.” Ding-ding. Seems like she would! Gen and I hatch a plan. We will go to the club straight after work. We will stand in the mid-winter chill for three hours and wait for the doors to open. We will get in.

5:50pm
The line outside Nevermind is already long. We scope out the situation and discover only 200 people will be allowed entry. We count about 130 fans in front of us. We settle into the line feeling a little anxious (should we have feigned stomach aches and left work early?) but mostly confident. Gen and I have been waxing lyrical about Gaga for years. We love her. It is our destiny, we’ve decided, to see her perform in this unexpected, intimate setting.

8pm
Things are getting tense. About 70 people have pushed in front of us. I’m death-staring them with all my might (if only looks could kill!). Security has arrived and announced that only 180 people will be let in. They’re motioning to a shop sign where they reckon the 500-strong crowd will be cut off. We are standing ten metres behind it. Gen and I exchange a silent look that screams of disappointment and anger, but also renewed determination. A friendly bouncer walks past us. We beg him to tell us it’s going to be okay, that we’ll make it inside. He grimaces and shakes his head. It’s not looking good. 

8:40pm
A newspaper reporter starts interviewing Gen. “Will you be disappointed if you don’t get to see Lady Gaga tonight?” No, no, we’ll be fine. Wait, what? Is the Pope Catholic?

9pm
The doors open. The crowd surges forward. Gen and I clutch hands, hold our breath. Pleeease.

9:15pm
“This venue is closed. Move away. No one else will be let in.” The head security guard’s gruff voice shatters dreams. The door closes. We are so close. Security keeps yelling at the crowd to go away. About 40 people leave. 20 people stay standing in the roped-off area in front of the door. We inch forward, still holding hands. We say nothing, but catch the friendly bouncer’s eye. He looks around and quickly detaches the rope, allowing us to step a metre closer to the door. The bouncers are adamant they’re not letting any more people inside. We’re told four or five times to go away. We don’t. We don’t make a fuss; we don’t beg or plead, we just smile, and stay put. Others go. The two of us are left standing in front of four security guards. The door opens again, one of bouncers (love of my life!) whispers to us, “Girls, get in.” We’re in. WE’RE IN! We run up the stairs, squealing.    

11pm
The club is packed. The hairpiece attached to the ponytail on the girl in front of me is literally in my mouth. No one even goes to the bar for fear of losing precious centimetres closer to the stage. We are standing next to the door that Gaga will use to come in. Her dancers enter in white bathrobes and saunter off backstage. The anticipation in the crowd is palpable. It’s hot. I’m still wearing all my winter layers, but I have no space to take my jacket off. I don’t care. I’ve been standing in heels for five hours, a little sweat ain’t gonna kill me. 

11:55pm
It’s time. She walks in with surprisingly little fanfare, kind of like she’s off to the shop for some milk, but in towering heels, a blue wig and a latex body suit. The crowd screams. Our queen has arrived. For once I don’t reach for my ever-present camera. I want to be in this moment and experience it with my eyes unclouded by a lens. I stare at her; I never want to look away. Lady Gaga stands in the middle of the stage and takes a deep breath. It seems she too wants to fully immerse herself in this time and place. She raises her microphone. “It doesn’t matter if you love him, or capital H.I.M.” For the next 20 minutes she holds her audience captive. We put our hands up in unison, we jump when she tells us to. I feel a sting in the back of my throat like I’m going to cry. It’s silly, isn’t it? That a pop star can induce this sort of child-like emotion in a 26-year-old woman. But there’s something about Gaga that gets to me. She is a combination of intelligence, unwavering and educated belief and opinion on matters important to our generation, and devotion to her art and fans. She’s not just a singer or dancer (although she is brilliant at both) - she is a voice and hope for those who feel less than normal. She finishes her short set and leaves without saying goodbye. Gen and I, again, look at each other without speaking. We’re floating in a fantasy world. One where we waited six hours to see our idol perform to a lucky few.