Lady Gaga and the Chaos of Contemporary Music

The Death of the Concept Album: How Lady Gaga’s Mayhem Embodies the Streaming Era
Do you remember when studio albums told a story? When buying a CD wasn’t just about listening to a few hit singles but experiencing an entire body of work from start to finish? There was no shuffle button disrupting the flow, and if you wanted a custom playlist, you had to burn a CD yourself. Because of this, artists approached albums with intention—they crafted cohesive narratives, consistent themes, or at least a singular mood that defined the listening experience.

But in today’s music industry, shaped by Spotify, YouTube, and TikTok, that level of storytelling is disappearing. Albums are no longer designed to be enjoyed as a whole; instead, they are broken apart, repurposed for playlists, and dissected into viral hooks for social media. In this fragmented musical landscape, artists no longer need to create a unified artistic statement—they need to maximize reach, engagement, and playlist potential.

Lady Gaga’s sixth studio album, Mayhem, released this past Friday, is the perfect embodiment of this trend. It’s an album engineered for the streaming era—one that barely functions as an album at all.

Mayhem: A Chaotic, Genre-Hopping Playlist Disguised as an Album
Mayhem doesn’t follow a structured musical journey; it’s a collection of disparate tracks catering to every possible audience. The album kicks off with two high-energy club bangers, Disease and Abracadabra, followed by Garden of Eden, a generic pop track seemingly designed for licensing in a steamy CW drama. Then, without warning, Gaga pivots into Perfect Celebrity, a slice of radio-friendly “mom rock.”

The chaos continues with Zombieboy, a Bowie-esque disco anthem that my husband jokingly described as “a solid RuPaul track—which is still not great.” Meanwhile, How Bad Do U Want Me sounds so eerily similar to a Taylor Swift song that fans are speculating it might be a secret collaboration. The Beast delivers a half-hearted Whitney Houston impression, and just when you think the album has found some semblance of cohesion, it closes with Die with a Smile, a track featuring Bruno Mars that can best be described as a “CVS ballad”—the kind of inoffensive, vaguely emotional song you hear while shopping for cold medicine, and then somehow, everywhere else.

Is Mayhem a Mess, or Is It Strategic Chaos?
One interpretation of Mayhem is that it’s a disjointed, incoherent mess. The more generous take? It’s a testament to Gaga’s versatility—though that’s hardly something she needed to prove after two decades of shape-shifting reinvention. Even the album’s title acknowledges its lack of structure. There’s no clear genre, no singular vision—just an assortment of songs designed for different moods, audiences, and algorithms.

The implied message to critics? The chaos is intentional. Whether that’s a genuine artistic choice or just an excuse for a fragmented album is up for debate. But one thing is certain: Gaga is adapting to the realities of the modern music industry.

The New Formula: Maximizing Playlist Potential
In the age of streaming, pop stars are no longer just creating albums—they’re curating content strategies. To stay ahead, they must deliver tracks that fit every possible niche: the club hits, the viral TikTok soundbites, the LGBTQ+ anthems, the scream-in-the-shower ballads, and the inoffensive background songs you hear while shopping at Marshalls.

And Gaga isn’t the only one playing this game.

Last year, Taylor Swift released The Tortured Poets Department, a 16-track album that felt less like a cohesive project and more like a collection of unrelated musical diary entries. It was one-third slow, melancholy breakup songs; one-third aggressive diss tracks aimed at figures like Kim Kardashian and even some of her own fans; and one-third miscellaneous fillers—including Florida!!!, a track featuring Florence Welch, possibly the least Floridian artist imaginable. The album’s title was fitting—Tortured indeed.

Around the same time, Beyoncé dropped Cowboy Carter, a sprawling country album that was more chaotic than groundbreaking. It ranged from an ill-advised rewrite of Dolly Parton’s Jolene to a saccharine duet with Miley Cyrus, to an unexpected interlude where Beyoncé suddenly sings opera. Then there was Levii’s Jeans, a song that seemed less like a heartfelt artistic statement and more like an elaborate Levi’s Jeans advertisement—an assumption later confirmed when Beyoncé announced a collaboration with the brand.

Both albums were undeniably successful, largely because their creators are two of the most powerful musicians in the industry. Fans streamed them relentlessly, proving that brand loyalty often trumps artistic cohesion. But will people still be listening to these albums in ten years? That’s far less certain.

The Last Stand of the Concept Album
It doesn’t have to be this way. While mainstream pop stars chase virality, some artists are still proving that people crave albums with substance and storytelling.

One of last year’s biggest surprises was Chappell Roan’s The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess, an album that had a distinct narrative arc—a queer coming-of-age story wrapped in glittery pop, designed to resonate with both LGBTQ+ listeners and straight sorority girls alike. It even had a few tracks that worked for mall playlists. But Roan was able to take creative risks precisely because she wasn’t a global megastar when she recorded it. She had the freedom to make an album with a vision.

Meanwhile, the industry’s biggest names remain trapped in a different reality. To stay on top, they have to appeal to everyone, all at once—resulting in albums that ultimately resonate with no one.

Lady Gaga’s Mayhem is the latest example of this shift. It’s not an album designed to be remembered—it’s an album designed to be consumed. One track for every playlist. One hook for every algorithm. One moment of virality at a time.