Lady Gaga lights up Las Vegas

What is the Monster Ball really, really about?" wondered the super-sized dude with the blonde mohawk, his angular, praying mantis-esque torso vacuum-packed into a singlet that looked like a woman's one-piece leather bathing suit, his legs so long, they could pass for stilts.

Lady Gaga paused before responding to one of her dancers, features frozen, posing like a department store mannequin.

"Well, the Monster Ball will set you free, Vegas," she said, referencing the name of her current tour, her derriere on a jailbreak from her tight black leotard, half exposed. "You can be whoever it is that you want to be."

Lusty cheers. Hands in the air. The place begins to rock like bombs were falling outside its doors.

The porno pop pep talk had begun.

"You don't need to have money or plastic surgery to be a Vegas star," Gaga thundered to a sold-out MGM Grand Garden on Friday night during a show that doubled as a cortisone shot to the audience's collective self-esteem.

Gaga gigs are kind of like a Broadway adaptation of "Chicken Soup for the Soul," enhanced with hydraulic beats, F-bombs, fake blood and lots of chiseled fellas dancing menacingly in their underwear.

"Tonight, I want you to let go of all your 'insecurities,' " she told the crowd. "I want you to dismiss any rejection. I don't want you to leave loving me more, I want you to leave loving you more."

OK.

We're totally awesome and as sexy as a really sexy thing, which we were already well aware of, to be honest, but here's something we didn't know: Gaga's a big softy.

She looked to be on the verge of tears at times in professing her love for her "little monsters" -- the term of endearment with which she's branded her ever-adoring fan base.

Gaga's apparent earnestness stands in stark contrast to the prevailing sentiment inherent in her music and stage production, which is shrouded -- sometimes literally -- in artifice, ostentation and knowing contradictions.

"I hate the truth," she professed late in the concert, preferring to create her own, self-mythologized fairytale.

And that's largely what this show was, an elaborate stage play with a loose storyline, brought to life by automobile props with keyboards under the hood, a subway train that belched smoke and a massive, tentacled beast -- "the fame monster" -- that Gaga would eventually slay near the climax of her two-hour set.

It all enfolded as a series of theatrical vignettes, with Gaga donning everything from what looked like a nun's habit, which she wore while sporting a see-through dress with white tape across her nipples, to a brassiere that shot sparks.

She rocked a giant keytar during "Money Honey," climbed atop an illuminated jungle gym midway through "Beautiful, Dirty, Rich" and donned angel wings and ascended to the rafters for "So Happy I Could Die."

As tightly choreographed as her performance was, Gaga's repertoire is similarly stylized, and, like the leather-and pastels-dominated stage garb of her dancers, is decidedly '80s-leaning, retrofitted with bright, buzzing synth lines and clanging, synthetic-sounding beats.

There were more unadorned moments, such as when Gaga sat down at a piano, partially consumed in flames, for an emotive rendition of the torch song "Speechless," which was followed by a new tune, "You and I," that bore an Elton John-bent.

But mostly, this night was about creating an alternate universe where "the freaks are outside," as Gaga put it.

"Do you mean I can be whoever or whatever I want to be?" the towering blonde had asked Gaga earlier in the show during their brief question-and-answer session.

"Yeah. Tonight, Vegas, we're gonna be super free," she responded, picking the lock to the shackles of chastity, continence, restraint, et al. with a satisfied smirk.

Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at jbracelin@review journal.com or 702-383-0476.