In February 2013, the body of 21-year-old Canadian student Elisa Lam was discovered inside a sealed water tank atop the Cecil Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. Her death became an instant internet sensation — not only because of the bizarre circumstances but because of the surveillance video that preceded it.
The footage, captured by a hotel elevator camera, showed Lam behaving erratically: she pressed every floor button, peeked out as if being followed, moved her hands in strange, slow gestures, and appeared to be either frightened or lost in some unseen world. Her behavior has inspired years of speculation — ranging from mental illness to supernatural interference, conspiracy theories, and the paranormal. No single explanation has satisfied everyone.
Six years later, Japanese kawaii-metal sensation Babymetal released a single titled “Elevator Girl”. At first glance, it’s a high-energy metal-pop track with catchy melodies, heavy guitars, and a playful tone. However, read against the backdrop of the Elisa Lam case — particularly for those steeped in its imagery — the song’s lyrics take on a strange, almost spiritual resemblance. Whether intentionally or not, “Elevator Girl” feels like an unspoken pop culture echo of one of the most chilling and inexplicable deaths of the digital era.
A Descent Disguised as Pop
Babymetal’s lyrics fuse cuteness with doom. The Japanese verses are ominous, but even the English-language lyrics are laced with a darker undercurrent. Take the opening refrain: “Hey, lady, are you going up or do-do-do-do-do-down? / No matter what you say or what you do / You’re going do-do-do-do-do-down.”
Sung over pounding riffs and danceable rhythms, the line walks a fine line between flirtation and fatalism. The upbeat delivery masks the suggestion that the outcome is inevitable — and grim. No matter what she says or does, her fate is sealed. She’s “going down” regardless of the floor she gets off on.
The Japanese sections go even further: “上へ参ります 下へ参ります閉まるドアに お気を付けください次は地獄に 止まります” (We are going up. We are going down. Please watch your step as the doors close. Next stop: Hell.)
The song transforms an elevator’s polite announcements into a descent into torment — a blend of the mundane and the hellish. In this light, the elevator becomes a metaphor for psychological freefall or moral unraveling. This feels uncomfortably close to what we see in the Lam video — a young woman in a liminal space, caught between floors, between states of mind, between visibility and disappearance.
Another verse deepens this association: “地下2000階 まっさかさま火あぶり針地獄 のフロアです” (2000 floors underground, straight down — welcome to the fire and needle hell floor.)
The detail is so exaggerated it feels cartoonish — until you remember that Lam was found in an inaccessible place: not 2000 floors underground, but in a sealed rooftop water tank, with no clear path of entry. In both narratives, the elevator doesn’t go where it should. It stops where it shouldn’t.
Upbeat Nihilism: The English Lyrics Add Texture
The English-language portions of “Elevator Girl” only sharpen the case’s resonance. The song juxtaposes girlish energy with unstable emotional states: “Girl, we’re going up / Girl, we’re going down / See the whole world spin, spin spin around / Life can be such a pain in the butt / Going up, going down / Going up, going to hell, yeah.”
These lyrics evoke teenage swings between hope and despair, joy and panic. While Babymetal might be using this as a metaphor for adolescence or rebellion, it’s impossible not to hear echoes of Lam’s reported mental health struggles — particularly when the chorus repeats: “Going up, going down, going to hell, yeah.”
The following verse compounds that tension: “One day I’m happy, one day I’m a mess / Hang on ’cause I’ll never give up.”
Lam’s writing, preserved in Tumblr posts and journal entries, reflected this contradiction: she described herself as hopeful and introspective, but also depressed and lost. Her trip to Los Angeles — part solo adventure, part attempt to recharge — seemed like a moment of personal growth. Yet, her behavior in the elevator suggested something was unraveling.
The Elevator as a Threshold
Symbolically, elevators often represent transitions — moving between floors, states of being, or emotional highs and lows. In horror, elevators are often depicted as confined and trapped spaces. In dreams, they can imply psychological movement — up means escape or aspiration; down means descent, death, or exposure.
In “Elevator Girl”, the elevator is more like a haunted amusement ride, a thrill that could kill: “だからいつも 命がけ” (That’s why it’s always life or death.)
This line, intended to match the band’s over-the-top style, lands differently when considered against the real-life tragedy of Lam. Her final moments were not just about playfulness or mischief, but fear and possibly the consequences of a missed diagnosis, a systemic failure, or something more unknowable.
Viral Ghosts and Cultural Echoes
There is no evidence that Babymetal had Elisa Lam in mind when writing “Elevator Girl”, but cultural artifacts often speak to us in unintended ways. Urban legends, such as those surrounding the Cecil Hotel, persist because they tap into collective fears. Lam’s story evolved into more than just a true crime case; it became a digital ghost story, one that continues to haunt online forums, YouTube comment sections, Reddit threads, and documentaries.
Both Lam and “Elevator Girl” exist in that liminal realm: between entertainment and eeriness, between metaphor and memory. Their shared imagery of elevators, erratic behavior, and themes of descent make the song feel almost like a soundtrack to the mystery, even if it wasn’t meant to be.
Perhaps that’s why the connection sticks. For those familiar with the case, “Elevator Girl” begins to sound like more than just a song. It feels like a replay, a loop we can’t escape.
Cultural Ripples Beyond Babymetal
The eerie resonance between “Elevator Girl” and Elisa Lam’s story is just one thread in a larger web of cultural reflections on her case. The 2005 American remake of the Japanese horror film Dark Water features a chilling parallel: a missing girl’s body discovered in a water tank atop an apartment building—almost a direct echo of Lam’s tragic fate.
This haunting detail in Dark Water contributed to its ghostly atmosphere and the lingering fear of unseen forces lurking in everyday urban places. While Babymetal’s “Elevator Girl” doesn’t explicitly reference Lam, it fits within this broader cultural conversation where art and real-life mysteries intersect, capturing anxieties about liminal spaces, isolation, and unseen dangers.
Final Floor
So, was she going up? Or going down? Elisa Lam’s story ends without clarity. The elevator doors never closed in that footage. The buttons never seemed to work. She vanished, only to be found far above where any rational answer could place her.
Like the final lines of “Elevator Girl”, we’re left spinning: “Going up, going down / Going up, going down, hell yeah!”
As listeners, as viewers, as people obsessed with the unresolved — we’re trapped on the ride. Still watching, waiting, still wondering which floor we just got off.