floatingcity's Full Review: The Fame [Bonus Track] by Lady Gaga
Blasting onto the music scene in a wave of glitter, bubbles and spandex, Lady Gaga’s mix of flamboyant fashion and in-your-face party music has come to dominate the top of the charts, with the sleeper hit “Just Dance” and worldwide smash “Poker Face” pushing their host album “The Fame” to strong sales. Repackaging early-Eighties MTV for a generation too young to really remember it, “The Fame”’s shrewdly marketed dance-pop manages to stand out from the pack by being pretty decent – but with one major caveat.
The first time I heard this record was towards the end of 2008, and although it wasn’t going to become a must-listen for me, I thought it was a reasonable, early-Madonna-style collection of songs by someone who seemed to be refreshingly tongue-in-cheek and unpretentious. How wrong I was! Fast-forward a few months and Gaga is suddenly everywhere, with every subsequent radio and magazine interview raising her levels of affected obnoxiousness to new heights. Between the teacup, the put-on British accent, the endless ‘I’m so edgy’ statements and constant claims of wanting to make art-music fit for the Louvre (because future generations are sure to ponder the profundity of “I like you a lot, lot / Think you’re really hot, hot” with furrowed brows), my revulsion meter reached its limit, and I couldn’t stand the record anymore.
However, time passed, and I’ve warmed back up to “The Fame” – you just have to tune out its creator (and the tidal waves of nonsense that burst forth every time she opens her mouth). For a contemporary pop record, it manages to strike a good balance between production and songwriting, with the multi-layered synthesiser tones and thumping programmed beats put to use on some genuinely melodic and memorable tunes. To Gaga’s credit, she’s certainly got some talent (as evidenced by the way the songs work in her piano-only live performances) – it just needs to be refined and focused on music rather than her irritating, try-hard image.
As far as the individual numbers go, “The Fame” is surprisingly consistent for most of its UK edition’s 16-track length, only suffering when it comes to its final quarter. Lead single “Just Dance” is a pretty good indicator of what to expect, mixing a stomping beat with a couple of solid hooklines and retro-styled keyboards squirming and undulating throughout. I don’t think it’s a great track (the refrain doesn’t really go anywhere and the bridge is a clumsy, discordant mess), but as far as radio-friendly pop goes, you could do a lot worse. I much prefer “Poker Face” thanks to its irresistible chorus melody and large number of infectious vocal tics, as well as its lyrics, which rise slightly above the quagmire of hedonism and material worship most of the songs content themselves with (though “I’m bluffin’ with my muffin” remains spectacularly awful).
Three other tracks also manage to stand out, with the forthcoming “Paparazzi” boasting a killer chorus and a beat that’s a little more off-kilter than its two predecessors (though it too has a lousy bridge). “I Like It Rough” succeeds by virtue of being a straight-up melodic pop song whose verses, pre-chorus and refrain work perfectly together, and “Eh, Eh (Nothing Else I Can Say)” is an endearingly dorky break-up ditty with a cutesy, vaguely ‘tropical’ synth riff. Curiously, these are all songs that are derived from contemporary European dance music, and the more Americanised tracks don’t do much for me. “LoveGame”’s passable, but its chorus meter is so truncated that the melody becomes annoying, and it adds the term ‘disco stick’ to the long line of penis metaphors I never want to hear again. Similarly, while Gaga’s vocals bear the metallic twang characteristic of Auto-Tune (ab)use throughout the record, “Starstruck” takes it a step too far with every other line featuring a robotic yodel (it also has a gratuitous rap, which seems to be present for no reason besides crossover radio appeal).
As the album progresses, it gradually begins to struggle, with the non-stop, pseudo-ironic ‘watch me revel in my own vapidity’ theme growing steadily more grating. “Beautiful, Dirty, Rich”, “Money Honey” and the piano-focused “Paper Gangsta” are all fine, but the gimmicky title track and plodding ballad “Brown Eyes” (spoiled by intrusive guitar stabs) are a letdown after the vivacious energy of the earlier songs. By the time the sub-par, forgettable final trio has gone, you have to wonder how much better things would have been with some reordering. Still, no individual track is especially odious – an impressive feat for any artist on an album this long, and one that suggests Gaga could go the distance given a little work.
Overall, I still don’t really know what to make of Lady Gaga after listening to this record – her ability is apparent, but many of her choices both in and outside of the music bother me to the point of detracting from the songs. That said, “The Fame” works well as a (mostly) enjoyable pop record, however much it might make you wish Grace Jones would stop by her home with a little ‘surprise’. 3 stars.
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