Lady Gaga – Poker Face

Poker is the glamour sport of the noughties and to celebrate Lady Gaga is “bluffin’ with her muffin”.

Lady Gaga (not her real name) is the real deal, apparently. She’s paid her dooos in the New York club scene, combining a love for high camp exhibitionism and hot pants. That’s right, Lady Gaga isn’t an heiress, didn’t win second prize in a beauty contest, didn’t weep on a talent quest, and isn’t some gossip column serial pest — she’s a super-talented all-singing, all-dancing pop supernova.

That being the case, why is p-p-p-Poker Face so irredeemably crap?!

Let’s take a look at the flop (a poker term) to find out.

Lady Gaga writes her own lyrics, and it shows. With gems like “I’m just stunnin’ with my love-glue-gunning” there’s not much to commend Poker Face’s lyrical content.

Lady Gaga designs her own outfits, and it shows. A PVC body-condom tag teams with a bizarro shoulder-padded one-piece swimsuit, Pocahontas’ glove, and some silver sequined monstrosity — in short, even Freddie Mercury would have baulked.

Lady Gaga performs a lot of the own synth work, and it shows — sounds crummy.

In fact, it wouldn’t suprise me if Lady Gaga designed her own wigs (what with that white mop on her scone, she’s the spit of Donatella Versace — not a compliment), did her own nails (should be returned to the Bollywood props department), took care of her own choreography (the gyrating party scenes are like something out of The Muppets), and spec’ed her own masks (at least one mirrorball died for the cause). All up, it’s a dog’s breakfast. In fact, even the dogs are a dog’s breakfast — a pair of Marmaduke/101 Dalmation mongrels make an appearance.

Speaking of ‘appearances’, Poker Face packs the least sensitive product placement I’ve seen since James Bond was caught sipping a Smirnoff martini, checking the time on his Omega, while driving his Aston Martin. Printed smack dab in the middle of the video’s poker table — a game which soon descends into some good old-fashioned writhing strip poker — is the URL for Bwin… some grotty on-line gambling depot. Eurgh.

I know disposable pop will always be with us and not every song on the charts will be covered in 20 years’ time by some earnest busker with an acoustic guitar and a blues harp, but Poker Face is just so disposable, so two-dimensional, so forgettable it’s impossible not to… um… where was I? Nevermind. — CH

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