If there’s one woman who can wake an amateur blogger from his daytime television induced stupor, it’s Madonna. After a three-year hiatus making snooze-worthy movies and copping off with barely legal boys, the Benjamin Button of pop makes a triumphant return to music, with her latest single, Give Me All Your Luvin’.

Sporting freshly plumped cheeks and those (now obligatory) leatherette gloves, Madge has roped in M.I.A., Nicki Minaj and Martin Solveig for some extra cool points. But is the video worthy of your attention? Let’s investigate…

Some pointless ponitificating about the nature of celebrity... DO GET ON WITH IT!

Yes, yes the cheerleaders gone wild theme has been done to death, but she's probably keen to win over the yanks.

This is how I imagine Madonna enters EVERY room... by breaking the door down with a pram whist wreathed in clouds of dry ice.

This woman is 53 years old, and her arse looks way better than yours.

This probably won't be entered into Madge's approved list of flattering camera angles.

M.I.A. tries her best not to look bored.

I'm taking a wild stab in the dark that this is a vague reference to Madge being a MILF.

It wouldn't be a Madonna video without a bit of lezzing off.

Oh dear, not even Madonna is immune to the charms of corporate sponsorship :(

53 YEAR-OLD GUSSET ALERT!

The teapot dance goes HORRIBLY wrong.

Quite possibly the least successful 'sexy wink' of all time, but brilliant nonetheless.

Ta-da! Yes very good Madonna, well done you.

In summary… AMAZING! Welcome back Madonna.

Pop Specs rating:

I love a good heiress. Whether it’s Paris Hilton stuffing coke up her vajayjay (allegedly), or Chloe Green flaunting her – frankly more scandalous – mug on Made In Chelsea, there’s nothing quite like an heiress to inject some much needed LOLs into our otherwise miserable, poverty stricken lives.

Tamara ‘I’m sweating like a whore in church’ Ecclestone is the latest silver tongued heiress with more money than manners, to be thrust down the nation’s throat curtesy of Channel 5′s new reality series, Tamara Ecclestone: Billion $$ Girl.

Daughter of motor racing mogul, Bernie Ecclestone, Tamara says she hopes the show will prove she’s not a vacuous air-head, before inexplicably proclaiming ‘shoes make me happy’ and  - without the slightest sense of irony – that she’d rather collect Birkin handbags than art. Mission accomplished, Tamara.

As everyone knows, a good heiress is not complete without an assortment of pampered pooches to poo all over their Billion $$ pad and Tamara is no exception. A chauffeur driven trip to Harrods sees Tamara treat her five, four-legged friends to blueberry facials, painted nails and oh, so essential ‘sparkle treatments’. Does PETA know what this woman subjects her dogs to?

But life’s not all about Louboutins, Lamborghinis and laser cellulite removal for Tamara. Apparently there’s a head for business hidden under those Gary Cockerill teased tresses, and there are plans afoot for Tamara to ‘take the world by storm’ by deploying the ultimate weapon in an heiress armoury… A SHAMPOO LINE!

However things get off to a rocky start, when Tamara’s Billion $$ dad threatens legal action after getting wind of her plans to name the shampoo ‘Formula One’, and QVC give it a resounding thumbs down for being too downmarket. I don’t think Katie Price will be quaking in her pink Uggs just yet :(

When she’s not checking herself into hospital to receive emergency treatment for an ‘enormous’ – aka barely noticeable – spot (I wish I was joking), Tamara likes to holiday with her Billion $$ sister, Petra at LEAST once a month.

Special mention must go to Petra’s odious beau, James ‘it’s all about the Benjamins’ Stunt, who chain-smokes and guffaws his way through a disastrous trip to Cannes, whilst sporting a Brentwood-slicked barnet and succession of brilliantly tasteless Billion $$ outfits. This man deserves a show of his own.

In summary, Tamara Eccleston: Billion $$ Girl manages to reaffirm all the preconceptions we have of over-privileged offspring, whilst  providing very little entertainment along the way. Thank heavens for small mercies that Channel 5 only commissioned three episodes and that Tamara Ecclestone will be disappearing back into Billion $$ obscurity very soon.

Tamara Ecclestone: Billion $$ Girl is on Channel 5 on Fridays, at 10:30pm.

Pop Specs rating:

Many artists have attempted to follow in the dildo-heeled footsteps of Lady Gaga, and thus far, all have limped embarrassingly off into obscurity (we may forgive, Sabrina Washington, but we most certainly do NOT forget).

Enter stage left, Natalia Kills, the latest young pretender to Gaga’s crown, who on paper at least, appears to have enough credentials to challenge pop’s monstrous matriarch.

Having been signed by will.i.am and placed with Gaga’s former label, Cherrytree Records, Kills has since gone on to work with a string of Gaga collaborators, including Akon, Laurieann Gibson and the dubiously monikered über-producer ‘Cherry Cherry Boom Boom‘.

At first glance there’s a lot to dislike about Natalia Kills. Bradford born and bred, she’s somehow developed a pseudo-American accent that even Joss Stone would be proud of. To compound things even further, Kills has produced a series of overbearingly noirish, art-house videos that seem horribly contrived when you realise she was once a star of your mum’s favourite radio play, The Archers.

And so we arrive at Natalia Kills’ debut release, Perfectionist, an album which is saturated with the dark, over-stylised sheen of her wearying stage persona, and yet somehow manages to be pretty enjoyable nonetheless.

Break You Hard provides one of the album’s early highlights, an aggressive mid-tempo number peppered with the sounds of breaking glass and electric guitar. Dodgy spoken interludes aside, Love Is a Suicide and Superficial offer plenty of electro-ear candy with an assortment of bleeps and distorted vocals which are oh so de rigeur these days.

Mirrors is Kills’ most blatant Gaga impersonation, combining the familiar electro-pop sound of Just Dance with the sexually aggressive lyrics of Rihanna’s S&M. It’s the sort of song you could imagine going down well at a Lambrini-fuelled Anne Summer’s party.

Things take a more interesting turn with Zombie, which mixes up tribal beats with a haunting femmebot vocal, while Free sees Kills momentarily cast aside her oblique demeanour to provide the album’s most unashamedly pop moment.

Unfortunately Perfectionist runs out of steam a little early, with later tracks, Broke, Heaven and If I was God failing to make much of an impression on these ears at least. Which is a shame really, because the rest of the album is really rather good!

So will Natalia Kills manage to topple Lady Gaga from her mermaid wheelchair? I very much doubt it. But if you can overlook her excruciatingly editorial posturing and occasional dalliances into copycat territory, you might just discover an artist capable of delivering reasonably worthwhile pop fodder.

Pop Specs rating:

• The X Factor USA is highly likely to be AMAZING.
• That salmon sweater is most definitely not amazing, but is probably just there for the LOLZ.
• It’s finally time to move on from Cheryl gate, and leave her languishing in the adulterous arms of Ashley Cole.
• Paula Abdul is (thankfully) still off her nut.
• Slow motion strutting to the sounds of Guns ‘n’ Roses is never less than brilliant.
• Nicole Scherziwatsit is going to look very pretty in all sorts of dresses and shoes and stuff.
• It’s safe to say that Steve Jones is now ‘going places’ since presenting 101 Ways to Leave a Gameshow.

In summary: 10/10

This week we were treated to E4′s latest slice of reality pie, in the form of Dirty Sexy Things. A show which follows the fabulous lives of eight suitably gorgeous models living and working in London town. So far, so brilliantly generic.

However upon settling down to watch this latest feast of eye-candy, it became immediately apparent that things aren’t quite what they seem:

TRANSLATION: Some of this programme is a lie.

Cryptically described by E4 as a ‘concept-doc’, the appearance of that increasingly ubiquitous pre-titles disclaimer suggests that Dirty Sexy Things is poised to dip it’s immaculately manicured toe into the murky waters of scripted reality.

Now I’m happy to play along with the likes of The Only Way is Essex, comfortable in the knowledge that it’s all completely staged rubbish and just a bit of cartoonish fun. But somehow the motives of E4′s latest effort seem more insidious, when they choose to feature painfully real issues that the likes of TOWIE (thankfully) shy away from.

Case in point is model, Jay. A likeable ‘modern day Del-boy’ who is described on the Dirty Sexy Things website as:

Self-confessed ‘sometime diva’ who loves a good party, being in front of the camera and being back home with his mum.

Yes, yes, all jolly good fun. And yet in episode one, Jay reveals his long-term battle with weight and body image that tests his resolve during the very first underwear shoot.

Now I’m not suggesting that Jay’s issues are fabricated (because they clearly aren’t), but I think E4′s playing a dangerous game by exploring these kind of problems in anything less than a completely honest format. And to me, THAT pre-titles disclaimer only makes an audience question the truth in everything they see.

Anyway, serious rant over. Let’s get back to the fun stuff.

Eschewing the traditional ‘search for a star’ format of other model-centric shows, Dirty Sexy Things follows photographer to the rich and famous, Perou and his recurring cast of models on an eight-week ‘project’ that will ‘challenge his own abilities as well as push his models to the extreme’.  All suitably vague, with just enough structure to hang a show off.

So what of the models themselves?

All in all, they’re a reasonably likeable bunch of model archetypes helpfully pigeonholed by Perou in his shopping list of requirements before the staged open casting. We’ve got a beef cake, kooky waif, preppy boy, Russian beauty, bit of rough etc. etc. Pretty much something for everyone then.

BB - dancer to the stars... and Alexandra Burke.

X Factor fans will probably recognise BB (which apparently stands for Black Beauty… but probably not THAT Black Beauty). He’s a professional dancer who’s appeared on stage with the likes of Alexandra Burke, Mariah Carey, Alexandra Burke, Rihanna and er… Alexandra Burke (he mentions Alexandra Burke A LOT).

Perverts amongst you will be pleased to note that E4 seems intent on maximising the amount of flesh on display at all times. When the models aren’t standing around in their underwear, they’re either taking clothes off or putting clothes on. Which means you’re usually only a minute or two away from a well packaged bulge, pert buttock or thinly veiled nipple.

In summary then, Dirty Sexy Things looks like it could offer a modicum of fun. And while I might not be entirely comfortable with certain aspects of it’s ‘scripted reality’, it should at least provide some dubious titillation over the coming weeks.

Dirty Sexy Things is on E4 on Mondays, at 10pm

Pop Specs rating:

Not content with her assault on the nation’s eardrums, Cher Lloyd yesterday gave our eyes an unwelcome battering, with the video release of Swagger Jagger. Is it any good? Well yes and no (but mostly no). Let’s weigh up the pros and cons.

Good points:

• They’ve obviously spent more money on Cher than usual for an X Factor reject (bad luck Belle Aime).
• The whole ordeal lasts only 3 minutes and 26 seconds.
• That BRILLIANTLY demented YouTube video thumbnail.

Philippa Hole - not to be confused with Cher Lloyd.

Bad points:

• Cher Lloyd features quite heavily in it.
• She’s evidently been shot in the face by Homer Simpson’s make-up gun.
• The song still sounds like fingernails down a blackboard.

In conclusion:

• Cher Lloyd’s ‘swagger’ is unlikely to appeal to anyone over the age of 15.
• The amount of of financial investment in Cher means we’ll probably have to tolerate her for at least the next 18-months.
• Whoever selected that AMAZING video thumbnail has more than likely been fired. Sad times.

Ok, I’ll admit that I’m still smarting over that underwhelming Edge of Glory video, but Lady Gaga managed to partially redeem herself today, by posting this suitably bonkers photo on her tumblr, Amen†Fashion.

Entitled, ‘PRIVATE IN PUBLIC’, the photo is probably meant to convey a terribly serious message about personal boundaries, gender roles or some such rubbish. Personally, I’m just happy to gawp at that worrying crop of blue under-arm fuzz.

Also to be found on Amen†Fashion are a selection of bewildering inspiring pearls of wisdom from the Mother Monster herself, including:

I’VE LEARNED LOVE IT LIKE A BRICK YOU CAN BUILD A HOUSE OR SINK A DEAD BODY

Yeah, I’ve got no idea what it means either. But let’s be honest, The Saturdays aren’t likely to start spouting amazing twaddle like this any time soon now are they?

If you’ve ever wanted to peek inside the frappuccino fuelled mind of an irreparably damaged popstar, today is your lucky day! Britney has released her video for I Wanna Go, and it’s a head-spinning mess of misjudged humour, ham-fisted pop-culture references and confusing sexual imagery.

WARNING: This video includes no ‘Britney dancing’ in the traditional sense. After the dance-double shit storm of Till The World Ends, this is probably for the best. What we have instead is some underwhelming (and significantly less taxing) ‘Britney bopping’. Sad face.

Britney demonstrates her potty mouth. I like to imagine she talks like this 99% of the time... especially in front of her kids.

WHO IS THIS? Answers on a postcard please...

POP PORN! Someone alert the Daily Mail.

Britney goes for a grope - don't worry, it's not classed as sexual assault if the victim loves it (cue jubilant back flip).

Inexplicable wolf-whistling baby... CHECK!

For no apparent reason, Britney flashes her assets 'for the lads'. Is this empowering? Or just plain slutty? WHAT'S GOING ON?

The money $hot - well done Volkswagen for funding this debacle.

She's just a head-shave and an umbrella away from being Britney circa 2007 (aka the halcyon days).

The not-so-subtle boob shot. PHWOAR etc etc.

Look! A reference to Britney's movie career! CLEVER!

Hang on... what?

Oh I see... this is Britney being a target of the terminator-esque paparazzo. CLEVER!

Anti-pop porn perhaps? I'm beyond confused.

Yikes! It's like Sam Lufti all over again!

In summary… WHAT A BLOODY MONGREL!

Lady Gaga videos are usually something to get excited about. In ordinary circumstances, I would have spent a happy twenty minutes posting a selection of the most hilariously bonkers frames and revelling in the multi-million dollar madness of it all.

But not today.

Unfortunately there’s simply no escaping the fact that Lady Gaga’s video for The Edge of Glory is shit. Not just a little bit shit, but really, REALLY shit. So shit in fact, that I practically nodded off halfway though the five and a half minute snooze-a-thon.

For some people, the ‘stripped back’ video thing really works (Robyn, I’m looking at you). But not in this case. Prancing around the Sesame Street set in some Versace S&M gear just doesn’t cut it Lady Gaga. I wanted an army of dancers, 12 outfit changes, 32 technicolour wigs and weird things popping out of your va-jay-jay!

I’m seriously considering going back to bed and pretending that today never happened :(

Unfortunately for Cher, her much-hyped debut single leaked yesterday, and is proving to be as polarising as the girl herself. If you’ve not heard the full thing, head over to Perez Hilton now and give your ears some punishment.

Yes you heard it correctly, the song is entitled Swagger Jagger. I have no idea what that means either, probably because I’m too old, painfully uncool and one of the many ‘haters’ Cher insists on banging on about relentlessly.

In any case, my thoughts on Swagger Jagger can be summarised as follows: WHAT A BLOODY RACKET!

Tweeting about  yesterday’s unfortunate leakage, Cher sobbed:

i’ve never been this upset ever!

i worked so hard, and people wanna ruin it for me, if you wanted to hurt me you’ve done a great job.

please dont do this to me. i wish i was at home with my family, i’ve been through enough this year.

me and my brats are stronger than this!! come onnnn! lets get em !!!!

Er… ok, so by the sounds of things we should all prepare ourselves for an uprising of leisurewear-clad Cher Lloyd fans in retaliation for leaking her below-par single.

As an aside, can I please make a request that the entire planet ceases to use the terms ‘swag’ and ‘swagger’ immediately! The situation has literally gotten out of all control. Much obliged!

Have you heard of Florrie yet? Probably not, but you SHOULD because she’s proving herself to be more than capable of churning out highly listenable pop music. She also appears to enjoy massive lollipops, which may or may not mean she has horrendous cavities.

For the uninitiated, here are a few Florrie facts to get you started:

1. Florrie can play the drums – she used to be the in-house drummer for Xenomania, which probably means she has amazing dirt on Girls Aloud.
2. Florrie can sing – this is a useful (although not essential) skill for anyone pursuing a career as a recording artist.
3. Florrie is not ugly – she recently fronted a Ninna Ricci perfume campaign, so you might have already seen her during the Corrie ad-breaks.
4. Florrie likes to hedge her bets – although she’s currently going ‘the independent route’ this doesn’t mean she’s anti-label or that her music is shit.
5. Florrie loves a freebee – she has a metric ton of music available to download free from her website, which is especially welcome in these tough economic times.

By her own admission, Florrie’s sound is not particularly ‘chart friendly’ at the moment. Which I presume to mean she hasn’t yet found her ‘swag’ or asked Pitbull to phone through one of his incredible (i.e. not incredible) raps.

Fortunately what we have instead is some delightfully unassuming, grown-up pop which admittedly won’t melt your face off, but most definitely ‘rewards repeated listens’ (whatever that actually means).

Her latest six track EP, Experiments costs just £1.79 which my GCSE maths tells me equates to roughly 30p per song. You really could do a lot worse than buy it.

Nice one ginge.

In an age where record companies are chucking millions of dollars at the latest Gaga or Beyoncé epic, it’s somewhat refreshing to see Robyn continue to do her thing on a shoestring.

The video’s concept basically equates to this:

(Robyn + bonkers dance moves) x (warehouse + disco lights) = Amazing³

Other things to note include: a potential revival of Spice Girls era platform trainers and that it’s perfectly acceptable to conclude a music video by wiping your nose.

Wednesdays are rubbish. It’s traditionally the point at which you realise you’re only halfway through the week and it’s at least another two full days before you can blow all your wages on wine and gin.

To make this Wednesday extra specially depressing, it was last night announced that Olly Murs has somehow managed to land himself the job of co-hosting this year’s Xtra Factor. I’m breaking all rules of convention by pouring myself a consolatory double gin immediately.

So in the wake of this latest X Factor bombshell (not to be confused with that other X Factor bombshell), what can we expect from Mr Murs when he eventually hits our screens in August? Here are a few woefully uninformed predictions:

• An assortment of mildly irritating hats – all perched jauntily at the back of the head of course.
• Spontaneous (i.e. carefully rehearsed) dad dancing of the cringeworthy variety.
• Random and inexplicable references to Bob Marley and/or other vanguards of the reggae genre.
• Trousers which leave very little to the imagination.

So there you are, lots to look forward to from Xtra Factor and Olly Murs in the months to come! Who’d have thought we’d ever be wishing Konnie Huq back?

Well that didn’t last long! It sounds like Cheryl Cole’s American dream might have already gone tits up, with it being widely reported that our Geordie princess has been sacked from the X Factor USA judging panel!

SAY IT ISN’T SO, PET!

If true, it’s pretty safe to assume this will rank highly amongst Chezza’s extensive list of previous pubic embarrassments, namely:

• Bashing that toilet attendant.
• Marrying someone who wears horrendous underpants.
• Getting cheated on by someone who wears horrendous underpants.
• Mentoring Katie Weasel.
• Getting cheated on AGAIN by someone who wears horrendous underpants.
• Shagging Derek Hough (allegedly).
• Catching malaria (which actually isn’t embarrassing at all, but is now one of those pivotal ‘Cheryl events’ you feel compelled to mention at every opportunity).

Speculation has run wild as to the reasons behind her untimely dismissal; was it her ‘incomprehensible’ (i.e. not incomprehensible) accent? Did she have a bust-up with queen bee, Paula Abdul? Or was that massive mane of hair a follicle too far?

Whatever the case, I’m sure Cheryl is currently knocking back the gins with her ever-present mum, Joan and cursing the day Simon Cowell ever darkened her door.

This is something I never thought I’d write, but I’ve just been blown away by an antiques programme. A SODDING ANTIQUES PROGRAMME!!!!

The show in question is Four Rooms, Channel 4′s unique take on the Sunday afternoon snooze-a-thon, which manages to combine the best bits of Dragon’s Den and er… Dickinson’s Real Deal to create something completely AMAZING!

The concept is simple, members of the public bring in their prize possessions, and are given the opportunity to visit the titular four rooms. Within each room sits one of the country’s leading wheeler-dealers, who will (hopefully) make them an offer they can’t refuse.

Just don’t come knocking with a bit of chipped Clarice Cliff or your grandad’s collection of war medals, as these dealers are only interested in exceptional and unique pieces you won’t find anywhere else. So unless you’ve got a loo brush once used by Nelson Mandela, or a pair of Marilyn Monroe’s dirty drawers you’d be better off on The Antiques Roadshow.

The snag is, that any offer made by a dealer is only valid whilst they are in the room. If the contestant decides to leave the room and visit any of the remaining three dealers in the hope of more money, the offer is withdrawn. Cue a great deal of procrastination as a members of the public wrestle with the greedy instincts.

I’ll admit, when you attempt to describe the show’s format it really doesn’t sound that revolutionary. But when offers upwards of £40k start being made (for a bloody ripped painting no less) it gets nail bitingly good!

The dealers are a brilliantly eccentric bunch, and thankfully much more interesting than the crusty old tinkers David Dickinson wheels out week on week. In particular Emma Hawkins, a leather-clad, she-devil with an icy stare who specialises in ‘the macabre’ and sits on a throne made of antlers (I shit you not!). She could pretty much take out Deborah Meaden without breaking a sweat.

Equally brilliant is Jeffrey Salmon, an outspoken art dealer with a penchant for flamboyant scarves who drew gasps from his fellow dealers after buying a collection of Princess Di’s Christmas cards on the throw of a dice.

Next week’s collection of bonkers bric-a-brac includes a four-tonne concrete wall (which just so happens to have a Banksy mural on it), a Victorian hangman’s rope and the nose cone from Concord. I think it’s safe to say that David Dickinson’s permatan brilliance has been well and truly eclipsed :(

Four Rooms is on Channel 4 on Tuesdays, at 8pm.

Pop Specs rating:

Personal favourites include the official Justin Bieber rosette (for those occasions when an ordinary rosette just won’t do), the official and in no way ridiculous Justin Bieber headband, and the official Justin Bieber cheer shorts – which have ‘Bieber’s Girl’ tastefully emblazoned across the underaged arse cheeks of course.

Spurred on by the overwhelming success of his nail polish range (WTF!?), the Biebster has now bottled his very own musky teenage scent, alluringly titled, Someday.

Amazingly, the TV commercial seems to suggest that one squirt of Bieber juice will result in some over-ethusiastic neck nuzzling and piggy-back-ride from a Boy’s Dont Cry era Hilary Swank!?

Now if that doesn’t get half a billion teenage girls soiling their Bieber branded knickers, I don’t know what will.

Pop Specs,
The Arse End of Nowhere,
Leicester,
UK.

Dear Avril Lavigne,

Since 2002 you’ve been producing above average pop music of the angsty-teen variety. And whilst I have enjoyed (almost) everything you’ve released over the past nine years, I feel compelled to write you this letter having just watched your latest video, Smile.

A lot has happened since you first shot to fame with Complicated: Governments have waged war on terror, Lindsay Lohan enjoyed a brief holiday in Lesbos and Claire from Steps made a career out of getting fat. And yet on planet Avril, time appears to have stood resolutely still.

Oh so rebellious green hair, pseudo-punk-rock graffiti and dressing like a 12-year-old hooker is all well and good if you’re actually 12 and hoping your strung-out parents will notice you. But let’s be honest, at the ripe old age of 26, this sort of behaviour is starting to look a little weird.

With a marriage and subsequent divorce under your belt, it’s pretty safe to say that you’re already waist-deep in the murky waters of adulthood. And with your 30s fast approaching, I think that a radical change in image is LONG overdue.

Perhaps for your next video you might consider a treatment that’s more relatable to your ageing fan-base? Lip-synching whilst battling the onset of middle-aged spread for example? Or rocking out in the homeware department of Debenhams perhaps?

And while we’re at it, why not ditch those mouldy tresses and emo threads for something age appropriate? Nothing says ‘mature woman’ more than a low-maintenance bob, a floral print blouse and a pair of palazzo pants.

If you decide to run with any of my (frankly amazing) suggestions, please forward 5% of all future royalties to the above address.

Kind regards,

Pop Specs x

From the looks of her latest video, Woburn Safari Park might be missing a few of its prize specimens!? But credit where credit’s due, at least she didn’t stuff them like Rihanna.

Still not sure about the song, but I certainly hope that sand hasn’t found its way into any unsightly crevices… yeast infections can be a bitch to get rid of.

Unless you’ve been in a cultural coma for the past three months, you’ll know that Lady Gaga‘s relentlessly hyped album, Born This Way is released on Monday (cue two billion ‘little monsters’ collectively jizzing their pants).

Unfortunately, you’re also likely to have already heard most of what the album has to offer, thanks to a tsunami of spoilers which have included catwalk shows, pre-release downloads, full album streams and a particularly dubious tie-in with, er… Farmville.

So with all sense of release-day excitement completely obliterated (well done marketing types), what’s the album actually like?

PRETTY FUCKING AMAZING.

At the risk of sounding like one of Gaga’s paw waving fanatics, almost every track on Born This Way is roughly seven and a half times more interesting than anything heard on her debut album, The Fame (which was by no-means rubbish).

A dance album at heart, Born This Way is dripping with flamboyant excess, incorporating an eclectic and often baffling mix of influences. Expect to hear some amazingly 80′s saxophone, a raved-up mariachi band, a smattering of Gregorian chanting and even a cameo from Mr Anita Dobson.

Remarkably, it all comes together in a cohesive and brilliantly unique way, creating an album stuffed with potential hits that are all unmistakably Gaga. And yes, those bat-shit crazy, pseudo-European accents are BACK!

Early singles, Born This Way and Judas are Lady Gaga at her most traditional and serve as a great introduction to the album. However it’s surprise hit, The Edge of Glory which manages to pack the bigger punch, and is perhaps more representative of her evolved sound.

Government Hooker is a deliciously theatrical slice of electro sleaze, that would definitely be my stripper music if I were to ever become an actual stripper. While Schiße is a balls to the wall techno belter that will have you clamouring to book the next available budget flight to Berlin.

After a slow start, Marry The Night erupts into a euphoric chorus that’s matched only by Hair in its celebratory sense of gay abandon. You and I is the album’s one obligatory piano rock number, that’s thankfully much better here than previously performed by that ghastly girl on American Idol.

Are there any weak tracks? No, not really. Bad Kids and Highway Unicorn don’t connect with me as instantly as the rest of the album. But they’re far from rubbish, and hardcore little monsters are bound to love them unreservedly.

So despite the questionable artwork and her recent dalliances with prosthetic horns, Lady Gaga has managed to produce her strongest body of work to date. An epic album which will undoubtably sell by the bucketload and cement her position as pop’s most fascinating figurehead.

Pop Specs rating: