The Fame Review

RedOne's production sounds plastic in a way that has aged better than the more tasteful records of the same year, because it never pretended to be anything else. Just Dance and Poker Face are ruthlessly efficient: four on the floor, a synth stab, a chorus that arrives inside thirty seconds, and a hook made out of nonsense syllables that lodges permanently. Paparazzi is the best song here and the one hint of what she would become, a stalker ballad with a strange minor key ache under the gloss.

Beautiful, Dirty, Rich sets out the thesis with no shame at all. What is missing is any writing worth the name. The lyrics are a shopping list of money, cameras, discos and boys, delivered with total conviction and zero depth, and the album's fascination with fame never gets beyond wanting it. As a piece of pop machinery it is close to perfect and it still fills a room. As a record it is thin.