Lady GaGa stands motionless in a show-all dress made from a smashed discoball, and launches herself into ‘Paparazzi’. It’s the beginning of a scintillating, stunningly theatrical pop performance with a strong Warholian bent. ‘Money Honey’ features wild lewd and lascivious dancing of a decidedly adults-only nature, tons of dry ice and blinding lights; the heavy guitars and scrawling synth of ‘Money Honey’ has what seems like the entirety of Cork stamping its rebellious feet.
Though the music is ‘enhanced’ heavily with recorded backing tracks, this is by no means a shameless Britney lip-synch affair. The Lady’s deceptively powerful voice rings out clearly to the back seats: the coquettish ‘Boys Boys Boys’ blares as she orders the crowd to “dance with me.” What choice have we put to obey?
Zillion-selling hits ‘Just Dance’ and ‘Pokerface’ are explosive, as is her between song-banter (example: “the sound of applause from Lady Gaga fans is like thousands of fingers rubbing my clitoris”).
Gaga is a fine performer, coming on like a younger, blonder version of Liza Minnelli, a born stage diva with an instinctive understanding of what a crowd wants. Unless you're an utter snob, how can you possibly resist her arty charms?