Happy 18th Birthday to THE FAME ⚡️

[GAGA IS GROOVY 817]

And, happy 18th anniversary to this iconic The Fame era moment. 

"Are you able to explain exactly what a disco stick is?"

Edited 7 hours ago by GAGA IS GROOVY

[bxr 2,442]

Aww …  

Pop: grab your old girl with her new tricks; if this were Gaga’s first and last album, it would be just as complete as it is in context as a dynasty starter.

Spoiler

[Paraphrasing]

The Fame is nothing more and nothing less than a perfect Pop debut through and through. Visceral, catchy, panoramic, reflective, progressive, chock full of hit singles, formidable filler, and fun; foreshadowing or foreboding depending on how you look at it – and yet, so very simple. 

Disco – Electronic Dance music – is universal, it is liberating, it is innate, it is self-made, it is the high-hated, it can’t pay rent but it is gorgeous, and it’s never dead – just beautysleeping in a trance, but never sleeping to dream: and this is The Fame.

The Fame is Pop; Pop is as personal, as it is political, as it is a commercial vehicle. The Fame is exactly the same; each song is a scene from a story, and it means whatever you want it to mean.

So, we venture along as the Lady reminds us of this lovelorn path most stumbled: the path of Pop stardom, the little boy monster. “Hold me and love me, just wanna touch you for a minute / Maybe three seconds is enough for my heart to quit it;” it all comes down to one question: “Do you want love, or you want fame?” Art is passion, fame is vapid: vanity please, Ladies first.

Then come the Paparazzi, and with the fatal flashes come the fans, the fiends, the frenemies, the cold cruel world beneath the hot, hot lights. Fame is crumbling beneath the weight of your own ego, The Fame is making it work and faking it until then – fight flash with the facade; you don’t hustle this hard to fall harder. Gaga just danced her way into a love game with the industry, willy-nilly and aloof, but beneath the pink haired My Little Pony shell was a Trojan Horse.

Pulling yourself up by the bootstraps, when you’ve only got stripper heels to pay your way through college: and this is The Fame.

Where before she knocked on fame’s door with a formal request for entry into the house, she now knocks the door down; riding in on the four singles of the Pop Apocalypse, her own Haus in tow. The kids do the dance right, they have got it made like ice cream topped with honey; they’ve got the red light scope dead set on two things: the father and the fame; Daddy I’m so sorry: bang, bang.

 

The beautiful, dirty, rich ones want nothing more than to overthrow the entitled in a Clockwork Orange County coup; if New York is where stars are born, and L.A. is where they go to die, the beautiful, dirty, rich are infantile, and the famous are a beautiful lie.

The Fame is funny because it’s true, but funnier if it weren’t. Gaga wrote it into being, and if this were her first and last album she would have a famous obituary; but her inevitably legendary career will be looked back on with The Fame as the starting point – the catalyst, not the final mark of success: and this is The Fame.

So here, we find ourselves looking back on 2008: the institutions had crumbled; celebrity had collapsed; the grand old party had ended; Hamptonite billionaires became slumdog millionaires — the top dropped. Yet with their last ounce of influence, they gave the false American ideal to us: that their reality check was our dream deferred, that we had failed – but when the everyman had nothing, it was nothing new, and for those who had nothing again, we had nothing to lose.

It is timeless, and senseless, with no direction, just vamp; here today, gone tomorrow, if you want it: 

 

[River 127,926]

La Femme is THAT bitch

[River 127,926]

3 hours ago, NUTELLA said:

Came out swinging 🎂

if u zoom in, u can see some dark hair on her nose 

[ManMan 3,963]

RedOne samsh, not GaGa !

[Lucas 31,323]

1 hour ago, River said:

La Femme

Who's gonna tell him 

[River 127,926]

Just now, Lucas said:

Who's gonna tell him 

Britney's Fame Fatal is about the killing fame

La Femme is about The Woman 

everybody knows that

[Takox 646]

Justice for Again Again not being available on most countries

[Mirrion Rizzons 12,743]

I was 6 

Gaga was the first popstar I fell in love with, as soon as I heard just dance in early 2009

[gagacabana 7,819]

2 hours ago, warhol killah said:

Happy 18 to THE FAME! ⚡

 

THIS IS LOOKING SUPERB 

[Murakami27 8,609]

3 hours ago, Bronco said:

Lemme get her a drink

She needs to be 21 to drink 

[warhol killah 9,167]

30 minutes ago, gagacabana said:

THIS IS LOOKING SUPERB 

full evolution video out in a few hours 

[Bronco 26,401]

29 minutes ago, Murakami27 said:

She needs to be 21 to drink 

Not in the UK 

[ALonelyNight 630]

6 hours ago, Skyana Rava said:

I was 15 years old 

I was 7 

I misheard the lyrics of Poker Face when it would play over the summer camp bus - "can't read my" became "cutie pie", and so I called it the Cutie Pie Song, it was my favorite in 2009

Edited 4 hours ago by ALonelyNight

[gagacabana 7,819]

2 hours ago, bxr said:

Aww …  

Pop: grab your old girl with her new tricks; if this were Gaga’s first and last album, it would be just as complete as it is in context as a dynasty starter.

  Reveal hidden contents

[Paraphrasing]

The Fame is nothing more and nothing less than a perfect Pop debut through and through. Visceral, catchy, panoramic, reflective, progressive, chock full of hit singles, formidable filler, and fun; foreshadowing or foreboding depending on how you look at it – and yet, so very simple. 

Disco – Electronic Dance music – is universal, it is liberating, it is innate, it is self-made, it is the high-hated, it can’t pay rent but it is gorgeous, and it’s never dead – just beautysleeping in a trance, but never sleeping to dream: and this is The Fame.

The Fame is Pop; Pop is as personal, as it is political, as it is a commercial vehicle. The Fame is exactly the same; each song is a scene from a story, and it means whatever you want it to mean.

So, we venture along as the Lady reminds us of this lovelorn path most stumbled: the path of Pop stardom, the little boy monster. “Hold me and love me, just wanna touch you for a minute / Maybe three seconds is enough for my heart to quit it;” it all comes down to one question: “Do you want love, or you want fame?” Art is passion, fame is vapid: vanity please, Ladies first.

Then come the Paparazzi, and with the fatal flashes come the fans, the fiends, the frenemies, the cold cruel world beneath the hot, hot lights. Fame is crumbling beneath the weight of your own ego, The Fame is making it work and faking it until then – fight flash with the facade; you don’t hustle this hard to fall harder. Gaga just danced her way into a love game with the industry, willy-nilly and aloof, but beneath the pink haired My Little Pony shell was a Trojan Horse.

Pulling yourself up by the bootstraps, when you’ve only got stripper heels to pay your way through college: and this is The Fame.

Where before she knocked on fame’s door with a formal request for entry into the house, she now knocks the door down; riding in on the four singles of the Pop Apocalypse, her own Haus in tow. The kids do the dance right, they have got it made like ice cream topped with honey; they’ve got the red light scope dead set on two things: the father and the fame; Daddy I’m so sorry: bang, bang.

 

The beautiful, dirty, rich ones want nothing more than to overthrow the entitled in a Clockwork Orange County coup; if New York is where stars are born, and L.A. is where they go to die, the beautiful, dirty, rich are infantile, and the famous are a beautiful lie.

The Fame is funny because it’s true, but funnier if it weren’t. Gaga wrote it into being, and if this were her first and last album she would have a famous obituary; but her inevitably legendary career will be looked back on with The Fame as the starting point – the catalyst, not the final mark of success: and this is The Fame.

So here, we find ourselves looking back on 2008: the institutions had crumbled; celebrity had collapsed; the grand old party had ended; Hamptonite billionaires became slumdog millionaires — the top dropped. Yet with their last ounce of influence, they gave the false American ideal to us: that their reality check was our dream deferred, that we had failed – but when the everyman had nothing, it was nothing new, and for those who had nothing again, we had nothing to lose.

It is timeless, and senseless, with no direction, just vamp; here today, gone tomorrow, if you want it: 

 

Such a fun glamorous reading, just like The Fame