The blank slate of pop music welcomes entertainers flashy, materialistic and audacious enough to sing endlessly without really singing about anything; pop music, thy name is Ga Ga. “Lady Blah Blah would have been pretty good, but ga ga, gaga, gaga: a monstrous orality, a tyranny of infantile desire, with the added suggestion of surfeit, overkill, something being gagged on. Perfect.”