At last Gaga finds a faster way to travel across the room than walking in those heels. Image via phombo.com

As a former riot-grrl born in the (mid to) late seventies, I am perfectly placed achieve maximum enjoyment from Lady Gaga’s brand of catchy pop tuneage and flamboyant costume. The timing of my birth ensured that I would never be without a kick ass, peroxide ravaged, New York based female rock icon in my life and now I’m not sure I could face the perils of existence alone.

But while I was young enough to regard everything that Debbie Harry did as God-like, still young enough to feel only vaguely confused when Madonna kept banging on about how she was ‘like a virgin’ (not actually a virgin, you will note, just like one), I am now apparently old enough to be mildly discomfited by Lady Gaga’s persistent claims that she ‘likes it rough’ as I’m moseying on down the High Street with my iPod on a comfortable, non-tinnitus invoking volume.

There’s no point in dwelling on the impact such words will have upon impressionable kidlings when strategically fettered to a great pop tune. While I’m certain that Gaga herself will have innumerable esoteric explanations of said lyric (presumably involving a childhood trauma with sandpaper or some such), the fact remains that the song is merely another slap in the face for young girls with hopes of a love life that doesn’t involve harnesses.

Maybe my expectations are too high. Damn you, Debbie.