Lady Gaga returns to Glasgow (she debuted here opening for Pussycat Dolls last summer) to showcase her very own kink-pop juggernaut, equal parts high-end fashion experiment and ingenious pop alchemy. The sheer stupidity of the scale of this production threatens to overshadow the pop nuggets from her gajillion-selling debut played out here tonight, but it quickly becomes apparent that the best thing to do is just sit back and enjoy the ride.

So we get Gaga the perspex nun on a NYC subway car; Gaga the giant fringed tooth; Gaga the moving snowflake/ butterfly/ king prawn from space and a dozen others, all of which are paraded around in a very off-Broadway back alley club where seamy meets glitter in spectacular fashion.

Her desire to inject some kind of sub-Wizard of Oz narrative into the proceedings is just folly – this is pure pop bluster, taking Madonna’s propensity for shock and awe into the 31st century. So by the time she gets eaten by a giant tentacled fish at the climax of ‘Paparazzi’ we’re not even shocked or confused, just delighted.