As Torrance Shipman once said in the 2000 classic Bring It On, "Missy's the poo, so take a big whiff."While that quote doesn't really apply here (aside from suggesting that Lady Gaga is indeed "the poo"), the point is this: As the driving force behind the writing and recording process of her music, the creative director of her album artwork, music videos, tour visuals, merchandising and just about every other facet of her career, Lady Gaga is a very new kind of pop star-one that sings live, writes and records, dances, styles photo shoots and waxes poetic about the lifestyle of the artiste.

While many have managed to break the market on their own terms, I can't think of a single mainstream female pop artist in recent times who has exercised nearly as much creative control in both the audio and visual departments as Lady Gaga.

Nov. 23 saw the release of Lady Gaga's The Fame Monster, a mini concept album originally intended to be a re-release of her debut, The Fame. Written as a kind of antithesis to the subject matter of The Fame, The Fame Monster centers on horror and fears from love to loneliness and death.

After some squabbles with her label (and a few inspired writing sessions while out on her Fame Ball Tour), Lady Gaga decided that this collection of eight tracks was enough of a living creature in its own right to merit release into the wild all on its own, rather than being slapped onto a re-release of The Fame. Of course, you can still opt to purchase the album as a two-CD bundle, but as a whole, the record is capable of standing on its own feet-however many feet a monster may have.

The Fame Monster begins with current single "Bad Romance," an unstoppable barrage of catchy hooks, hymnlike chants and soaring crescendos. It's a raw, raucous affair, best served at max volume in cars and clubs, and is arguably the greatest track that Gaga has ever recorded.

"Alejandro" comes next, an Ace of Base-like midtempo, tropical track. The song's repetitive melody is beyond addicting, and like myself, you may find the song's play count racking up faster than you can say "Alejandro," "Fernando," or any other man-of-Latin-origin's nombre.

"Don't call me Gaga," Lady G announces as "Monster" begins to play. At this point, there's really no need to progress any further into the album, as Gaga's about to nail it: "Monster" is the epitome of the album's essence, mashing a killer bass line with cheeky, creature feature lyricism. "We French kissed on a subway train / He tore my clothes right off / He ate my heart, and then he ate my brain," Gaga laments during the song's massive, glitchy breakdown.

"Speechless," the next song on the album, comes with plenty of baggage in the Gaga Claims department over the past few months, with "my favorite song of all" and "the greatest song I ever recorded" being just a few of the descriptions offered up by the pop star during interviews. Mercifully, it delivers, and the payoff is rich: "Speechless" is the '70s power rock ballad that always been hinted at in her earlier work though never fully realized until now. Penned for her father, the song is the result of Lady Gaga's appreciation for the arena-rock legends and glam gods of yore including David Bowie and Freddie Mercury, but it avoids imitation and plays like the torch ballad Gaga always needed. "I'll never talk again / Oh boy, you've left me speechless," Gaga croons with a swagger hitting somewhere between classic Elton John and Liza Minnelli. Concertgoers, be prepared-this one's made for the lighters-in-the-air moment.

Coming in thereafter is "Dance in the Dark," the album's chilliest moment. "Silicone, saline, poison, inject me / Baby, I'm a free bitch," Gaga scowls at the song's beginning, which happens to double as the greatest opening line of the year. A hands-in-the-air dance song about a woman being harassed by her boyfriend, Gaga's "Dance" is a murderous slice of pop complete with industrial whirls, haunted synths and occasional screams of anguish in the distance. Who knew emotional abuse could inspire such happy feet?

The next track, "Telephone," is a doozy-a duet with Beyoncé? Even on paper, you're already asking for trouble. Along with a beat recalling Timbaland's "The Way I Are" and a frantic, stuttering electro-bass line, "Telephone" is a mishmash of synths, phone sounds and above all, rampant telephone talk. While Beyoncé's vocal runs are a welcome addition to the track, the song functions best as an unapologetic celebration of the vocoder. Just dance, as someone around here might say.

"So Happy I Could Die" seems to pick up where The Fame's "Starstruck" left off, borrowing its squeaky synthesizers and urban flavoring to engage in some self-indulgence. "In the silence of the night, through all the tears and all the lies / I touch myself, and it's all right."

"Teeth," the album's premature closer, takes a surprising turn in sound: A stomping, hoot-and-holler-worthy chant-along, the final track of The Fame Monster invites listeners to cut loose and, well, sink their teeth into the music. Part musical, part country and a little bit tribal in spots, Gaga snarls and taunts above an incessant, stomping march: "Take a bite of my bad girl meat / Show me your teeth."

Out of the eight excellent tracks of the album, the greatest part about listening to The Fame Monster is not the catchy beats or silly lyrics (of which there are many), or even the lock of Gaga's own hair included with the Super Deluxe Fan Edition (which I still have no idea what to do with)-it's the fact that the album is history in the making.

For better or worse, Gaga is on the path of legendary status. With only one album under her belt, Lady Gaga has already broken a world record for most No. 1 singles from a debut album; written for Britney Spears, Keri Hilson and the Pussycat Dolls; collaborated with high-profile photographers and artists; and scored the muse-worthy devotion of several runway legends, including Alexander McQueen and Marc Jacobs. Along the way, she's performed to millions across the world, including a recent concert in New York where a newfound fan named Madonna watched along with her daughter in the audience.

While I may be prone to hyperbole, I do believe that The Fame Monster is without a doubt the pop album of the year, if not one of the finer pop records of the decade.

And to think, this was just going to be a re-release.