sense into a lowbrow dance album that becomes an international hit. She completes the transition from genre diva to mass-media wet dream brandishing a boy toy belt buckle under her bared bellybutton (for all convent girls to admire and feminists to loathe), then turns it around in a show of humor and pluck. But Madonna's march takes her to the brink of overexposure.

Then, out come the Penthouse and Playboy spreads. How do a couple of four-year-old portfolios just happen to make it into the hands of two fiercely competitive publications at the same exact ideal-for-Madonna moment? If it isn't a fix, then clearly God likes bad Catholic girls. And what could be better? That this bathroom consummation of boy toy love should be followed immediately by ritual purification at the altar of real love. Madonna marries Sean Penn and at long last hits the matrimonial sack.

And she did it all in less time than it has taken Ronald Reagan to send millions below the poverty line. Like Jimmy Cagney, to whom she dedicates "White Heat," Madonna is a lovable punk: cynical, street smart, funky, sexy, fundamentally idealistic, indestructibly self-respecting. Like Cagney, she's a national icon – but first and always, a patron saint of parochial-school America.

It is for the prokie (a less publicized but still more populous stratum than yuppie or preppie) that True Blue is written. Singing better than ever, Madonna stakes her claim as the pop poet of lower-middle-class America. On "Where's the Party," she presents a concise manifesto for the straphanging classes: "Couldn't wait to get older/Thought I'd have so much fun/Guess I'm one of the grown-ups/Now I have to get the job done." But Madonna isn't sad about her responsibilities. Full of immigrant-stock hustle, she's going to "find a way to make the good times last." On "Jimmy Jimmy," she laughs at her breathless boyfriend: "You say you're gonna be the king of Las Vegas.... You're just a boy who comes from bad places." But it's a loving laugh – and, surprise, Jimmy really does leave to make a better life. The story ends sadly, but the song is so happy that we can't doubt Madonna's pride in her guy or that she'll find a way to follow.

In "Love Makes the World Go Round," the happiest anthem for this age of uplift, Madonna scores at least as many points as "We Are the World" with lines like "It's easy to forget/If