Album review
Why we recommend it:
The infectious cyber gum-pop is invariably a la Britney, but her vocal instrument shakes up the dance floor to a markedly different groove.
Best tracks:
“Till the World Ends,” “Inside Out”
Britney Spears
‘Femme Fatale’
(Sony Music)
Britney Spears returns with her seventh studio album and there’s almost an epiphanic effect in coming back with a big dance bang — after having been so shamelessly hassled by the media and ruled a bad mother in court.
From beginning to end “Femme Fatale” is designed to make hips sway on the dance floor, pump up gym routines or add a little groove during subway commutes.
She teams up with longtime partner, Swedish writer-producer Max Martin, for thoroughly mainstream fair with lots of wobbling bass and other auditory embellishments, her voice being one among many elements.
The opener “Till the World Ends” feeds right into “Hold It Against Me,” which were both released as singles. There are no ballad breaks crooning about growing pains. As expected of finely crafted club mix, the disc offers moments of repose within, rather than between, the heart thumping tracks — “Inside Out,” for example, allows listeners to exhale a bit.
In “How I Roll,” Spears tries to experiment a little with some Fever Ray-style gulping-and-cooing and pulls off a duo with the Black Eye Peas’ will.i.am for “Big Fat Bass.”
All through her trials, tribulations and paparazzi stunts, the singer has eschewed a clear-cut definition except one of paradox — coveted sex symbol with a virginity status that kept everyone wondering.
This elusive nature of hers is largely reflected in her polychromatic musical color. Though Spears has never pushed her raw, virtuosic vocals, her excellent, versatile instrument has allowed her to morph into whatever is necessary in today’s cyber-gum-pop, all in spite of the standard digital filtering and whatnot.
“Femme Fatale” showcases the hallmarks of her chameleon talent, largely with light vocals set to exhilarating rhythms, but the explosive effect, like the one-night stands they celebrate, don’t leave much room for anything more profound.
Nevertheless the puritan nature of her signature dance pop since “...Baby One More Time” attests to its miraculous perseverance in the fast-transforming manufactured music scene — in the face of both old rivals (Christina Aguilera’s adopting soul music, Beyonce’s stellar solo career and Rhianna’s hip-hop treatment of pop) and newer contending icons (Lady Gaga’s revolutionary club mixes and Katy Perry’s malicious pop-rock crossover).
Three stars out of four.
— LEE HYO-WON