Artist: Britney Spears

Title: Femme Fatale

Label: Jive

Nothing but the predictable booty calls dominate the conversation on Femme Fatale.

It wasn't so long ago that everyone wondered if Britney Spears' career, musical and otherwise, was finished, considering the particularly scary turn her personal life took back in 2007-8.

And given the particularly short attention span of music lovers these days, it was questionable whether anyone would still care if Britney made a professional comeback anyway. After all, pop music fans have plenty of artists—Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Rhianna, Taylor Swift—keeping them company in the meantime.

But even as pop music has continually evolved since her late ‘90s heydey, however, Britney has always found a way to reinvent herself, thanks to a veritable army of willing super-producers like Max Martin, Danja and Dr. Luke who help transform her wisp of a voice into the perfect companion for club-friendly beats.

Now with Femme Fatale, the party's gone Euro, and that suits Britney's style just fine. Keeping the conversation shallow and predictably sexual, the accompanying beats are undeniably catchy and perfect for the who-cares-about-the-lyrics dance floor scene. As far as Britney's contribution, the only real services required is selling the fantasy and wish fulfillment anyway—and she still does it like a pro.

Sadly, her girlish purrs and panting sounds even more manufactured than ever (thank you, Pro Tools) on tracks like "Trouble" "Criminal" and "Inside Out," and the songs' insipid lyrics are particularly cringe-worthy, considering she's a mother to two young sons.

See, unlike past efforts where she's offered brief insights into subjects beyond simply hooking up, there's no such pretense on Femme Fatale. In fact, despite her radical transformation from the wild-eyed girl who impetuously shaved her head and temporarily lost custody of her boys to the rehabbed, refreshed Britney that everyone has always rooted for, she never bothers digging deeper on Femme Fatale.

Truth be told, she's probably just giving the audience exactly what they want (or what she and her handlers think they want, anyway). But as she edges closer to 30, the charade is particularly ridiculous when it's delivered by someone who probably has so much more to discuss than the joys of shaking your booty with random strangers.

Who knows, maybe she's just saving the good stuff for the memoir. One can only hope anyway since Femme Fatale is nothing more than slickly produced come-ons that help solidify Britney's place in the ever-competitive pop music stratosphere. Beyond that, it's just oversexed ear candy.

*This review first published 4/4/2011