Circus

Her voice--treated and autotuned to within an inch of its life throughout--still sounds like that of the Mouseketeer who brought us '...Baby One More Time’, with every breathy “Mmmm… yeah!” and all the oh-so-naughty lyrics, such as the ones above, sounding forced and unconvincing. Of course, on a large number of the tracks here she has the solidly cool-sounding (no doubt expensive) backdrop of futur’n’b pop.

Wildly if transitorily enjoyable at turns, vacuous and ignorable at others, Circus doesn't quite feel like a comeback, but I'm sure Brit's not above merely bringing pre-comeback.

If she feels marginally more connected here than she did on "Blackout," it's a Pyrrhic victory, as Circus never feels as sleek or addictive as its predecessor.

The cartoonish sound compensates for Spears' lack of range and lung power by allowing her to ham it up.

It's too bad the best songs here don't really match up with her best performances, but that's nothing new for Spears.

Circus isn't bad as pop albums go, but whether by default or design, it's substantially less edgy and exciting than its predecessor.

Trying to express her actual feelings, instead of inhabiting a fantasy, she leaves us looking for an authenticity and vulnerability that isn’t in her skill set.

Spears is immersed in an often trite, intensely narcissistic look at her existence, crafted almost entirely by songwriters other than herself. That’s not to say that some of the songs aren’t catchy or danceable, but they’re wasted on a singer who brings no real personality along for the ride.

Not everything hits the target, even with her hands gripped tightly around the controls, but she’s offered us something intermittently wonderful that proves she can still black us out even when she’s on the up and up.

Cynical vocodered mediocrity.