Blackout (Jive)

Good Lord, Britney Jean Spears. At what point in the tale of our Cheetos-chomping, baby-losing, vag-flashing, drugged-up anti-heroine do we turn our eyes away and admit our culpability in her undoing? From all the forwarded YouTube videos, cheap newspaper headlines, and gossipy Web site updates, the public hasn't quite finished watching this 25-year-old mother-of-two fall to pieces. It's easy to laugh and condemn such a colossal fuck-up of a star, especially when you overlook that she was sexualized by sleazy record execs, milked for all the jism-covered cash her teenage haunches could generate, and then left for dead on the side of the pop-cultural highway. Is it any wonder she's splaying her legs for us?

Oh, you want to know about her comeback album, Blackout, do you? Well, it's a perfectly functional pop album: robotic, processed vocals, pre-fab beats, retarded sexuality, and backhanded jabs at the media abound. There's some club-worthy tracks, most notably the aptly-titled "Freakshow", with its great, bouncing beats and girly harmonies. Star producers and a mega dose of fuck-you from Ms. Spears buoy the album, saving it from being the disaster so many were hoping for.

All in all, Blackout isn't so bad at all, if candy-coated top 40 is your bag. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, it's absolute dreck. But honestly, taking shots at this tragic–albeit loathsome and loaded–woman, or her "music" simply isn't sporting anymore. Blackout indeed. Enough already.