Album review: Britney Spears' 'Circus'
It's time for the annual declaration: Britney Spears is not going away. Last year she might have seemed like a human Superfund site, oozing bad fumes and impossible to repair -- but in 13 short months, she's churned out a perfectly viable album that telegraphs self-awareness, sexual confidence and her most sought-after commodity, control.
"Circus" already has given her a big hit, the "Cabaret"-meets-"Flashdance"-flavored "Womanizer," and considering the expensive production credits neatly lined up on each track, more seem inevitable. Then there will be the tour, which should be great, if she can keep herself from crying uncontrollably because she misses her kids and the pressure's really getting her down. But hey, there's always Xanax.
As tabloid fodder, Spears remains a New Marilyn, embodying lust and disaster in every swing of her hips. Musically, she turned a corner with 2004's "Toxic," when she fully matured into her role as a vehicle for other people's experiments. Last year's "Blackout" worked well as daring dance-pop, but Spears was too absent for comfort. On many songs, her presence was almost indiscernible, carefully buried within layers of effects and heavy singing support from Keri Hilson and other studio A-listers.
Not so on "Circus," whose up-tempo songs foreground Spears' mildly sultry bark and whose ballads have her hiccuping emotion from deep in the back of her throat.
She's also game for any vocal tricks her producers suggest, squealing and giggling and even trying on a fairly horrific pan-Latin accent in "Mmm Papi." That song recalls nothing so much as Rosemary Clooney's "Come On-a My House," which came from the time when even great jazz singers sometimes made a buck by wearing fruit on their heads.

