Femme Fatale, an album of hypnotic dance tracks from this generation's original sex kitten, has a cozy landing among the auto-tuned, attitude-struck, unashamed pop vixens of today. Essentially, the quality of the album has everything to do with the perspective with which you approach Britney Spears. If you can't get past the vacancy of Spears' presence or lack of introspection, Femme Fatale is not going to change your mind about the pop star. But, frankly, Britney is doing a fine job of what she does best. She purrs flirtatiously and proclaims bold desires with the precision of someone who has spent the past ten years perfecting her ability to tease with every syllable. What the album lacks in originality, it makes for in rhythmic seduction. Femme Fatale slides into mainstream circulation with as much provocative delivery as her most recent full length release, Circus, but the reception's strength threatens to quiver because this time around, we aren't hoping for her to succeed; we're expecting her to.
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