Thursday, March 17, 2011

Femme Fatale Review By Holy Moly

If we said this album was amazing, would you hold it against us?

Thu, 17/03/2011 - 09:49 By BeccaDP

Femme Fatale is an undeniable treat of filthy beats, itchy glitchy production, breathless Brit-vox and MASSIVE TUNES. Shoulda-been-lead-single ‘Til the World Ends is a rip-roaring jolly good time, made for nights with too much eyeliner, too much cheap gin and too many bad decisions. ‘Til the World Ends just isn’t getting enough credit for its awesomeness, and we don’t understand why; it’s a breathless sex-riot-inducing pop tune, the likes of which have not been heard since Britney first implored you to hit her one more time, but with added electronic bits. Ubiquitous irritant Will.I.Am pops up (as is his wont) on Big Fat Bass, and save for his obligatory rap bit, this song, with its refrain of “I can be the treble, baby, you can be the bass” is genuinely danceable, though we might be more inclined to shimmy to a remix, if any DJ were so inclined. Lead single Hold it Against Me sits comfortably amongst these tight electro tracks, and it’s always good to hear Brit replacing “baybeh” with “hayzayyyy”. Trouble For Me sees Britney embracing the sort of sound we usually get from one-hit Dutch wonders, with slowed-up house synths and a sugary vocal that drives the whole track to an enjoyably understated ending. Inside Out may not be the best track on the album, feeling a little slower than it should be, but it includes the lyric “hit me one more time, it’s so amazing”; just, like, soooo meta-pop.

All this is not to say that there aren’t any duff tracks; Gasoline and weirdly flutey Criminal could have been missed out for all we care, and Seal it with a Kiss is genuinely a bit crap. But even at her crappest on this album, Britney is leaving any young pretenders to her pop crown in the dust.
This album is all about the sex. Not the ‘ooh I respect you as a woman and an equal’ sex or comfortable relationship sex. Femme Fatale is practically a concept album about going to a club, seeing someone, thinking “ooof, yeah” and then doing a lot of satisfyingly rude sex with them. True to the Femme Fatale mould, though, Britney finishes and doesn’t give you her number or any idea where she’s going next. 

Welcome back, Britney.
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