Britney Spears’ Femme Fatalle, a Critical Review

I would like to begin this review by instating my credibility as a music critic. I have better musical taste than you. Now that my musical knowledge is understood I would like to begin describing what it is about Britney Speare’s Femme Fatale that gets my blood pumping, boom, boom. I learn from my mistakes. I don’t make many mistakes these days. But one of the few I made in the last few weeks was to bring the headphones to my ears expecting an earful of airy, plastic dirt, listening to Femme Fatale . Instead I got something else: artistry, of the highest degree. Talk about musical genius! Never have I ever heard such utter frivolity, and sex-charged, 6th grade lyrics sound so akin to golden hummingbirds making love in a hibiscus garden in the glorious afternoon sunshine. I woke up last Friday, Senior Skip Day, and didn’t go to school. I knew I was in for a boring day wandering Ames in my Taurus, w00ting about being a senior. But when I stuck that CD up that CD drive, when I turned that knob up to the sky, it was like I was floating high, like I could fly. Yeah. I honestly couldn’t tell you if Britney is a good singer. She likes to run some severe AutoTune, of course–not with the same indulgence as that of T-Pain, but enough to leave me confused on the quality of her vocal cords. Femme Fatale was written, according to Spears, as something kids can play in their car or in the club (la discoteca) and get pumped on. Of course we all know that there is no possible way that Britney Spears could ever write her own music. Her producer, Dr. Luke, is the mastermind behind the scenes. Spears would like to say that this was her edgiest and most mature album yet. Smirk. The words, or ‘lyrics,’ as some call them, are simplistic and par tay -friendly, which is what one would expect from an album that is written exclusively for dance par tay s and similiar activities. Also, a lot of the lyrics are very sexual, which is fun, because a lot of people like sex, but don’t feel comfortable talking about it in public. Frankly, I almost felt like Britney Spears was coming on to me while I was listening to the album. She said all sorts of things like, “‘Cuz you feel like paradise And I need a vacation tonight So if I said I want your body now Would you hold it against me?” Mmhhm. Sex. Music critics are hot air. And when I say music critics, I mean pretty much anyone that gets a kick out of proving that someone else’s music is inferior. There’s too much arrogance in music communities. It’s a game of who knows the most music trivia and has the best music taste. Music taste is completely subjective, at least it ought to be. Too many people don’t listen to good music because it’s too “mainstream”, forcing themselves to enjoy the newest underground sound. Kids are just trying to keep a persona intact, and have forgotten how to enjoy music. Typically, though, I don’t particularly like par tay -pop-sex-beat music. I generally spend my music-listening hours listening to things like single-bored-tea-depressed sort of music, but whatever floats your boat. It turns out, according to my keen observational skills, that most Americans like to party. Therefore it would logically make sense that Britney Spears’ Femme Fatale be thoroughly enjoyed by the sex-hungry masses for a long time. Happy par tay ing!