Review: Britney Spears, ‘Femme Fatale’ : Aidin Vaziri | There’s a good reason Britney Spears is launching her new album in the heart of the Castro. Her seventh studio recording, “Femme Fatale,” dispenses completely with the clunky suburban pop confections of her early years and pushes full blast into gay clubland, finding its pulse in the Hi-NRG rhythms and the hands-in-the-air melodies of classic Chicago house. The songs are streamlined, uncomplicated affairs designed purely for making butts bounce. It has no aspirations of regaining the hulking sales of the schoolgirl phase – no attempts to outweird Lady Gaga or outsleaze Ke. The young moms who grew up singing “Oops! … I Did It Again” into a hairbrush? Goodbye. The doe-eyed Spears, who sounds virtually unrecognizable throughout, adapts easily to her new role as a heavily Auto-Tuned cheerleader for the electropop surge, breathing lustily through bangers such as “Hold It Against Me” and the minimal robo-stomp of “How I Roll.” Even the will.i.am track, “Big Fat Bass,” is almost bearable. It’s all a bit of a thrill, really. By letting the mirror ball take the spotlight, Britney has never sounded more bearable.