Glory (White Vinyl)

Brand new sealed double album in white vinyl housed in a gatefold cover.

Glory is a welcome comeback for a true pop visionary nobody expected to stick around long enough for a third album, much less a ninth. Has any star pulled off as many comebacks as Britney? For this girl it’s the non-comeback records that are the exception, because people have kept foolishly trying to write her off since the TRL days. Nearly 20 years after “Baby One More Time,” people still act shocked when Brit refuses to fade away like the disposable pop trinket they desperately hoped she’d be, which keeps raising the question of how many great hits she needs to score before she finally gets credit as one of the all-time brilliant hitmakers. Every time she jumps back in the game, the world gives her that look like Kim Cattrall in the Crossroads scene where Britney shows up on her doorstep claiming to be her daughter. (Surpriiise!) But she’s still going because nobody else can do what she does. No singer has ever captured the needy party-girl blues like Britney.

Last time, on 2013’s Britney Jean, our girl was way outside her comfort zone musically, and the strain showed, as she focused on morose break-up ballads, not exactly her forte. Britney Jean had high peaks (the Bowie space chill of “Alien,” the sisterly Jamie Lynn duet “Chillin’ With You”) but it was her mopiest album – and not coincidentally, her weakest seller ever. So: Message received. On Glory she goes back to the fizzy electro-stomp mode she does best. Even when she transforms herself into a human mirror ball, glitzed out and blitzed out, her supposedly anonymous voice is a sonic signature any pop fan can recognize in seconds. There’s no other sound quite like that droid-soul glitch-twang in Britney’s voice – think “Toxic,” “Lucky,” “Piece of Me” – speaking to the bored, frustrated, ready-to-explode disaster queen in all of us.

It reaches the creative heights of her It’s Britney Bitch Trilogy of Blackout, Circus and Femme Fatale, where she cranked up the disco dreams of her pythonic youth into an abrasive synth-squeal party-mom sound with an extremist electro agenda that proved hugely influential. When she dropped Blackout in 2007, the music industry scoffed, but then proceeded to spend the next few years imitating it to death, to the point where everything on pop radio sounded like Blackout. Femme Fatale, from five years ago, was her best album-qua-album ever, with the obsessive electro-burbles of “I Wanna Go” and “How I Roll.” But Glory outdoes those records in terms of vivacious humor – whoever designed the latest-model Britney Having Fun Simulator did a damn fine job. She hasn’t played around with her vocals so cleverly since the “Toxic” days – she even ends the deluxe edition with “Coupure Electrique,” which proves she can sing an entire song in French and still sound exactly like Britney.