Say what you want about Britney Spears, but “the girl knows how to have a good time,” said Margeaux Watson in Entertainment Weekly. Her fifth album, filled with “delightfully escapist” pop music, leaked onto the Web faster than Spears bolted from rehab. “With expectations as low as they could go,” Blackout overshoots them with booty-shaking beats, overprocessed electro-pop, and smutty, senseless comebacks, said Dan DeLuca in The Philadelphia Inquirer. Spears herself has “almost nothing, and everything,” to do with the record’s guilty pleasures. Blackout is the product of “a team of professional songwriters frantically overselling and spinning the image of a celebrity who has essentially left the building,” said James Hannaham in Salon.com. From the opening line—“It’s Britney, bitch”—we understand that the Spears addressing us is the head-shaving, drugabusing, “coochie-flashing, K-Fed–marrying, K-Fed–divorcing, child-welfare-endangering, bonkers-going” Britney we’ve come to know. But while “crazy is acceptable in pop, clinically insane is not.” The unstable 25- year-old ought to be in rehab, not out promoting an album. Her “blank, low-energy vocals punctuated by a gasp here, a moan there” make for horny come-ons, but they, like Blackout, scream desperation.