For me at least, part of the appeal is the narrative that threads through her pop career, it's so deliberately-wrought, it could be a novel. Well, okay, maybe not a novel, but definitely a cable series - something edgy, like you might find on Showtime. Early single like Sometimes presented Britney as a naive girl, curious about the possibility of adult sexuality, not quite ready to jump in, even if the Baby One More Time video made it clear this might not be for long. As she grew up in the public eye, she shed her girlhood with a series of calculated musical gestures, moving from titillating but still somewhat wholesome teen pop of Oops! I Did It Again to the grinding, club-ready come-on, I'm a Slave 4 U. When she freaked out and suffered an epic public meltdown, there were songs to address that too, not least of all the paparazzi-baiting Piece Of Me. The story of Britney's pop career is essentially the story of an innocent being corrupted by the big bad world. It's not all that nice a story, but it's dramatic, and we gay dudes definitely appreciate a little drama. Part of it may also be a consequence of said epic public meltdown. From 2006 through to pretty much the present day, it's been hard to read a gossip website - and really, what else are you going to do to kill time at work? - without some mention of Britney Spears latest exploit. There she was falling in love with a noxious, backwards cap-wearing back-up dancer, only to have her southern heart smashed into a million tiny pieces; there she was again going on a bender, getting sloppy drunk and flashing her most intimate parts at photographers. That's to say nothing of Britney chopping off all her hair and being carted off to rehab on a stretcher, or the various unsavoury producers and hangers-on who came forward to see sex stories to the tabloids. The story is ongoing, but so is her career, and that's kind of the point. Britney Spears has made a career of being a survivor, and for gay dudes who might have spent a not-inconsiderable chuck of their lives feeling marginalised, if not outright persecuted, there's a specific and powerful resonance to that story. Not least of all, there's the music. Feel free to be sceptical if you want, but Britney's phenomenal run of singles has been written and produced by some of the canniest minds in pop, from Swedish hit-makers Max Martin and Bloodshy & Avant through to The Neptunes and Nate 'Danjahandz' Hills. There is no listening to tracks like Toxic and Piece Of Me without appreciating that, whether or not Britney's delivery is you're thing, they're really, really, well-constructed songs. Her latest album, Femme Fatale, arrived last month, produced by Martin along with sinister-pop-genius-of-the-moment, Dr Luke. It leaked well ahead of its release date, but being the upstanding citizen I am, I did the right thing and fronted up to JB Hi-Fi when it came out. And it's pretty great - a hook-filled and damn-near-irrestible collection of tracks. Man cannot live by pop songs alone, but trying to resist them is futile. Is my appreciation of Britney Spears perhaps a little blinkered, keeping me from coming to grips with the tackier elements of her music and public persona? Possibly. Will I still be following Ms Spears well into her dotage? Almost definitely.
