Commerce and art have become either the best of friends or the worst of enemies depending on who you ask. Inquire to Time Warner and they’ll applaud corporate merging for fattening up their wallets. As long as it sells, who cares if it's good? But ask the struggling artists out there who are actually trying to do more than entertain, but enlighten and serve as something more than eye candy. Let’s call it com-art, the amalgam of product and artistic statement. Cross-marketing, product placement, and image maintenance are the top priorities of a business that leisurely puts creativity on the back burner. Talent, emotional value, and social significance were the driving forces back when The Beatles exploded and people like Dylan, Van Morrison, and Joni Mitchell were among the popular artists of their time.

Britney Spears records are the paradigms or the proof that music has become less and less about the music. It’s all about attracting attention rather than maintaining a meaningful emotional connection. Britney is not the anti-Christ but the image she conveys to the youth of America is evil in its intentions. “Hey Kids! If you dress, dance, sweat, and take the form of Britney, then you’ll automatically be cool too!” Just as if wearing a flannel marked your hipness factor back in the days of grunge.

A 13-year-old girl should not bare midriffs or have sparkling words tattooed on the rear view of their pants, but it’s everywhere now. We don’t have to blame Britney necessarily, but we can point the finger at the mongrels in suits that thrive on forcing this marketable representation down our throat over the past few years. How can we avoid it when it’s on TV, in our movies, and invading Best Buy displays everywhere? It’s a plague of pod pop stars, and they’re here already!

What’s not so surprising is that the music isn’t un-listenable. It’s like caffeine, addictive as sugar or masturbation for some [ed note: we're very addicted to one of those at the Mantis offices]. But it’s sweet on the teeth for about three minutes, until cavities form and brain cells disintegrate rapidly. What separates Pink or Norah Jones from Britney is they actually have heart and soul, fused with passion and drive that seethes in nearly every tune.

The production on her latest record, In The Zone is irritatingly interesting at times. It’s well-strung together with Spears as the puppet with the lifeless, petty vocal style that has all the vitality of a dead porpoise. The lyrics are vain and forcefully sexual without being stimulatingly sensual as she announces her trek towards independence and womanhood. Britney is simply a Bedtime Stories-era Madonna wanna-be complete with publicized same-sex osculation. Please. Watching Ruben from American Idol and Dom Deluise kissing would be far more interesting than Britney and the Material Girl making out on TV. Ah, the shameless things we do to get attention.

Give her credit for trying at times. She’s essentially the world’s most publicized tease. First track Me Against The Music could’ve been a illuminating perspective on the pop star’s foray into the world of celebrity and notoriety. Instead, it’s all about dancing and bouncing around, and even Madonna pops up in the track to say “I’d rather see you bare your soul.” Well, Madonna is gonna have to wait. Britney just wants to see you sweat, so get on the dance floor, or get your perfect butt to the gym. That’s about as deep of a message that Britney has to offer.

Breathe On Me is a tired, stale, lifeless track about “not needing to touch.” It even has the nerve to begin with “ooh, it’s so hot in here.” How inventive...yet how unsexy. She also wants to understand the touch of her hand, so no lover is necessary at one point with Touch Of My Hand. The drowsy electronica of Shadow with its predictable power pop chord progression does nothing to impress, despite the muted use of E-bow. Early Mornin is head-bopping due to the fact that Moby put it together, but her voice is layered and comatose that it never flourishes to the forefront. Is she having any fun making this record?

Everytime is a pleasant, pretty diminutive ballad in which she reveals that her weakness caused somebody’s pain. Is that the best she can do? To be fair, she actually invests what little talent she has into a familiar ode about needing someone, and it’s one of the few moments that I can see the appeal of her music to the masses. But truthfully, nearly every track goes in one ear out the other. There’s not a positive message except partying is cool and picking up guys is easy to do. How profound! And anyone with Sonic Foundry’s ACID program could make more interesting dance tracks although Moby does what he can to make his contributions bearable.

So who am I to judge, right? In The Zone clearly is a downright careless, crass piece of worthless manipulative crap, but don’t take my word for it. You’ve got ears of your own. Millions of fans will flock to Britney’s nest and feed off her because she smells pretty and looks immaculate on magazine covers. Most obviously, she’s easy to digest, and that’s why you’ll find on the Billboard charts for quite awhile. But the artistic quality is about as authentic as fake plastic breasts. It’s good music to exercise to, and that’s about it. If that’s all you want out of what you spend your hard-earned dollar on, then be my guest.

Britney’s air-headed personality is cute and harmless, but her vision is blinded by commercial necessity. The day her music no longer sells Pepsi bottles or movie tickets is the day the suits will hang her out to dry. She will have no permanence and her music will be as remembered as a random sneeze from a stranger passing by at WalMart. The death of both her career and the current state of popular music couldn’t come any sooner. If this all you want out of music, then keep buying it folks. But those who want something more all agree it’s time for a serious change. I don't think it's an accident that her initials are BS.