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Jun 7 10 8:44 PM

Chicago Tribune review of Bionic



Rating: 1 star (out of 4)

For the last decade, Christina Aguilera’s career has been as much or more about marketing as it has been about singing. It’s a shame, because as pop-machine creations go, Aguilera has genuine chops as vocalist, and far greater upside than just about any of her peers in the late-‘90s teen-pop invasion.   

On her 1999 self-titled debut album, she distinguished herself from the Britney/Backstreet Boys pack with a rangy voice that belied her youth (plus, “Genie in a Bottle” was a fetching single). After that, her career has taken a series of curious turns. Her albums have moments that live up to her promise, but are weighed down by ill-advised concepts, garish over-singing and off-putting celebrations of self (or even more off-putting complaints about just how tough it is to be Xtina). 

Her 2002 album, “Stripped,” confused growing up with stripper-pole come-on’s, and “Back to Basics” (2006) tried to turn her into a swing-era throwback who claimed she worshiped Etta James and Aretha Franklin, but then over-sang so much that it’s clear she hadn’t learned a thing from those icons. Now comes “Bionic” (RCA), which presents her as …  a robot?

Actually, futurism is all the rage lately. Lady Gaga, Rihanna and Janelle Monae are all doing variations on sci-fi themes and sexy android characters. Besides working with producers who have defined mainstream radio pop the last decade (Tricky Stewart, Polow Da Don, Linda Perry), she enlists edgier collaborators, including M.I.A. and her coproducer, Switch; Berlin-based feminist provocateur Peaches; dance-punk trio Le Tigre (including riot grrrl icon Kathleen Hannah); and Santigold producer John Hill.

The idea is to reinvent Aguilera as a techno-age diva, which means folding her voice inside uptempo dance music and glitchy electronic textures. As she declares on “Not Myself Tonight”: “I’m doing things I normally don’t do.” OK, sounds interesting so far; by making the singer’s prodigious voice less of a focal point, “Bionic” puts the emphasis on the production, the sound, the sheer audacity of upsetting expectations. 

The strategy is most successful on “Elastic Love,” in which the electro beats – conjured by Hill and Switch – propel Aguilera through a psychedelic arcade of sound effects. It would’ve been fascinating to see how far a full-blown collaboration might’ve taken her, but Aguilera spreads out the songwriting and production credits in search of more hits, most of which come off as flimsy gimmicks. 

Even by the standards of her first album, which catered to the teen market, “Bionic” is juvenile. “WooHoo” approximates dancehall reggae and distorts her voice while she spouts, “Licky, licky, yum-yum, what a great guy!”

The focus on beats ensures that these tunes will sound even sillier off the dancefloor. She dispenses fashion tips (“Don’t let the clothes wear you!”) while recycling Madonna’s “Vogue” on “Glam.” She sings in Spanish and moans a lot while demanding “Get naked!” on “Denudate.” “I Hate Boys” is the kind of trite glitter-disco the Spice Girls might’ve dispensed. And even the vaunted Le Tigre/Peaches combo platter on “My Girls” fails to ignite. 

Sandwiched between the dance tracks are a handful of ballads that allow Aguilera to flex her vocal muscles. These songs have a tacked-on quality, as if they were afterthoughts designed to sate those Aguilera fans who would complain about all the sci-fi dance tracks. But, really, does the world need another over-emoted power ballad like the Linda Perry-written and produced “Lift Me Up”?

Desperation takes hold as “Vanity” wraps up the album. Strutting like a Pussycat Doll, Aguilera intones: “Let us not forget who owns the throne.” A child’s voice answers: “You do, mommy.” 

Sarcasm? Don’t bet on it.