Britney Spears has a routine: she starts her day with a cup of motherf–king tea, spams her Instagram with photos of flowers, desserts, selfies and embarrassing memes, plays Pokémon with the boys, exercises and, on occasion, teaches dance classes to little girls.
At night, she goes to work (bitch) at her now 3-year old Piece Of Me residency at Planet Hollywood in Las Vegas; a tightly choreographed, confetti and glitter-filled spectacular set to two dozen hits from her double decade career as the indisputable Princess of Pop.
That’s her life now. No clubbing, no partying, no paparazzi chases, no chaos: she’s a self-described boring, caesar salad-eating 34-year-old mother who also happens to moonlight as one of the biggest pop stars in the world.
It’s all the more shocking, then, to discover that nine records deep, following what was largely considered her gravest musical misstep to date (2013’s Britney Jean) and just a year after the insipid “Pretty Girls,” she’s delivered one of the most artistically, musically and vocally ambitious albums of her career.
