Modern pop suggests the secret of success is geography, and there’s certainly enough Larssons, Høibergs and Fredrikssons knocking about the album credits to inspire positivity for Britney’s ninth studio album. But there’s a dash of chemistry required too – and that’s where Glory falls completely flat.

Unlike Ariana Grande, who seemed to find her voice earlier this year on Dangerous Woman – or Beyoncé, who used hers like never before on Lemonade – Britney unleashes a collection of 12 wholly impersonal tracks, delivered with the unmistakeable disinterest of an artist singing about nothing and nobody in particular. Tracks like ‘Just Luv Me’, ‘Slumber Party’ and lead single ‘Make Me...’ trade on the basis of being sultry and seductive, but the absence of some genuine intimacy or revelation makes it feel more like premium rate sex chat than the real thing.

More’s the pity too, because there’s surely stories in the veteran’s armoury by now – and skeletons in her closet, for that matter. Fingers will be pointed at ever-present vocal producer Mischke, and not undeservedly, for the stylised monotony is at least in part his doing. But stooping to the lowest common denominator by employing the sexpot approach is the main offence here, and that can be squarely pinned on Ms. Spears. ‘Hard To Forget Ya’ and ‘Private Show’ are ten-a-penny exercises in impotent mediocrity, entirely unbecoming of an artist who, for better or worse, has become a bonafide cultural icon.

“Nobody should be alone if they don’t have to be,” she sings on ‘Do You Wanna Come Over?’ – but in a surging tide of provocative, intelligent and interesting pop, Britney is being left behind.