With multiple personalities, more isn't more

One problem? To distinguish between herself and her newly introduced alter-ego, Sasha Fierce, she's put all the slow songs on one disc and all the dance songs on another. Usually that's a tactic reserved for greatest hits compilations, where sequencing doesn't matter; George Michael, for instance, split his recent Best Of into "For the Heart" and "For the Feet," a pretty nifty move if you ask me. On a studio album, though, it makes for a numbingly repetitive listen: Slow ... slow ... slow ... Fast! Fast! Fast! It certainly doesn't help that the songs on both the downbeat "I Am..." and the upbeat "Sasha Fierce" are easily the weakest of Beyonce's career. In the end, that's the real issue: Less than 20 percent of the album is worth listening to. That's right. Just two songs.

I don't know how else to put it: "I Am ... Sasha Fierce" is the most disappointing record I've listened to all year. Until now, Beyonce's solo career seemed like the stuff of fantasy. Like Justin Timberlake, she was the exception that proved the rule, a seemingly indestructible pop culture phenomenon. Other singers rose and fell; Mrs. Jay-Z, on the other hand, just seemed unstoppable. That she was able to move on from Destiny's Child - the best-selling female group of all bloody time, lest we forget - was extraordinary enough. That she's remained easily the most iconic R&B diva of her generation for more than five years - from "Crazy in Love" to "Dreamgirls" - is even more astonishing. Sure, Rihanna and Leona Lewis might be yapping at her heels, but until I heard "I Am ... Sasha Fierce," I thought Beyonce was safe on her pedestal for years to come.

Her last album, "B'Day," was a triumph, a fast and furious putdown of a record bristling with aggression. When it came out two years ago, Beyonce claimed it was her most personal record yet, and listening to the album made that easy to believe. Rush-recorded in two weeks, "B'Day" had a disarming, off-the-cuff directness that set it apart from the rest of mainstream pop. The image it projected was clear: Beyonce was an independent woman, fierce, sexy and in control.

On this new double-album monstrosity, Beyonce's made the same claim again. In a letter to fans posted on her website, she waxes lyrical about "I Am...," the first disc of her mini-opus, calling it "reflective, passionate and serious." If you haven't had the chance to read her ramblings, the disc's cover does the same job: It's a grainy black-and-white photo of Beyonce staring into the camera that positively screams "raw!" and "emotional!"

Well, if that's true, and "I Am..." is really the singer's most personal artistic statement yet, then Beyonce is someone I never, ever want to meet. Because judging by "I Am..." she'd probably be crying in a corner, curled up in the fetal position, listening to Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" on repeat. The confident woman of "B'Day" is nowhere to be found. Only a year into her marriage to Jay-Z, and Beyonce's already making music for housewives, settling comfortably into a market usually reserved for the likes of Barbra Streisand and Bette Midler.

The most soporific set of ballads I've ever laid my hands on, "I Am..." is one big, fat, simpering slush-fest, the aural equivalent of drowning in a vat of liquid marshmallow. One over-produced, under-written ballad interminably follows the next, so even by track three you feel mired in a never-ending torrent of glop. That the disc finishes after a mere 25 minutes is actually a blessing.

"Disappear" is about as forgettable as its title suggests, "Halo" is a lame and obvious rewrite of Lewis' "Bleeding Love," and "Ave Maria" is a hackneyed, pseudo-operatic mess that aims for Carnegie Hall but sounds more like an audition tape for "American Idol." Even "If I Were a Boy," the album's first single, is a mixed bag, tasteful and subdued in all the wrong ways, like Phil Collins trying to cover Bob Dylan. True, its stripped-down restraint is a nice change from almost everything else that's going on in pop music today, but it's also utterly anemic, a wimpy and spineless offering from someone who used to be renowned for her aggressive attitude.

"Sasha Fierce," the upbeat second disc of the set, is the stronger of the two but not by much; at only five songs it doesn't really have time to make an impact. Three of the five tracks are instantly forgettable, which doesn't help matters. The bland "Video Phone" sounds like a Motorola advertisement (Chorus: "If you want me you can watch me on your video phone"); "Radio" is an obnoxious slice of Hilary Duff-style fluff, so bubblegum-bland it would make Britney turn her nose up in disdain; and the minimalist funk of "Diva" threatens to explode into some seriously bass-heavy bounce but never ends up going anywhere. Three minutes in, I was still waiting for the song to start.

Thank goodness, then, for the other two tracks, "Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)" and "Sweet Dreams." If you've left your room in the past month, you've probably heard "Single Ladies" already. It's classic Beyonce, a summery, top-heavy clatter of whirring synths and call-and-response choruses that'll probably be flooding airwaves well into next year. "Sweet Dreams," tucked in near the end of the second disc (by which I mean, track four out of five), is also worth a spin. Sleek and sexy, the song glides along on an earworm-catchy synth line before exploding into its ecstatic chorus. Neither song comes close to matching the delirious found-sound squall of "Ring the Alarm," "B'Day's" crowning moment and easily the most avant-garde pop single of 2006; but compared to almost everything else on "I Am ... Sasha Fierce," they sound like masterpieces.

If this review sounds relentless and unrestrained, then good - I really do feel like I've been scammed. When I first heard that Beyonce was releasing a double album, I was overjoyed; if anyone in mainstream pop could get away with such an audacious career move, it would be her, as the strengths of both "B'Day" and her ridiculously surefooted debut "Dangerously in Love" attested to. But where most double albums signal kaleidoscopic, over-enthusiastic splurges of artistic creativity, "I Am ... Sasha Fierce" turns out to be quite the opposite. I wouldn't be surprised if the double-disc was just a con to hike up the prices, a desperately cynical ploy from an industry in economic freefall. That's not really the point, though: Even on one disc, Beyonce's third album would be an embarrassing fiasco.

1 out of 5

PROS: "Single Ladies" is good disposable fun; the slick and seductive "Sweet Dreams" is also well worth checking out.

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CONS: Basically everything else. It's a 40-minute-long double album. The first disc is simpering hogwash. The second's not much better. And Sasha Fierce!? I mean what the hell even is that? It sounds like a character from "Power Rangers" or something, which, I suppose, is appropriate for what's easily the worst record of Beyonce's career.