Paris Hilton — Paris

Following a successful film career, Paris Hilton has packed up her Polly Pocket-sized purse dog and strutted into the music biz. It sounds like some outlandish Simple Life premise, like the time she had to milk those goats or perform that heart transplant. Unfortunately, Hilton's first album — unlike her first porno/TV show/poetry book/thermonuclear theory — isn't funny or embarrassing. It's just bland. Hilton has the vocal range of that robot chick from Small Wonder and the personality of a wall — a stupid, slutty wall. And instead of emphasizing her appealingly shameless, clueless X-rated Jessica Simpson schtick, Paris sticks to vapid, familiar lines about dancing and being sexy while her production whores — most notably, Scott Storch — bounce between uninspired genre pastiches: prototypical hip-hop-flavoured R&B (Storch's "Turn It Up," which combines Nelly Furtado-ish promiscuous librarian whispers with Gwen Stefani holla-ing), reggae-lite (lead single "Stars Are Blind"), mall rock ("Screwed"), disco ("I Want You") and '80s synth sap ("Heartbeat").

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