Britney, time to face the music, then dance

Stop salivating, buzz followers. Britney Spears cannot be making a comeback, because she never went away. The only thing that differentiates her current, mostly panned House of Blues “mini-tour” from her last three years of public activity is that it’s taking place on a stage instead of in a limo leaving a restaurant or in a postnatal hospital bed.

Spears is a major player in the rise of free-floating fame, a phenomenon that’s existed since the dawn of mass media and just keeps growing as the information highway sprawls. She was born as a performer in a variety show: “The New Mickey Mouse Club,” which trained kids not just to sing, but to dance, joke around and fake spontaneity.

Like her sometimes friend Paris Hilton, Spears is most gifted at just being there. Her beauty is magnetic, and she knows how to move, stand and gaze at the camera so that everything around her fades into the distance. Her voice has never mattered much. She exists for the Image Age.

The garden-variety mistakes Spears has made (choosing the wrong guy; getting pregnant too young; crashing the way that countless pretty, hapless women have, by making scenes and losing her looks) have added to her allure by making people think they understand her. This is where her story intersects with Anna Nicole Smith’s: A talent for anything specific becomes extraneous once someone has become this kind of emblematic tragedy. Few care whether Spears actually makes music. The fact that she chewed gum instead of bothering to lip-sync at the House of Blues and spent only 15 minutes onstage (15 minutes -- the fame timetable Andy Warhol allotted us all!) better suits her unfolding narrative than a competent performance could.

Spears does plan to release new music sometime soon. She’s working with reliable producers Jonathan “J.R.” Rotem and Sean Garrett, who have helped such artists as Rihanna and the Pussycat Dolls succeed with a Britney-esque mix of kitten purrs and bared claws. Malleable female voices that complement the synthetic feel of highly programmed pop have become a fixture on the charts since Spears perfected the role with hits such as “Toxic.” If Nelly Furtado, Fergie and Gwen Stefani -- singers who rely on personality, not chops -- can stay on top, there’s no reason Spears shouldn’t end up back there too.

All Spears needs is to let herself do what comes naturally: Be a product, an image, an archetype. If she tries to be confessional or assert herself as an artist, she’s risking judgment on conventional artistic terms, and she’ll lose. She won’t be saved by her own good taste, as Stefani has been, or by brilliant, loyal collaborators, like Fergie and Furtado, who can count on will.i.am and Timbaland. Spears doesn’t even seem willing to work on what little vocal talent she has -- she’s reportedly been taking dancing -- not singing -- lessons.

So dance, Britney. Create the most spectacular multimedia show money can buy. Tell your story on a mythic level, with dozens of dancers, massive flashing screens and bodies flying through the air. Back up this extravaganza with the highest-quality sounds those producers can fabricate, with your voice not exactly at the center, but an alluring element wafting over hot beats and ingenious samples.

Laugh in the face of those who say you still can’t sing (as if that were ever the point). Be our dark dream, our toppling-over angel, and you’ll get another 15 minutes -- at least.

ann.powers@latimes.com