By Paul V.

Singeled Out

Sia -- Breathe Me -- Universal

It was the song that ended Six Feet Under, it appeared on CSI, and now it's in trailers for Jennifer Aniston's film, Derailed. Inhale "Breathe Me," the scintillating new single from Australian singer/songwriter Sia (once known as the vocalist from Zero 7). Whenever it plays, everyone asks: "Who sings this song?"

Madonna -- Confessions On A Dancefloor -- Maverick

When I went to write this review, I thought to myself: What could I possibly say about the new Madonna record that hasn't already been said a gazillion times now? Anyone with a pulse felt the buzz come early and quick that M was making a record to keep the boys dancing, by looking back into the past for inspiration. Not so much to copy or rehash herself (although you will hear snatches of old licks), but to remember what it was like to be a hungry 20-year-old scenester, carting around an acetate pressing of your debut "dance hit," and begging club DJs all over early-'80s Manhattan to spin it. Obviously, those DJs bit and the rest is herstory, as they say. While Madonna hasn't been that hungry for a while now, she's never forgotten that dance clubs -- and more specifically gay people -- put her on, and kept her on, the map/pedestal/throne since those days in the Big Apple. While we applauded her for getting political on her last record, we knew she could do better than rhyming "lattes" with "pilates" (well, OK, rhyming "New York" with "dork" here ain't much of a stretch either, but c'mon -- when do we buy Madonna records for the lyrics?).

One constant all these years is to find the hot shit producer of the moment, to keep her vibe as contemporary as possible, and this time around, it's Stuart Price -- aka Jaques LuCont aka Thin White Duke aka Paper Faces. Price's knob-twisting -- which adds some humor and sparkle to fellow Madonna collaborator Mirwais -- has spit-polished some of the best remixes of the last few years, from Scissor Sisters to Britney to Goldfrapp to The Killers to Gwen/No Doubt. Price's signature oeuvre lays down extra-thick humming basslines, heavily filtered synths, and massive electro beats that literally smack you in the solar plexus. Perfect examples of his genius kick off the continuous, DJ-mixed Confessions -- the ABBA-sampled instant smash "Hung Up," the stardust sprinkled "Get Together," and the Jacksons-go-electroclash vibe of "Sorry." And Price does his best Giorgio Moroder salute on the hypnotic "Future Lovers," washing that famous "I Feel Love" keyboard sequence in acid and grime. On the aforementioned "I Love New York," Madge practically pulls her rubber gasket bracelets, crucifixes, and fingerless gloves outta the dust bin, thrusting like she's racing down Broadway in a beat up taxi cab, trying to make last-call at Danceteria. It's Madonna at her sassiest (but in the old days, she'd never bother to censor herself when telling someone to "f-off". Then again, Lourdes & Rocco are listening now). And did you notice that riff stolen from The Stooges' "I Wanna Be Your Dog"? It should also be noted that Madonna's vocals haven't sounded this natural and unprocessed since the early days, and except for a few vocoder moments here and there, it's a nice touch.

One of my favorite tracks is "Jump," co-written with her brother-in-law Joe Henry (he also penned "Don't Tell Me"). The vocal hook is instantly infectious and those luscious strings and disco high-hats make this yet another club-ready stomper, not to mention a more than slightly blatant Pet Shop Boys' "West End Girls" rewrite. Even when the confessional doors actually swing open on "How High," where Madonna muses on her fame and mammoth celebrity -- a misstep on American Life -- it doesn't feel preachy and creepy when someone of her largess tries to keep her feet on the ground. LL Cool J once shouted "Don't call it a comeback," but seriously, Confessions On A Dance Floor is as close to a comeback as you can get, right up there with John Travolta in Pulp Fiction and missy herself, via Ray Of Light. The Queen Of Pop's best work always marries the rapturous with the introspective, and this is no exception. Indeed, this much-hyped disco-ball odyssey lets each reflected emotional arc stare right back at you -- yes, you -- while your shirt is off, your heart is pumping, and your feet are moving. It's an iconic wash of neon, glitz, glamour, and glee, and we could sure use some of that right now. And just when you thought Gwen, Britney, Christina, or Hillary, et al were starting to nip at her heels, LaMadonna slaps on some leotards, feathers her hair, puts the most bitchin' bod in pop inside some 6-inch heels, and proves she can still kick her legs up higher and faster than all those bitches combined. And the dance is the inspiration.

Catch Paul V. spinning tunes in Silver Lake: "MegaMonday" at MJ's, Dragstrip 66 (second Saturday each month at 1160 Vermont Avenue), Spit (third Saturday each month at Faultline), and "Milkshake" Thursday nights at MJ's. Tune in for his "Smash Mix" on Indie 103.1 FM on Fridays at 5:30 p.m. For more information, visit www.dragstrip66.com.