essica Simpson, the (until recently) perma-virgin whose feverishly gospel-tinged pop (the over the top “I Wanna Love You Forever”, a three minute crescendo) lifted her to the upper echelons of the US charts, is perhaps the most intriguing female vocalist of the late 90s. As the virgin queen of Seventeen and Sugar she oratorised about the virtues of waiting until marriage. Her music was unlike any of the other blonde superstars (Britney, Christina, Mandy); an enormous voice barely restrained by dinky programmed beats, a frenzied three minute crescendo, the bombast and frenzy of a girl whose hysteria could clearly be relieved only through orgasm—paging Dr. Freud!

So now, famously, she’s married to Nick Lachey—witness the accompanying DVD extras of the pair’s wedding and excerpts from their unwittingly hilarious Newlyweds series—and, perhaps more famously, no longer a virgin. So, is the hysteria gone? The answer is a resounding NOOOOO! Opening track “Angels” (a cover of the Robbie Williams ballad) hits overdrive at about the 1.00-minute mark and that’s before the symphony orchestra and Hammond organ have even begun to squeak. It’s clear from the outset that In This Skin is about lust and sex as much as it is Simpson’s famed hankering for love of the Harlequin Mills & Boon variety (trains racing into tunnels, fireworks exploding, wind machines and simulated rain). Despite her newfound carnal knowledge, Simpson still approaches the subject with wide-eyed and idealism. Her ‘naughty’ song titles give way to Disney princess visions of physical love—it’s sex, Jim, but not as we know it. “Sweetest Sin” is concerned with “a picture of perfection… your skin upon my skin”, while “Forbidden Fruit” explores the “smell of spices everywhere / There are mysteries to share”. It seems that in Jessica Simpson Land, there is no wet patch and no “condom moment”, only glowing skin, polite climaxes, soft-focus and women who wake up with perfectly made-up faces.

Musically, In This Skin is a largely sterile affair. The dull acoustic strum and sequenced squiggles of “With You”, “Everyday See You” and “I Have Loved You” are at odds with Simpson’s energetic, if daffy, diva vocalizing. Despite her public “aw shucks” persona, the girl can sing—it’s just a shame that she’s never really allowed to soar, afforded little room to move within the unimaginative backing tracks. The arrangement is at its best on the cod Latin of “My Way Home”, the breathy, Britney-esque “Loving You” and a mighty cover of “Take My Breath Away”—trash mavens will be excited to hear that she is filming the video clip, with Lachey, at the Top Gun set—while the self-empowerment ditty, “In This Skin”, is charming. But overall, the album is a strangely schizoid beast—neither staunchly virginal nor Dirrtily sexy. It's as though the Heart Of Innocence she'd saved for her husband-to-be is suddenly on show to the world via bedroom-cam, making for ickily uncomfortable if morbidly fascinating listening. As you would expect, no matter how Hollywoodised the wedding and lead-up to it, a virgin’s honeymoon night is no Hollywood affair. Hopefully next time her musical persona—as her sex life—will be in full, magnificent and enthralling flight. Until then we’ll have to make do with the fumblings.