A confession: We might be the only person alive who has not watched Paris Hilton's sex tape.

It's not that we're offended by stuff like that. We just can't be bothered to give a damn about anything Paris Hilton does. Not her condescending "reality" TV show. Not her halfbaked bid to become an actress. Not her boyfriend du jour, celebrity feud of the week, or attention-sucking antic of the month.

And certainly not her self-titled debut album -- which is really just Hilton's latest underwhelming attempt to convince the world that she has some discernable skill, that there's actually some point to her pampered, unproductive existence.

Based on Paris the album, there isn't. Which is not to suggest that this disc is some sort of musical atrocity on par with, say, a Kathie Lee album. Much as we'd love to sit here and tear this disc a whole new one, it's not the worst we've heard. After all, Paris isn't the first spoiled brat to confuse the size of her trust fund with the extent of her artistic abilities. Nor is she the first to prove that no matter how much money you spend, talent is something you just can't buy.

But here's the thing: Talent is something you can rent. And that's precisely what Hilton does on this 11-track set of deliberately featherweight pop. You've got star producers like Scott Storch behind the boards. You've got VIP guests like Jadakiss and Fat Joe on the mic. You've got a slew of background vocalists and session players. All of them probably went home in free Jaguars, carrying platinum gift baskets full of solid gold moon rocks or something.

And why not; they earned them by doing what they were hired to do: 1) Supply catchy club-floor fillers like the bumping, grinding I Want You, the Grease-fuelled Turn it Up and the reggae-pop single Stars Are Blind, peppered with guitar-driven pop-rockers like Screwed and Nothing in This World. 2) Do all the heavy musical lifting. 3) Try to make Hilton sound like she could carry a tune in a bucket.

Trouble is, aside from a toy dog, daddy's credit cards and a cell phone, we doubt Paris has ever carried anything in her life. So despite her claims that she "worked really hard" on this CD -- and we would love to know what Paris calls work -- most of this sounds phoned in from the back of her limo. Make that whispered in; Hilton spends the bulk of the 40-minute album breathily, girlishly billing and cooing in thin, airy tones that bear little resemblance to her deadpan speaking voice.

We presume she's trying to sound kittenish and sexy -- while conveniently covering up the fact that she has a limited vocal range and a stiff, singsong delivery. Ultimately, she sounds less like a dance-floor diva and more like a bad Vanity Sixx impersonator -- or perhaps Kids in the Hall's pop-tart Tammy, author of such lyrical bon mots as, "I ain't gonna spread for no roses!" Hilton's aren't much better.

Honestly, does anybody want to hear Paris complain that all the boys fight over her because she's so hot? Or listen to her diss Nicole Richie (or some other ex-friend) on Jealousy?

If you're 13 and desperate to spend your allowance, maybe you do. But we have to say, if you really want to give your money to a multi-millionaire heiress to validate her self-worth, maybe Paris isn't the only one missing the point.

Track Listing:

1. Turn It Up
2. Fightin' Over Me
3. Stars Are Blind
4. I Want You
5. Jealousy
6. Heartbeat
7. Nothing in This World
8. Screwed
9. Not Leaving Without You
10. Turn You on
11. Do Ya Think I'm Sexy