By Ernst Stavro Blofeld

The first thing you notice about Whitney Houston's comeback-from-hell album isn't what's on it.

It's what's not.

As a hopeful bass line bounces in the background, Houston's barely accompanied voice pours from the speakers, as if to instantly argue that, despite seven years in ruinous exile, everything's fine in Whitney-ville.

Except that it obviously isn't - despite the many likeable and worthy moments housed in the 50 minutes of music to come.

Simply put, the voice we hear on "I Look To You" isn't the one that made millions of jaws drop, and caused scores of fellow singers to hanging up their mikes forever.

Make no mistake. Houston still owns an instrument most singers would kill for, with a broad range and a respectable force. And she gets to apply it to some catchy and pleasing new songs here. But there's no getting around the fact that something key is gone. Namely, her genius.

The tone of epic clarity, the lungs of steel, the notes that seemed to sail higher than any musical staf could hold - all those things are behind her now.

Houston sounds huskier and chestier on "I Look To You." A thicker tone has replaced her bell-like one. And, for the most part, she avoids most of the skyscraper notes she used to mount in her sleep.

Luckily, you can shave a lot off a singer of this power and still have plenty to work with. The producers and writers on board this time - from Alicia Keys to R. Kelly to Akon - made savvy use of that fact. Their songs make up for the lessening in Houston's wind by amping up their own. Even a classic, sentimental ballad like Leon Russell's "Song For You" gets treated to a hot disco/house beat, which makes it a real blast. But it's also a dodge. In Houston's Herculean/"I Will Always Love You" days, she would have raised a melody line like this to the sky alone, instead of letting the rhythm do some of the heavy lifting for her.

The music Houston chose for the album isn't quite like that on any CD she has cut before. That makes sense given both her long lay-off and the current, transitional world of R&B-pop. Instead of sounding trendy or retro, "I Look To You" boasts a timeless sound, full of well-formed pop.

Given such encouraging features, it may seem wrong to criticize a singer who still has more on the ball than most. It may seem even more unfair to compare the now 45 year old Houston to a far younger one - as if we rate singers in the cold, objective way we do athletes.

But the truth is, much of Houston's talent always was athletic. Her emotional range never matched her physical one. Which explains part of why Houston hasn't been able to use her new limitations to express the maturity and poignance many aging singers can.

It would have helped if, in the new lyrics, Houston admitted more of the pain she must gone through during her awful time away. But "I Look To You" isn't about making admissions or allowing vulnerability. It's about declaring endurance and asserting strength: emotions that stir us but don't bring us close. In the final number, "Salute," Houston won't even admit she's making a comeback at all, instead stooping to quote L.L. Cool J's classic line, by insisting she's "been here for years."

She hasn't been anything of the kind, of course, And until Houston can own up to that - both in her lyrics and, more importantly, in her delivery - she won't find a way to give her current self the new power it deserves.

The 46-year-old singer described her drug use, saying it became "heavy" after her 1992 movie "The Bodyguard." She said she would take marijuana combined with rock cocaine.

"You put your marijuana, you lace it, you roll it up and you smoke it," Houston explained to Winfrey.

During a 2002 ABC interview with Diane Sawyer, Houston admitted dabbling in drugs but denied using crack, then uttered the now-famous phrase: "Crack is wack."

"He was my drug," Houston told Winfrey of Brown. "I didn't do anything without him. I wasn't getting high by myself. It was me and him together. We were partners."

Working with Kevin Costner clearly tipped her over the edge.

Whitney shits all over Mariah Fucking Carey. I know that much.