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"Is Beyoncé/Sasha Fierce the most boring pop star ‘second life' ever?" wonders MOJO's Bill DeMain.

I Am. . . Sasha Fierce, Beyoncé proclaims with Marvel Comics flair on her latest album. The world's biggest pop singer shedding her skin to assume a new identity? On the surface, a bold move--and, hey, we dig the nifty gauntlet. But listening to the music, it's nearly impossible to tell Sasha from Beyoncé. Maybe I'm missing the finer points in the lyrics, but I don't feel like Sasha is doing something radically new, or giving me a deeper understanding of Beyoncé. Which is what an alter ego should do.

Helpfully, Beyoncé has surrounded the album with press soundbites like: "I wouldn't like Sasha if I met her off stage. She's too aggressive, too sassy, too sexy! I'm not like her in real life at all."

But this defeats the purpose of having an alter ego. Peter Parker doesn't send a disclaimer to his arch-villain foes, explaining that really he's a nice guy but his Spiderman guise allows his darker side to emerge. He just shoots his web and starts swinging.

The idea of alter egos in popular music isn't a new one. In the ‘50s, Hank Williams recorded as Luke The Drifter, revealing a Christian flipside to his hard-drinking image. A decade later, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band allowed the Beatles to lay their moptop past to rest, and unfurl a new psychedelic freak flag.

Of course, none can match David Bowie. In 1971, he was the long-tressed folkie behind Hunky Dory. The next year, he emerged unrecognizable--in sound and style--as glam spaceboy Ziggy Stardust. And with little explanation. It was total reinvention, startling and brave. And Bowie kept on alter ego tripping for the rest of the decade.

‘80s shapeshifter Prince introduced Camille, his sexed-up female counterpart, achieved by speeding up his voice on tape. But for one who'd already pranced the stage in heat--and in lingerie--wasn't that gilding the lily? XTC successfully magnified part of their personality with Dukes Of Stratosphear, a bubblegum band with lysergic lyrics.

The ‘90s brought Chris Gaines, Garth Brooks' goatee-growing, wig-wearing, pop-singing doppelgänger. A promising ruse, but when Brooks hit the TV circuit, he didn't dress up as Gaines or act differently. Instead, he removed his cowboy hat, a move designed to "keep country music country and pop music pop".

The most intriguing alter ego of recent years belonged to Marshall Mathers, who shuffled his personality deck to let Slim Shady and Eminem say things he'd never say. It made for some provocative records. But then, what about Randy Newman? He's said equally incendiary things in his songs without resorting to a different persona.

Which leads us back to Sasha Fierce. Maybe some performers just don't need alter egos. Beyoncé's already sassy, sexy and larger than life, her records the sonic equivalent of Michael Bay movies. To explore new vistas, she'd almost have to scale back as a confessional folk singer. And would her fans even be interested in such a move?

As tempting as the alter ego trip may be, it works for very few artists. If you're going to bother, why not make a profound change? Perhaps Beyoncé should take a leaf out of Ziggy's book, undergo a "wild mutation" and become a prancing gothic alien. Although she may need to warn Jay-Z before she turns up at Gwyn 'n' Chris's looking like this...

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