For today’s pop stars, crossover isn’t enough. The new goal is ubiquity: to be everything to everyone, everywhere, all at once.

J. Lo is one of ubiquity’s pioneers. She was among the first to parlay her budding acting career into life as a pop star and success in the board room. With the release of her fourth album “Rebirth” this week, she is once again nearing the desired point of omnipresence and super saturation. She has three movies in post-production. Her love life plays out in the grocery store checkout lines. (Most recently the scandal was her secret backyard marriage to Marc Anthony, a spotlight-shunning move that ensures maximum tabloid exposure.) A recent MTV program about the re-debut of her fashion line, Sweetface, was “brought to you by Miami Glow, the new fragrance by J. Lo.”

This is typical of the world of J. Lo, a place where everything is self-reference and mirror reflection. She, the company, and the brand are totally interchangeable, even in her own mind. “This is going to be a rebirth for us,” she says for MTV’s cameras. “People don’t know what the company is yet. This is when people are really gonna see what J. Lo is.”

The video for “Get Right,” the first single from “Rebirth,” realizes her narcissistic vision of total ubiquity. It is set in a club populated entirely by versions of herself. She is the DJ, the party girl dancing on the bar, the waitress, the bartender, the shy corporate girl getting drunk in the corner, and the streetwise girl with the heavy lip liner and neck tattoo. This isn’t another Jenny-from-the-block everywoman ploy; here she is literally every woman.

This transition from stars to corporations by the same name might be viewed as a dot-com boom echo, the byproduct of a culture-wide democratization of power. Having established themselves as marketable commodities within the old system, stars now want to be tycoons. And why not? They’ve already got a monopoly on the only product that matters: themselves.

They flood the market with product in recognition of the fact that fame, while more intensive than ever, is also more fleeting. A star has got to get hers while the getting’s good, because she never knows when she’ll be entertaining offers from “The Surreal Life.” But it is also a strategy for career sustainability somewhat akin to diversifying your stock portfolio. This way, should any one investment tank, you’re still protected.

J. Lo illustrates this better than anyone. Her career has suffered numerous blows recently, any one of which would have sunk a lesser star. All the ugly Bennifer press. The fallout from “Gigli.” The painful-to-watch Grammy duet with hubby Marc Anthony (lampooned six days later on Saturday Night Live). But somehow J. Lo keeps bouncing back. That’s the power of ubiquity.

The downside, of course, is that no one project gets much attention. On “Rebirth,” it shows. The album consists of lackluster dance pop that sounds impossibly dated for someone who is so much a creature of the moment.

The best songs are all pale imitations and spent formulas. “Get Real” is an ersatz “Crazy In Love,” with its own catchy horn sample and Fabolous standing in for Jay-Z. “Cherry Pie,” another standout track, is a bald rip-off of Prince’s Minneapolis sound. It has the same neutered synthesizers, fuzzy “Purple Rain” guitars, even its own ungainly sexual metaphor: “it’s like Cherry Pie, you can’t deny, you’re driving fast, you want to try,” sings J. Lo in a breathy Prince staccato.

Compared this to “Love, Angel, Music, Baby,” the solo debut by aspiring ubiquity diva Gwen Stefani. Yes, it was willfully superficial, but it was also bursting with a manic, glitchy energy and an aggressive sense of play. J. Lo sounds tired and wooden in comparison, like an old Mariah Carey album without the five-octave range.

Which raises another unflattering point: J. Lo has a remarkably bland voice. She sounds, for much of “Rebirth,” like one of those feckless, faceless backup singers rappers use to sweeten their token thug-love ballads. Whenever a rapper appears here – whether Fat Joe or Fabolous – J. Lo recedes to a background element in her own song.

When quantity is king, quality suffers. And in the rush to get product to market, to feed the insatiable maw of pop culture, it’s possible to find yourself everywhere and nowhere at once.