Words by Jasper Hitchen//Illustration by Erica Parrott
Walt Disney has launched many a successful career. Donald Duck was a rising entrepreneur before they found his underground meth lab at Uncle Scrooge’s mansion in Duckburg. Mickey’s career as an orchestral conductor was prematurely ended by a magician…or something like that. Cartoon references aside, how can we take someone who was on the Mickey Mouse Club seriously? And how the fuck did that show launch a trio of 00’s ultra-sexed pop symbols?

Britney’s nude pregnancy magazine photos killed any boner-factor that still existed, while Christina drops a new album every now and then, receives lukewarm reviews, and is forgotten again. Despite the hardships of his compatriots, Mr. Justin Timberlake has somehow managed to stay afloat in this world of unrelenting criticism of Top 40 music. Because albums going platinum a combined 28 times doesn’t buy a dude as much musical credibility as you think when it’s being done by a strip mall made boy band, Big JT was forced to sell another seven million copies of his own record to “Justify” himself (see what I did there?). The fact that I cannot stomach any R&B from the Usher school of music doesn’t change the fact that Justified was a mix of skillfully crafted vocals courtesy of Timberlake’s wailing falsetto, top-notch production, the lyrical content equivalent of a million horny dolphins with a million typewriters, and then a handful of absolutely terrible ballads – all in all, a success.

Among the general populace, there are stereotypes Timberlake will never be able to shed. As I squirm uncomfortably into the pint-sized desks they provide in public schools these days, and ease back for a few precious minutes of sonic enjoyment during my allotted six-minute passing period, the girl sitting next to me glances over at my MP3 player and asks me what I’m listening to. I explain to her that it’s “My Love” by Justin Timberlake. She recoils, barely, but noticeably, and looks away grinning, while I get that sinking, “I should’ve just listened to Modest Mouse” feeling. ‘Tis the price we pay for our indulgences. At least it’s not lung cancer.

Assuming Last.fm is a pretty fair indicator of the 12-to- 20-something, mildly-indie community, JT is pretty damn cool. Jumping from the 181st to the 30th most popular artist since August, and receiving comments like, “I want to be him” from Sufjan Stevens fans suggests the widespread appeal of his new disc. But Future Sex/Love Sounds is the utter definition of a mixed bag. Give Timberlake and second banana Timbaland (probably more important to Timberlake’s success than Timberlake is) credit for exploring a lot of styles here. The “Let Me Talk to You Prelude” makes a nod to tribal instrumentation. “What Goes Around” displays evident Middle Eastern influences. The dreadful “Summer Love” combines elements of synth-pop and a hip-hop beat. Listening to the funky bass line in “Sexy Ladies” I can’t help but be reminded of Parliament’s “Flashlight,” and when Timberlake delivers the line, “”It might sound cocky/but is it really cocky if you know that it’s true?,” you know he’s for real.

The first seven tracks are the definite standouts here. “Chop Me Up” featuring Timbaland and Three-6 Mafia features a driving drum beat and the album’s lyrical standout courtesy of Timbaland: “So grab ya friends and let’s take ya back to my house/Let’s watch “Sex and the City” or “Desperate Housewives”/Simon says touch yours while you touch mine.” The spectacular “My Love” is JT’s follow-up to “Cry Me a River.” Timberlake’s pipes here are even impressive enough to potentially best Coldplay’s Chris Martin in a falsetto contest (give them 20 years, and pray VH1 still needs weekend content). “LoveStoned” starts off characteristically Timberlake, with a few strings for extra drama before fading into the “I Think She Knows Interlude”, which drops the bongos, throws in a few guitar chords and softens it up to offer some sentimentality. The Timberlake epic is followed by the almost likeable “Damn Girl”, produced and featuring will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas, who we can only hope will stop spreading his evil influence to artists with real potential, and the album closes out with a semi-ballad and three ballads that are so bad, not mentioning their names here is a courtesy.

Part pop, part hip-hop, part R&B, part funk, park soul, and all King of Pop imitator. Or maybe James Brown… Or David Bowie… Let’s just call it musical eclecticism.

No, Future Sex/Love Sounds is not something you can pop in the CD player and listen all the way through. The beautiful thing about the digital music revolution is that you can buy or steal all the good stuff, and let the shit rot on the shelf where it belongs. That, and the satisfaction of knowing there still may be a reason to turn on the radio every once and awhile, that is true bliss.

Justin Timberlake
Jive Records