Justin Timberlake has always been a bit of a jerk, at least on a personal level, and his new song, “Selfish,” is just the latest garlic to float to the surface of his long-stagnant career. It's not just sanitized, Bieberized, blue-eyed R&B. it's treacly schlock.
The lyrics are piled on cliché upon cliché, and it doesn't even have a whiff of sex, though you can still smell the bullshit. “Your lips were made for mine,” he sings, and while his heart might be “beating” for you all the time, my stomach was “throwing up in my mouth.” And lest you think he's keeping up with modern technology, the line “Every time the phone rings, I hope it's you” feels like a time capsule from the days before vibrate and caller ID — the last time Timberlake it was relevant. “Selfish” isn't even bad enough to be interesting, and it's certainly not ambitious. it's like he was clearly aiming for mediocrity and still succeeded.
The thing is, this is no surprise. Man of the Woods sucked in 2018, and as much as we wanted to like “Suit & Tie,” both parts of 2012 The 20/20 experience also sucked. The only reasons Timberlake matters more than other washed-up teen idols are two solo albums that seem more and more unlikely by the year.
In retrospect, he caught Pharrell and Timbaland at the right time. Both blockbusters were at the height of their powers when they mentored Timberlake Justified and FutureSex/LoveSounds, respectively. Among the megastar class this is not so unusual. I can think of many pop artists who had one or two good albums and then fell apart, unable to reassemble the right collaborators under a single vision. Timberlake can't handle the project, and he doesn't have Beyoncé's ear for beats or Taylor Swift's sense of lyrics.
He has some, for lack of a better term, soft skills. For example, he was able to leverage his relationship with Britney Spears to sell FutureSex/LoveSounds. Ignore for now Spears' memoir, where he wrote that he'd done the whole scam and been blindsided by “Cry Me a River” — the tactic had a Machiavellian effectiveness, even if it doesn't do him any credit personally or artistically.
Still, for a guy like him—handsome, white, a terrible dancer, and willing to play dirty—his solo run was surprisingly boring. Time and time again over the last ten years, he has gone into the studio with the world's most established hitmakers, only to produce a tune as vibrant as a dead plant.
The longer this goes on, the easier it is to put these two solo albums into context. Farrell was deep in his bag during Justified. FutureSex/LoveSounds it might be Timbaland's masterpiece.
These albums would be classics no matter who sang them. But because he was this guy, we seem to be stuck with him.
Summarize this content to 100 words Justin Timberlake has always been a bit of a jerk, at least on a personal level, and his new song, “Selfish,” is just the latest garlic to float to the surface of his long-stagnant career. It's not just sanitized, Bieberized, blue-eyed R&B. it's treacly schlock.
The lyrics are piled on cliché upon cliché, and it doesn't even have a whiff of sex, though you can still smell the bullshit. “Your lips were made for mine,” he sings, and while his heart might be “beating” for you all the time, my stomach was “throwing up in my mouth.” And lest you think he's keeping up with modern technology, the line “Every time the phone rings, I hope it's you” feels like a time capsule from the days before vibrate and caller ID — the last time Timberlake it was relevant. “Selfish” isn't even bad enough to be interesting, and it's certainly not ambitious. it's like he was clearly aiming for mediocrity and still succeeded.
The thing is, this is no surprise. Man of the Woods sucked in 2018, and as much as we wanted to like “Suit & Tie,” both parts of 2012 The 20/20 experience also sucked. The only reasons Timberlake matters more than other washed-up teen idols are two solo albums that seem more and more unlikely by the year.
In retrospect, he caught Pharrell and Timbaland at the right time. Both blockbusters were at the height of their powers when they mentored Timberlake Justified and FutureSex/LoveSounds, respectively. Among the megastar class this is not so unusual. I can think of many pop artists who had one or two good albums and then fell apart, unable to reassemble the right collaborators under a single vision. Timberlake can't handle the project, and he doesn't have Beyoncé's ear for beats or Taylor Swift's sense of lyrics.
He has some, for lack of a better term, soft skills. For example, he was able to leverage his relationship with Britney Spears to sell FutureSex/LoveSounds. Ignore for now Spears' memoir, where he wrote that he'd done the whole scam and been blindsided by “Cry Me a River” — the tactic had a Machiavellian effectiveness, even if it doesn't do him any credit personally or artistically.
Still, for a guy like him—handsome, white, a terrible dancer, and willing to play dirty—his solo run was surprisingly boring. Time and time again over the last ten years, he has gone into the studio with the world's most established hitmakers, only to produce a tune as vibrant as a dead plant.
The longer this goes on, the easier it is to put these two solo albums into context. Farrell was deep in his bag during Justified. FutureSex/LoveSounds it might be Timbaland's masterpiece.
These albums would be classics no matter who sang them. But because he was this guy, we seem to be stuck with him.
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