It didn't have to be this way. Justin Timberlake could have capped his comeback year with a final single from 2013's top-selling album, The 20/20 Experience—perhaps the breezy "That Girl"—before heading out on an upcoming victory-lap arena tour. He could have left us with images of a dignified pop star, as seen in David Fincher's flawless "Suit & Tie" video, or the beguiling second half of the visual for "Mirrors", where he offers graceful steps inside of a mysterious, reflecting maze. He could have simply coveted the unlikely staying power of "Mirrors", a smash that manages to deliver broad messages of fidelity, selflessness, and co-dependence while being intimate, addictive, and touching (and eight minutes long). He could have basked in his marathon hit parade at the VMA's; while it wasn't the show's most talked-about performance, it solidified the 32-year-old's position in the pop firmament—somewhere high above the blog-churning din, peering down on the foam hands, Beetlejuice suits, and oversized stuffed animals with a wry chuckle. He could have left us wanting more. He didn't.
The 20/20 Experience 2 of 2 is not only superfluous, it actually erases some of the gains made by its predecessor as it plays into the worst trappings of self-indulgence. Taken from the same 2012 sessions that birthed The 20/20 Experience, this album shows off similar musical tactics—multi-part songs that routinely push the seven-minute mark, dense arrangements, Timbaland-helmed syncopation—but instead of acting like a complement, it sounds like the unripe fruits of a warm-up. Whereas 1 of 2 found a retro-futuristic freshness by mixing detailed percussion with string-laden, old-Hollywood glamor, 2 of 2 rehashes many of the same sonic tics of Timberlake and Timbaland's seven-year-old FutureSex/LoveSounds, and, in turn, points to a much more stunted spectrum of creativity.
Speaking of stunted: Timberlake recently joked that this new record is "more slutty" than its "virginal" partner, and its subject matter can certainly be offensive—not because of its sexual nature but rather how disturbingly unsexy the singer makes it all sound. Despite "SexyBack"—which, with its motorik pulse and metallic vocal effects, was more cybersex-y, anyway—Timberlake's lock-step perfectionism always lent itself more to idealized romance than unadulterated attraction. And too often here, his come-ons are corny enough to elicit facepalms from sixth graders. "Girl, if sex is a contest, then you're coming first," he suggests on "Cabaret", seemingly accompanied by a dumb, punny smirk. His supporting cast doesn't help. Timbaland shows up only to play the role of embarrassing uncle on "TKO", starting the track off with unfortunately appropriate (and gross) baby talk: "She kill me with the coo-coochie-coochie-coo." Jay-Z can't help but get in on the act on "Murder", where he hypothesizes on the efficacy of Yoko Ono's vagina: "Know that shit gotta be lethal/ If that pussy broke up the Beatles/ Chocha ruined pop culture." Yes, he really says "chocha." And no, it doesn't sound better when you hear him rapping it.
Part of the problem with such idiotic horniness is a matter of tone; if any of the above lines and/or songs were refashioned as "Saturday Night Live" skits, they would likely prove more effective (and markedly less disconcerting). In particular, the only way to make the years-late nearly-10-minute sexy-vampire track "True Blood" at all palatable would be to pair it with a knowingly campy video, a la "Thriller". Obviously, Timberlake can be very funny on purpose—he's arguably the best "SNL" host of the last decade. But, maybe due to his boy-band past or the fact that he's dabbling in traditionally black styles of music, he's self-consciously made the separation between his joke tracks and his serious songs very clear. This straight face served him well on The 20/20 Experience's odes to devotion, but it makes him look silly here.
Elsewhere, when he's not chasing after women with his tongue unraveling to his feet, Looney Tunes-style, he's pissed off. And if there's an emotion that suits Timberlake less than rampant lustfulness, it's anger. This is the guy who'll gush that he has "the best wife in the world" on "Ellen", who does everything in his power to be liked at all times. Which is not to say his ire is invalid. But, as depicted on 2 of 2, it is clunky. His heartbrokenness falls flat on the twangy Kid Rock-type plastic blues of "Drink You Away", and "Only When I Walk Away" tries (and fails) to go for the same spurned emotions as "What Goes Around… Comes Around", before Timberlake ends it with the couplet, "She only love me when I walk away/ I said, 'Fuck you bitch, we no care what you say.'" This is followed by a little laugh that seems to say "just kidding!" but the tough-guy pose still leaves a rancid taste.
When Timberlake went into the studio with Timbaland last year, they didn't necessarily plan to make an album. His manager figured a single or an EP might arise from the 20 days of recording. But here we are with two albums—144 minutes of music in total. It's about 70 minutes too much, an unwarranted glut. Based on the performance of this album's singles thus far—the good-enough "Take Back the Night" peaked at No. 29 while the laborious "TKO" just entered the charts at No. 54—public demand is significantly waning as well. With The 20/20 Experience, Timberlake asked his audience to accept a twisty album of love songs that was out-of-step with today's bass-first pop-radio fodder. No matter the amount of soul-sucking promotional tie-ins involved—and there were many—it was a risky gambit, and it paid off on virtually every level. With 2 of 2, he's a happily married man asking us to take in an album of awful pick up lines and phony angst, all over an endless bed of reheated production. It's a bridge too far.
