Run Along Now, And Let the Grown-Ups Rock: IV

A Recurring Segment On Fostering a Refined and Stylish Appreciation for the Modern Musical Arts.

Guilty pleasure: (gil-tea plez-joure) 1.) A phenomenon that occurs when a certain gentleman of self-declared refined and noble musical taste knowingly allows himself to succumb to a musical work or genre that would normally be outside of his typical stylistic preference range but that he cannot deny has captivated his basic, subconscious and animalistic need to "get down and groove."

Up until last week, the above definition taken from Webster's 1809 Dictionary flawlessly described my relationship with one certain Justin "The Triumphant Returner of the Once-Misplaced Sexy" Timberlake. As an endlessly loyal lover and collector of blues and classic rock, Mr. Timberlake's sultry R&B tunes were reserved for unashamedly belting out and dancing to while stuck in traffic during an intermission between Zeppelin and Buddy Guy albums--that is until I pulled up next to a particularly masculine-looking road worker or guy on a Harley with judgment and pity in their eyes.  That all changed, with Justin's newest album, The 20/20 Experience.

With a title that literally derives from the fact that it delivers "Music That You Can See," JT's newest masterpiece took me by a pleasant and very unexpected surprise.  For starters, the average song length is somewhere in the ballpark of 7 minutes--a virtual nightmare when it comes to the mainstream maximum of 4 for radio play, but an absolute delight for music lovers who actually enjoy experiencing the metamorphosis that such a meaty tune can undergo.  And morph they do--like some sort of bass-thumping Soul Eagle each track brilliantly soars high, then drops away, poops out something completely different yet oddly majestic, only to have that poop catch a jetstream and skyrocket back and collide with its predecessor creating a glorious masterpiece of a.....I'm sorry I feel that metaphor got away from me.

The short of it all is that I'm absolutely addicted to this album.  It's inventive, sensual, and perhaps best of all, presents itself as an album in its entirety--an intricate mixture of ballads and hits all converging into one singular vision and one cohesive musical journey.  The traditional toe-tapping, bass-loaded grooves are there (Spaceship Coupe, Don't Hold the Wall), as well as the quintessential love songs complete with added soul and even some harkening to a little Rat Pack swagger (Mirror, Pusher Lover Girl, That Girl).   In the end it seems JT has delivered the impossible:  A mainstream album that refuses to feel mainstream at all.  And if all that doesn't convince you, the magnitude of dapper sartorial genius on the cover art should definitely do the trick.  

So feel free to grab a copy of what will probably be the most popular album of the year with a clear conscience.  If there was ever a time to get caught at a stoplight belting out Cry Me a River, now's the time--the Timberlake is as cool as it gets.