I’m of the opinion that 39 minutes is the perfect length for an album. Somehow, rap and pop records seem to be the biggest offenders of this rule. This album (like last week’s Pitchfork Sunday review, Madonna’s Erotica) is guilty of overstaying its welcome. Although it only has thirteen tracks, it’s still over an hour, which is too much. Especially if it’s not my preferred style of music.
I have at least one friend who swears by later Timberlake albums, but this one didn’t do a whole lot for me. While I would have been a little young for the whole boy band craze, Justin Timberlake was ubiquitous enough that I kept waiting to be hit with songs I of course recognized, but that only happened once, with “Rock Your Body.” I did have a moment of shock when I heard Clipse on one song, so it was less of a surprise to learn The Neptunes were heavily involved here. Otherwise, I heard talent, both in the production and vocalizing, but an overall sameness. It’s hard to say without the benefit of hindsight, but it felt like an early record from someone who goes on to be one of the biggest pop multimedia stars of the decade. And again, every song could have trimmed 30-45 seconds off the meandering outros. At some point, I’ll probably try a later album or two, for no other reason than to see if I agree with my friends.
