For the cover of its 2003 year-end issue, Rolling Stone dubbed Justin Timberlake the "new King of Pop." Timberlake, the article maintained, successfully reshaped his public persona as "just a boy-band star," and, with his solo debut, "Justified," proved himself more than "just a hunky white boy emulating Michael Jackson."
In anointing Timberlake the "new King of Pop," the implication, of course is that the young singer is this generation's Jackson -- which, regardless of how you may feel about Jackson or Timberlake, is so wrong-headed, it's utterly laughable.
Granted, Jackson was a self-crowned King of Pop. Still, the ridiculed title stuck because it was impossible to argue even with the self-aggrandizing proclamations of a man who once, indisputably, was the biggest pop star in the world. Exactly what has Timberlake achieved to deserve consideration as the rightful heir to such pop supremacy?
That Timberlake has been allowed a Houdini-like escape from major criticism despite his prominent role in Janet Jackson's Super Bowl "wardrobe malfunction," speaks to just how desperately the music industry may be looking for a Great White Hope to counter the more troublesome likes of 50 Cent and Eminem.
Sure, Timberlake now has two Grammys, and there's still an impression the award instantly bestows artistic validation. But a few shiny trinkets does not an artist make; remember, the tedious Evanescence also won a Grammy at last week's ceremony. So far, Timberlake's greatest talent has been distancing himself from his original incarnation as a blonde-haired dancing marionette in 'N Sync by mimicking the R&B icons he so slavishly admires. In 2002, his solo debut performance at the MTV Video Music Awards singing "Like I Love You," was vintage-era Michael Jackson, but without a scintilla of originality. Were we watching Timberlake or actor Corey Feldman during his weird Jackson obsession phase?
When "Justified" was released a few months later, the hits "Like I Love You," and "Cry Me a River" worked mainly because of the prodigious knob-twiddling by the Neptunes and Timbaland, respectively. But, taken as a whole, Timberlake, who shares writing credits on all the tracks, brought little to the polished surface provided by a studio-full of high-powered producers working overtime.
Yes, Timberlake is young -- he's just 23 -- but Jackson was only 21 when he released "Off the Wall," and that album remains exciting and fresh 25 years after its release. And Jackson wrote and coproduced three of its tracks, including the classic, "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough."
Perhaps weary of the Jackson comparisons, Timberlake has skipped onto aping another legend -- the great Stevie Wonder. At last week's Grammy telecast, Timberlake plopped himself behind a keyboard on a rotating pedestal to perform "Senorita."
"The guy's a star, there's no point in trying to deny that anymore, if anyone was still thinking to do so," wrote Kurt Loder, who really should know better, in his MTV.com Grammy wrap-up. "But he really is funky, too, and swaying away behind an electric piano almost like Wonder himself, he's undeniably a real musician."
That's what Timberlake wants us to think. Yet except for a chord here and there, there was no indication the guy can really play keyboards. (The real music was supplied by jazz trumpeter Arturo Sandoval and a group of backing musicians, including two keyboard players.) Timberlake was trying so hard to channel Wonder, I half-expected beaded cornrows to sprout from his head.
When Wonder was Timberlake's age, he was writing, producing, arranging, and playing virtually every instrument on such masterpieces as "Music of My Mind" and "Talking Book," and was beginning arguably the greatest creative decade ever for a solo artist. He sounded like no one else before him. For all his efforts, Timberlake has no musical identity, and even with a better team behind him, he's still too studied and manufactured.
Timberlake can sing, but his voice lacks any genuine depth or emotion. He's a hard-working performer, but he's also like the smartest kid in the class who mostly succeeds by memorizing his lessons without having any real concept as to what it all means. There's nothing wrong with admiring and drawing inspiration from great artists, but the key is bringing an added level of personal artistry, so that a performance is more than just a wan imitation. And unless Timberlake can discern the difference, the so-called "new King of Pop" will never be more than a pretender to the throne.
Renee Graham's Life in the Pop Lane column appears on Tuesdays. She can be reached at graham@globe.com.
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