Chloe Dobbins
In recent years, early 2000s nostalgia has become an incredibly hot commodity. Between Y2K fashion, incessant remakes of older films and the endless YouTube compilations of iconic pop culture moments from the aughts, new and old generations alike seem to reflect on the era through a deep rosy tint. Naturally, it is no wonder a musician like Justin Timberlake, a gargantuan figure in pop culture back in the day, feels inclined to fall back on old material — and, for the most part, that is what he does on his latest disappointment of an album, “Everything I Thought It Was.”
Consisting of a whopping 18 tracks, the album was hyped by Timberlake as his “best work,” as well as being “incredibly honest” and also “a lot of… fun.” Spoiler alert: None of the above is true.
Based on the aforementioned interview and opening track “Memphis,” Timberlake seems to set up the album to delve into themes of dealing with fame and self-reflection. “Memphis” is not a particularly good song;if anything, it feels a bit lazy with lackluster lyrics such as “Just be great// Put on for your city, for your state” droning on before going into an attempt at a rap verse.
While its theme is trite given the amount of celebrities who write about the cost of fame and fortune, the opener did lead to some heightened expectations of analyzing the pop culture of decades prior. After all, Timberlake has in recent years been called out for participating in the often misogynistic culture of the era, adding onto the strife of female stars such as Britney Spears and Janet Jackson.
Unfortunately, much of the remainder of the album quickly proves the record will not touch on anything of the sort. Instead, Timberlake writes mawkish lyrics about dancing that tend to bounce between some generalized romantic feelings and efforts to be provocative over uninspired R&B-ish instrumentals in tracks like “No Angels,” “Play” and “My Favorite Drug.”
With its lack of compelling lyrics and instrumentals that leave a mark on the listener, the album relies on catchy R&B-inspired pop hooks. The problem is that many of these do not achieve the desired effect; I can hardly remember any particular melody sticking out.
Of course, I will give credit where credit is due — aside from Timberlake’s attempts at rapping, the tracks are all listenable. The album was also not without highlights.
Featuring Tobe Nwigwe, “Sanctified” has the backing of a gospel choir and all the energy from Timberlake and Nwigwe to match it. “Technicolor” is another high point; the song is easygoing yet vibrant, with excellent vocals and an excellent arrangement.
Unfortunately, a few bright spots on an 18-song record cannot save the album. While the record might sound good generally, there is nothing substantial, and the majority of its 77-minute length is painfully boring. It is the musical equivalent of eating nothing but junk food for a week.
At the end of the day, having such a huge influence on pop culture means one can get by writing about the same things — bubblegum-flavored love, dancing, flirting — in the same way over and over again for a while, but it is 2024 now. It might be wise for Timberlake to ditch the nostalgia and make an album that does not sound like it is destined to be remade into Kidz Bop covers and played at a middle school dance.
