Retro Review: ‘Man of the Woods’ - Justin Timberlake
JUST DO A TRAINWRECKORDS FOR THIS ONE ALREADY, TODD! IT'S BEEN SIX FKN YEARS!!
(Originally posted March 2018 on Luna Paper)
I stumbled upon an interesting theory while perusing the Stereogum comment section a month or so back. According to magnificent bastards cokeparty and Cody Morris, Justin Timberlake’s latest album Man Of The Woods was nothing more than a ruse. Upon the release of ‘Filthy,’ cokeparty outlines as such: ‘Maybe that whole thing was a joke. And the big album reveal will be that it has nothing to do with the Woods at all. I’d seriously watch for this to happen. It’s a clever idea from a guy with a really good sense of humor.’
It was so obvious. It was almost Lonely Island-worthy…
But Man Of The Woods is very much real. Timberlake has since traded in his suit and tie for rugged plaid and mountain views, describing his fifth solo record as ‘Modern Americana with 808s.’ There’s even a track called ‘Flannel’ just in case you weren’t convinced, a hilariously earnest ballad dedicated to Timberlake’s beloved shirt where he just happens to keep his soul in his left pocket…
Jesus Christ.
It’s very much a clichéd view of country life, to the point where Timberlake rolled out this ham-fisted album trailer with him falling to his knees in the middle of a snow-swept field and baptising himself in a river (JESUS CHRIST) and even served grasshoppers and ants coated in black garlic and rose oil to guests at the NYC listening party for Man of the Woods. As someone who was bumpkin-born-and-raised, this is the most laughably bourgeois thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, why not throw in some banjo plucking? Fiddle-cooking? How come no one was blowing into a moonshine jug?
You can imagine such a scene, though on the funk-fuelled hoedown of ‘Midnight Summer Jam,’ complete with a whiskey-soaked harmonica solo as Timberlake and his guests ‘dance in circles, on and on, do-si-do and then we sway’ like something out of fuckin’ Hannah Montana (whose ‘Hoedown Throwdown was way better, FYI). The honky-tonk hip-hop of the title track (a love letter to Timberlake’s wife, Jessica Biel) features the worst sex metaphor to ever exist (‘But then your hands talking, fingers walking, down your legs/Hey, there’s the faucet/Someone’s knocking like they know/But baby, don’t you stop it, yes I’m watching/Your hand slides down the light/And girl you know’), while the treacly, trap-tinged Americana of ‘The Hard Stuff’ is JT’s good, old-fashioned ode to loving his lady even when, y’know, stuff gets hard.
But Timberlake’s tribute to country life is at its most tone-deaf on ‘Livin’ Off The Land,’ where he muses about having to pay his bills on credit and breaking his back working all night, like he’s trapped in some horrifying alternate timeline where he ends up - God forbid - living Chris Kirkpatrick’s post-N*Sync life instead. It’s a horribly patronising track dedicated to the rural working class which has the gall to assure us that ‘the wilderness will figure some way to teach you a lesson’ and that being one with your surroundings will help you make sense of it all, piling debts, isolation and job insecurity be damned. If only us simple country folk could keep our souls in the left pockets of our flannels as easily as JT…
But Timberlake hasn’t fully divorced himself from his slick RnB of old. ‘Sauce’ will no doubt rile up a few listeners in the wake of his projection-powered duet with the late Prince at this year’s Superbowl half-time show, a falsetto-soaked cut of bluesy, distressed rock that sees the singer boldly declare ‘Ooh, I love your pink, you like my purple/You must be God herself, can I come worship?’ First single ‘Filthy’ also channels the Purple One’s funk bravado by way of Daft Punk-lite futurism, where chunky, serrated synthesizers bump n’ grind against liquid basslines as JT strives to maintain his loverman image, even if haters gon’ say it’s fake. ‘Supplies,’ meanwhile, proves a poor rehash of ‘What Goes Around Comes Around’ as ornate mandolins dance around that thick Timbaland trap bass you know and love, with JT this time equating his dick with camping equipment – ‘Cause I’ll be the light when you can’t see/I’ll be the wood when you need heat/I’ll be the generator, turn me on when you need electricity‘ - ‘cos he’s gonna milk this fuckin’ woodsy aesthetic for all its worth, goddammit.
Man Of The Woods, though, does have its bright spots. ‘Breeze Off The Pond’ turns marital bliss into a smooth cut of disco folk, ‘Montana’ a sweet mesh of moody, folkish strums with a late night 80s pop groove, while ‘Higher Higher’ gives its soulful blues rock an almost Santana-like twist. ‘Say Something’ (featuring country singer Chris Stapleton), though, actually gives Man of the Woods a hint of sincere, rustic charm that would’ve been a better blueprint for this record, even if its message is rather flawed (Apparently the best thing to do is not use your voice and just stay on the sidelines when things get tough? Huh?)
Much like Katy Perry’s ill-devised ‘woke’ reinvention on last year’s Witness, Timberlake’s attempts to present himself as both the rugged everyman and socially-conscious are incredibly shallow. Just look at the visual trend-bait of his recent video for ‘Supplies’ as JT tries to out-woke himself, throwing everything at the wall from Weinstein, Trump, #MeToo, immigration and pussy grabbing back. See, he really does care, you guys.
Overall, Man Of The Woods’s vision is aimless. It’s not so much a walk through Memphis but a stumble through self-indulgence, the record about 5 songs too long and featuring some of the worst lyrics ever penned by Timberlake & co. Even longtime collaborators Timbaland and The Neptunes can’t save this record from feeling so dull yet so incomplete.
So (fucking) real? I wouldn’t bet on it…