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Justin Timberlakes career is a monument to image-consciousness.
Alifelongentertainer, he saves face in a scandal by making careful adjustments to his never-ending likability offensive.
He made a perfect mark on the first season ofPunkdin 2003,stifling tearsas someone trampled his guitar.
Paradise rallies his old N Sync bandmates to dive into the history Timberlakes last five albums resisted.
It worked because we wanted it to.
We needed to believe that the man claiming offense and aggrievement was set about by jezebels.
You make a bed, you lie in it.
He told Kelly Clarkson he wrote 100 songs to get to the 18 weve heard.
Sippin that bougie rose in Play, he reminds you of his wicca wicca years (Ginuwiiiiiine!).
Even that one delivers a quick chant callback that admirers of Senorita would appreciate.
Stacked voice lines pop, as they should for someone who graduated boy-band boot camp with honors.
The lush Disney-like ballad Alone casts rumors of turmoil in the marriage.
It changes the subject.
