Oh, Justin Timberlake.
It’s been a rough year or so hasn’t it, bud?
From Brittany’s slightly dubious tell all to an ill-fated romp in the Hamptons, he’s has had a tough go of it as of late.
And my, what a sight to see.
Celebrity implosions, especially of such long standing figures, are always a spectacle – but I’ve yet to see one that reeks of desperation quite like Timberlake’s.
From the hallowed halls of the Mickey Mouse Club to Gen X thirst trap World Tours, Timberlake has a knack for keeping himself in the spotlight.
For better or worse, the common man has a half-baked notion of what — or rather, who — he is.
But there’s something that feels different about this latest scandal.
Perhaps it’s because I had the pleasure of seeing him at PNC Arena a week before his DUI.
Or maybe it’s the comical coverage of the incident — considering the pouty celebrity mugshot, perp walk and the beautifully oblivious cop making the arrest.
Either way you spin it, there’s something distinctly and pitifully funny about Timberlake’s snafu.
Rockstars and rappers go through their own legal issues and brushes with the law, but when it happens to a pop star, people pay attention.
Even more so to someone of Timberlake’s caliber.
For people 35 and over, he’s been a tried and true standard for a large part of American pop-culture.
From childhood to adulthood, he’s been a prominent spotlight feature, and he’s desperately grasping at the edge of the stage as he’s being played out.
As far as the soundscape of popular culture goes, he’s by and far left behind.
His stage show proves it to, sadly: asses really only left seats for old standards like “Sexy Back,” “Suit and Tie” and “Cry Me A River” — even more so for the throwback reliant DJ opener.
Not to besmirch the opening band, but there’s something wrong with your act if more people are amped for a DJ playing the dancehall classics of yesterday than your set.
Consistently, he’s released albums every four to five years since 2002. Yet, his sound hardly changes.
Since he’s left NSYNC, the only evolution I can truly see is a semi-annual media scandal of either infidelity or inebriation.
When your entire career is based upon the affection of young girls, what happens when those girls grow up?
What happens when you grow up?
Somewhere within the pandering, paltry pastiche of the “Forget Tomorrow” world tour and the relatively tame release “Everything I Thought I Was,” you’ll find the answer.
It was a good show, don’t get me wrong.
Justin Timberlake is an entertainer first and foremost, to which he most certainly delivered.
But as the times catch up with the now 43-year old, fading pop star, the whirling dervish of past and present controversy seems to loom large over him.
From Britney to Janet, inebriation, infidelity and unknown world tours, perhaps Timberlake should take to the mirror himself and truly reckon with his next steps.
Because let’s be fair, humoring an aging audience in flights of fantasy feels like a desperate cash-grab preying on the hardwired need of women past a certain age to feel relevant — to feel important.
In a world where artists are more accessible than ever, feeling more real than ever, the thin line between artifice and artistry has never been more apparent.
And artists who are unwilling to step beyond their predestined imagery are not only doing their audiences a disservice, they are doing one to themselves.
