Justin Timberlake’s new album The 20/20 Experience is now on a pace to sell a whopping 800,000 copies during its first week on sale, which ends March 24th. Billboard reports that 20/20 is expected to top its albums chart, which would make it Timberlake’s second Number One solo album. (His first solo album, 2002′s Justified, peaked at Number Two.)
Justin Timberlake Confirms Second ’20/20 Experience’ Album
The growing sales count will also score Timberlake his best sales week ever, topping the 684,000 copies his previous LP, 2006′s FutureSex/LoveSounds, moved during its debut week. The biggest sales seem to be coming through iTunes, with Target – the only retailer carrying a deluxe version of the album with two exclusive bonus tracks – also quickly moving its stock.
With original estimates placing sales at around 500,000, the album is now on track to become 2013′s best selling record, surpassing Mumford & Son’s Babel, which despite its 2012 release, has sold 631,000 copies so far. (Coincidentally, Timberlake and Marcus Mumford recently collaborated on new music for the Coen brothers’ upcoming film about the 1960s folk scene, Inside Llewyn Davis, which co-stars Timberlake.)
Should 20/20 live up to these new estimates, it would mark the biggest sales debut for a male artist since 2010 when Lil Wayne’s Tha Carter IV pushed 964,000 its first week. Taylor Swift was the last artist to sell more than 750,000 copies, when her 2012 effort Red bowed at Number one with 1.2 million sold its first week.
this is what i miss…. Justin usually does a handful of magazine spreads , and this time we got nothing
but here is that scan from rollingstone that i promised the other day …
view the full version : http://wojpictures.com/displayimage.php?album=3033&pid=90893#top_display_media
Justin Timberlake managed to pull off one of the better makeovers in pop culture history, going from wearing cheesy matching denim outfits with then-GF Britney Spears, to being one of the most nattily dressed guys around. But it took a lot of hard work, people. And a lot more advice from Tom Ford.
Today Guy Trebay wrote a pretty gushy feature for the New York Times about JT’s sartorial evolution, and Tom Ford–a big Timberlake fan and collaborator–weighed in on his role in it all.
The designer first started dressing Timberlake regularly in 2011, and he was flattered that the pop star came to him. “When you’re someone in your early 50s, and a major global pop star who’s barely 30 identifies with your style and wants you to make all his clothes, you think, ‘I’m still valid,’” Ford said. (How humble!) The pair’s most recent collab is for Timberlake’s new album “The 20/20 Experience,” which the singer is promoting now.
But it sounds like the “collaboration” is mainly just Tom Ford telling Timberlake what to do–at least when it comes to his appearance.
“I happen to like the hair straighter,” Ford said of JT’s naturally curly fro. And indeed, Timberlake has been wearing a sleeker, more blown-out coif of late, and a definitely more grown-up wardrobe. Ford has a tendency of speaking about Timberlake as if he were a piece of artwork rather than a person, and NYT even goes so far as to call the performer a “Tom Ford creation.”
“These kids grew up in a generation of baggy shorts and baggy athletic clothes, and now they want some kind of little formal touch to something,” Ford told Trebay. “They want the glamour of suits and ties.” …Buh-dum bum!
And how would Ford describe JT’s overall look? Not quite Frank Sinatra, but “Justin was identifying with a sort of young, Rat Pack fantasy in some way, and that is a terrific look for him,” Ford said. Cary Grant is also thrown around a lot in the article.
There was one point on which we wish Ford would have elaborated a bit: “Have you ever seen the body?” Ford asked Trebay. (We’re assuming it was said admiringly.)
As the title implies, there are plenty of reflective surfaces in the new video for Justin Timberlake’s song “Mirrors.” Timberlake himself doesn’t appear until about two-thirds of the way through the eight-minute clip, in which mirrors serve as reflections on the lives of three couples – or perhaps one couple at three different stages of their lives. The scene shifts between an elderly pair approaching their twilight, a younger woman whose face is streaked with mascara as she sits on a bed next to a prone man, and a still-younger man and woman living it up on the town.
Timberlake shows up in the song coda, drifting through a hall of, er, mirrors where he’s eventually surrounded by dancers and their reflections. The song comes from Timberlake’s new album, The 20/20 Experience, which is the first of two releases the singer plans this year. He’s had a busy March, hosting Saturday Night Live for the fifth time, spending a week on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon and performing last weekend at SXSW in Austin.
I’m ridiculously excited for the release of Justin Timberlake‘s The 20/20 Experience and while I’m completely loving his current sound and look, I find myself reminiscing about the JT of yesteryear. The Justin who wore a denim-on-denim suit and a cowboy hat to match then-girlfriend Britney Spears’ denim gown. The Justin who made over-the-top curly hair on guys look good. Even the Justin with the heavily bleached caesar cut. Let’s face it, from his early days on the Mickey Mouse Club to the phenomenon that was ‘N Sync to the hit-making solo artist and actor he is today, the Memphis, Tenn. native has already had quite a career in his 32 years, and almost as many different looks as Madonna (I said almost). So without further adieu I bid you a photo retrospective on the man of the hour—Justin Timberlake! – OK MAGAZINE
Justin Timberlake is our biggest male pop star. I realized this for the first time the other day. It hit me during the final leg of Timberlake’s dizzying campaign to promote The 20/20 Experience, his first LP in nearly seven years, which comes out March 19. He’d just hosted Saturday Night Live and was about to begin a weeklong stint on Jimmy Fallon; at that point I half-expected him to burst forth from my recycling bin with a winning smile and stack of CDs under his arm. I’m not sure why it took me so long to size up Timberlake’s stardom. Beyoncé, Taylor Swift, and Rihanna are bigger, of course, but they are very much not boys. Usher is a bore these days. Bruno Mars could evaporate at any moment. And Justin Bieber is still trapped in Tiger Beat territory. Timberlake is all we have.
When Timberlake sings about getting “all pressed up in black and white,” he expresses the Millennial desire for the authenticity of time tested classicism. (Christie Goodwin/Redferns, via Getty)
And yet for some reason we have been slow to acknowledge his place in the pop cosmos—not just me, but the culture at large. Most of the talk about Timberlake still centers on his improbable transformation from *NSYNC puff pastry—tight blond curls, paint-splattered jeans, matching diamond studs—to a credible, grown-up R&B artist. But the metamorphosis itself is old news. What hasn’t been adequately examined is the position he now occupies as our era’s equivalent of a Michael Jackson or an Elvis Presley, as strange as that sounds. I’m not just referring to the 17 million records Timberlake has sold, or the seven inventive, unshakable singles he’s released since the start of the 21st century. Every star reflects the generation that produces and sustains him: its character and its neuroses, its needs and its wants. So why have we settled on Justin Timberlake?
First things first: his talent is undeniable. At 2, he was singing along to the radio. “Is anyone listening to him?” his uncle asked. “He’s singing f–king harmony parts!” Later, Timberlake locked himself in his room, switched off the lights, and listened to Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” for 48 hours straight. “I’d only come out for food or water,” he recently recalled. “I wanted to dissect every part of it.” He may have been the youngest member of *NSYNC, but he was also the most musical; as Pharrell Williams of the Neptunes told Rolling Stone in 2000, “to say that he’s got soul is something you expect me to say, but it’s true.” Timberlake proved Williams right. His first two albums were remarkably consistent, and remarkably good, and the new one extends the streak: inventive production; precise, supple vocals; relentless hooks. “Pusher Love Girl,” with its strutting beat, Curtis Mayfield falsetto, and crafty central metaphor (lover = drug dealer), will sound particularly excellent on the car stereo this spring.
As Pharrell Williams once put it, “Justin could’ve been raised in the black church.” (Christie Goodwin/Redferns, via Getty)
That said, plenty of contemporary performers—like Robin Thicke, for one—were blessed with talent. None of them are Timberlake. The reason, I think, is that his persona, and his taste, are preternaturally in tune with the times. At root, this has as much to do with biography as anything else: the contours of Timberlake’s life mirror every Millennial trend line. An estimated 40 percent of us are children of divorce, Timberlake included; his mother, Lynn Harless, split up with his father, Randy Timberlake, a bluegrass bassist, when Justin was 2. She and her second husband, Paul, went on to co-manage their son’s career—the ne plus ultra of helicopter parenting. By all reports, Timberlake and his mother have one of those peculiarly Millennial relationships in which the line between parent and pal is blurred. He lived with her even after his solo debut, and the two have been seen smoking pot together. “I had Justin when I was 20, and he seemed about 20 when he was born, so we’ve pretty much shared everything,” Lynn has said. “We’re weird like that. But there’s a lot of stuff he starts telling me about … Some things you are not supposed to say to your mother. Sexual things. And his response is usually, ‘Oh, Mom, just listen.’”
Timberlake has handled his career like a stereotypical Millennial as well, accepting the system as it is and making it work for him—unlike the baby boomers of the late 1960s, who relished their own anti-authoritarianism, and the Generation Xers of the late 1980s and early 1990s, who struck an alt-everything pose. First came the Baptist choir in Millington, Tenn., at age 8; then Star Search in Orlando at 10; then The All New Mickey Mouse Club at 12; and (finally!) a corporate record contract with *NSYNC at 14. He is the Organization Kid as pop star, and like many of his peers, he has multitasked his way through his 20s, diversifying into comedy (the SNL “Dick in a Box” sketch), film (The Social Network, Friends With Benefits), fashion (his William Rast clothing line), food (his Southern Hospitality BBQ restaurant), and media (his $35 million investment in MySpace). In a subtle subconscious way, these familiar tendencies make Timberlake seem “real” to us—like someone we know.
For all the futurism of Timbaland’s productions—the bleeps and blips, the percussive mouth noises, the zippery loops—Timberlake’s music also strives to keep it real, mainly by anchoring itself in the organic sounds of the past. As Simon Reynolds recently wrote in Retromania, pop culture is increasingly feeding on its own history. And so “Suit and Tie” borrows its gentle ninth chords and sparkling piano glissandos from the cosmopolitan soul that Marvin Gaye was putting out in the 1970s, and Timberlake acknowledges the debt by quoting the “hot just like an oven” line from Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On.” “Senorita,” the fourth single from Justified, is a direct descendent of Stevie Wonder’s “Don’t You Worry ’Bout a Thing,” from its spoken intro to its Latin beat. And the only thing more Jacksonesque than Timberlake’s debut release, “Like I Love You”—which he performed at the 2002 MTV Music Video Awards in black pants, a red shirt, and a fedora—was his third single, “Rock Your Body,” an actual rejected Jackson track. Fearing inauthenticity—the inevitable side effect of a dematerialized digital society—Millennials gravitate toward styles that have been authenticated by the passage of time. When Timberlake sings about getting “all pressed up in black and white,” then appears at the Grammys in a Tom Ford tuxedo—his hair neatly parted, his band arrayed behind Art Deco podiums, the screen tinted like an old sepia-tone photograph—he is satisfying this desire, both in himself and his audience.
Race has also played a role in Timberlake’s rise. It’s fair to attribute some of his success to the same dynamic that propelled Elvis Presley to the top of the pop charts: white boy plays black music, makes it “safe” for mainstream America, and outsells the originators in the process. But Timberlake’s relationship to race reflects our world more than Presley’s. Elvis was a rebellious figure: a white Southerner tapping into black culture at a time when black culture was taboo. For that reason, among others, he’ll always be a much more revolutionary artist than Timberlake. (So will Jackson, who melded black and white music and united two previously segregated audiences.) But in 2013, African-American culture is no longer forbidden. It’s mainstream. It’s cool. Timberlake takes this for granted—he’s never known otherwise—and so do his fans. As a teenager, Timberlake wanted to be black, basically. He learned to sing from Brian McKnight, Al Green, and Donny Hathaway; early profiles describe his “homeboy delivery” and “hip-hop flavoring.” As Pharrell Williams once put it, “Justin could’ve been raised in the black church.” And so, unlike Elvis, Timberlake isn’t challenging the status quo by singing R&B. Instead, he is embodying our deeper, postracial aspiration—a desire that didn’t exist in Elvis’s day—to be at ease in black and white culture simultaneously. If he can pull it off, perhaps we can, too.
The heart of Timberlake’s appeal may be this comforting, consensus quality. The past is still part of the future. Race isn’t as problematic as it seems. (Christie Goodwin/Redferns, via Getty)
Ultimately, the heart of Timberlake’s appeal may be this comforting, consensus quality. The past is still part of the future. Race isn’t as problematic as it seems. And lest I get too carried away: we can all shine on the dance floor. That was the point, after all, of “SexyBack,” Timberlake’s twitchy 2006 masterpiece, which celebrated the singer’s valiant efforts to resurrect “sexy” itself—to save it from “them other boys [who] don’t know how to act.” “I don’t really think I’m bringing sexy back,” Timberlake once confessed. “But when a 28-year-old male or female is standing in a club in New York City at 2:30 in the morning and that f–kin’ song comes on, I want them to feel like they are.” For a self-regarding generation—the stars of Twitter, the celebrities of Facebook—what fantasy could be more intoxicating than that? Justin is just like us—and for the next few minutes, we are just like Justin.
Much like Justin Timberlake’s acting career, his clothing line William Rast hit its peak in 2010. That year, the label got a deal with Target, won a “Brand of the Year” award, and drew celebrities to its fashion show like sorority girls to bartops when “SexyBack” comes on. But since then, its prestige has waned: It stopped showing at New York Fashion Week, and Timberlake no longer appeared in their ads. Now its clothes are sold at J.C. Penney and a few places online. To be fair, the label probably works best as a mass-market line, but it has all but disappeared from the spotlight.
Today, rumors emerged that Timberlake himself may abandon the label, which he co-founded in 2005 with his best friend Trace Ayala, who still oversees it. The Post reports:
Sources said Timberlake is still involved in the brand for now, “But by the end of the year, he won’t be anymore.”
A spokesperson for the label didn’t deny Timberlake’s departure, but said that he was “eternally” connected to the brand because its title is “a combination of Justin’s grandfather’s name and Justin’s best friend [Ayala]‘s grandfather’s name.” Well at least now Timberlake won’t have to wear it on his tour this summer! Here’s to all Tom Ford, all the time.