There was a time when US R&B was one of the most sonically adventurous genres going. It seems a stretch to believe it now, with committee-written club formulae dominating the pop charts there, here and everywhere, but on the cusp of the millennium the low-oxygen altitudes of the charts boasted backwards choruses, trumpeting elephants and samples of Indian devotional music. People even danced to them. The man who unleashed many of these inventions, hip-hop producer Tim "Timbaland" Mosley, set his menagerie of sounds to play most freely on Missy Elliott records. But Timbaland's busy, nimble touch (and his "fricky fricky" ad-libs) also graced landmark hits by Jay-Z, Aaliyah and Justin Timberlake.
Famously, Timberlake went from boy-band foot soldier to mature pop star with 2002's Justified, a record of on-point Michael Jackson tributes he made predominantly with the Neptunes. But there was also Cry Me a River, the dramatic single produced by Mosley, which sealed both Timberlake's bankability and his cred.
Even though Timbaland had a big hand in Timberlake's last outing, FutureSex/LoveSounds (2006), The 20/20 Experience is wall-to-wall Tim-on-Tim. It is, very often, terrific – lush and quirky too. This comes as some surprise, because while Timberlake has been busy on screen, Mosley has spent the 00s making dreadful showreel compilations to lure rock bands into his ambit.
By now everyone ought to be familiar with Mirrors, the most craven outing from this orchestral funk opus, which has already enjoyed two weeks at No 1. There are at least four tracks better than Mirrors here. There will be more, because The 20/20 Experience repays replays.
As immediate as it is a keeper, Don't Hold the Wall grabs from the near east and the southern hemisphere; crickets chirp in the background, and a sped-up helium sample quacks like it's 1999. Unlike most of the songs on 20/20 – the goofy, loved-up musings of a happily married man, mostly – Don't Hold the Wall finds a breathy Timberlake prowling the club, whispering salacious nothings to a resistant girl. "Well, how'd you like it?" asks one sample. "You shouldn't have to ask me that question," answers another. No matter what you might want to do to Timberlake – mother him? – you want to give Timbaland a bear hug.
Even more sassy is Let the Groove Get In – a salsa-driven earworm with a chanted chorus whose arrangements are sublime. On these long songs, Timbaland seems to have relocated his mojo and added Kanye-calibre ambition. Synth strings scythe away on Tunnel Vision, and Walt Disney meets Quincy Jones on Pusher Love Girl. The latter track even rivals Spiritualized for dovetailing affection with addiction. Timberlake's half-rapped list of intoxicants is rather tempting: from plum wine to nicotine via "hydroponic candy jelly beans". Most loved-up of all is That Girl, a southern soul track in which old-time brass rubs up against digital clicks.
Timberlake has come far repurposing Michael Jackson. But often 20/20 finds him and Tim on a big fat Prince jag. There are tracks here called things such as Spaceship Coupe and Strawberry Bubblegum, whose surface silliness deepens to a feeling of respect a few plays in, when the penny drops, and everything – especially Suit & Tie, 20/20's teaser track – suddenly makes sense. With songs averaging around the seven-minute mark, this Timberlake record may not boast as many rocket-propelled singles as before. But it finds the two Tims going back to the future without so much as a sideways glance at the rave-pop fashion.
