This looks to be JT’s new album cover
If anyone cares, Pitchfork, gave “My Love” 5 stars…
All of Timbaland’s best r&b beats– Ginuwine’s “Pony”, Destiny’s Child’s “Get on the Bus”, various Aaliyah hits– are based on his revolutionary decision to make slow jams 300 bpm, in the process creating songs that can turn a party into a dance encyclopedia, slow grinds next to jittery popping. With that foundation Timbaland can do anything he wants. “Cry Me A River” was the last song where he did all the right things: swelling synths, bubbling keys, Justin’s Doug E. Fresh beatbox, Tim’s own peculiar vocal adlibs buried twenty layers deep, etc. That it coincided perfectly with the teen dream breakup of all time was the kind of dumb luck that makes these songs timeless. Since then, Timbaland’s had a bit of a relative slump (“Promiscuous Girl” aside), while Justin’s been trying to grow a beard and canoodle with Cammy Cam.
They both return to form on “My Love”, the answer to “Cry Me A River” in every way. Justin’s come out victorious and in love in 2006, and packs his full nerd-lothario persona into his falsetto, practically weeping lyrics like, “What’s the point of waiting anymore?/ ‘Cuz girl I’ve never been more sure [That baby it’s you].” When it comes to gruesomely awesome displays of emotion for famous girls, Justin Timberlake is Shakespeare, and this, I guess, is how he proposes to Ms. Diaz.
But “My Love” ain’t shit without the absolute mania of this beat. We’ve all been dying for the return of the weird science fiction of Timbaland, and he brings it all back: massive transformer synth, rumbling bass hits, that damn JT clickity-shushing beatbox, an operatic wailer over the chorus, and what sounds like a Tourettic Porky Pig spitting percussion. Of course, it’s not Tim if he’s not mumbling something vaguely sexy the whole time, so that’s here, as well. And, as if he knew his own woeful raps wouldn’t cut it this time, Tim brings in T.I. for some Cyrano shit. The verse is boilerplate guest spot, “stand-up guy” and whatnot, but it’s the ideal chillaxing of Timberlake’s pussywhipped whimpering.
It’s not perfect– misery is always better than bliss– but it’s as good as these two get.