"But, it came from Memphis!" [read pleadingly]

I found myself in discourse yesterday with two non-fans of Justin Timberlake. They were not virulent haters, just unimpressed. I tried to prove his worth with a few quick strokes, playing "Cry Me a River" from 2003's Justified and "My Love" and "What Comes Around (Goes Around)" from the more recent Futuresex/Lovesounds (2006). They remained luke-warm, "He's talented and all, but the songs don't stand out. He's no Madonna." I sometimes have this charmless inclination to get angry when people disagree with me in matters of music, beauty, politics, history, protocol, what have you. Here, I remained calm. For one, I was intrigued by this Madonna comparison, and, really, all of a moment, I wasn't so sure I disagreed with them.

I mean, couldn't you credit Timbaland and the Neptunes with the candied brilliance of his hit songbook? The lyrical content is forgettable. Timberlake brings us his doo-wop falsetto, good looks, and (questionable) style, but production teams were responsible for the layered sophistication and of-the-moment hip-hop and house fusion that truly drove both records. But even that dim view is a bit rosy, what drives a record is promotion and good timing. Timberlake is madly marketable to both (increasingly pop-conscious) critics and the populous. In 2003, he left N'Sync with a ready-made, millions-strong, international fan base. With a little bit of smarts, all he had to do was prove he was remotely independent and interesting to critics, to whom it would seem that he was a winner with long odds, a dark horse. All the while, for Clive Davis, he was the surest of bets. At the dawn of the 21st century, even the most discerning folks are servants of the Culture Industry. "Hotness" is holiness.

But--OH--I despise this cynical line of thought. Pop is my mountain top. What good comes of me questioning the artistic merit of the moneyed, collaborative process that drove, for instance, Britney Spears' Blackout, the record I'm writing a book about. When I doubt the worth of the vernacular, not only am I being a limited sort of snob, but I'm also lowering the discourse of my critical life to a matter of simple preference, taste that could be deemed--GASP--bad. Clive is right and not necessarily wicked (no more so than Barry Gordy); in pop, it's the product that matters, not the process. We must listen to what we are fed, no Basement Tapes in these parts. In pop music, whether rock-ists like it or not, image and packaging and videos and moment-ness can be content. And, a pop singer's interpretation of someone else's lyric and melody can be the very height of (highly legitimate) appropriation art.

Even after all of this circular stuff, I do pay heed to that Madonna comment. In terms of voice (point-of-view, not instrument), Timberlake is a little bland and unduly smug. Unlike Madge (or Britney), he doesn't seem to have much of a story to tell. "Voice" aside, he's a well-informed cat, clearly bowing to our Memphis legacy, Elvis and Al Green in particular, as well as MJ and Prince and a terribly long list of others--an appropriator appropriator!

(And, argument aside, I love a hometown boy.)