Funny Review of Super Bowl Lii Halftime Show
J ustin Timberlake took to the phase (and field) for the Super Bowl LII half-time evidence in Minneapolis armed with his extensive catalogue of hits, a cadre of scantily clad backup dancers, and an outfit culled from the latest Patagonia x Cézanne collection, in keeping with the singer'south clunky Americana rebrand. The operation was decent, and Timberlake sounded adept and danced even better. Equally far every bit half-time shows go, it was satisfactory, a fun but forgettable display of the singer's substantial talents.
He began, in what looked like the basement of a nightclub just was really the labyrinthine underpinnings of the stage, with his new unmarried Filthy. As was to be expected, Timberlake gyrated with his dancers so finally emerged above footing with a medley of his early-2000s hits: Rock Your Body, Señorita, SexyBack, each of which are certified bangers and brought to mind the macaroni-haired Timberlake of yore.
In this portion of the show he hit his stride. Timberlake has ever been and remains an excellent dancer, and he moved lithely around the stage in perfect synchronicity with his back-ups. The sound quality was a bit flaky, and at times the extensive choreography came at the expense of his vocals, simply Timberlake's falsetto was squeaky-clean and it'southward difficult to error a few errant notes when someone'southward trying to clasp a career'southward worth of discography into what's substantially a triple-stacked commercial break.
The run-up to Timberlake's performance was bumpy, to say the least. On Fri, he dropped his 6th studio album, Man of the Forest, which was promoted equally a sort of laid back ode to the heartlands, a new chapter in the book of Timberlake, and amounted to a fairly standard, unnecessarily lengthy collection of funk-pop thumps that didn't and so much reinvent his mien equally sell information technology woefully brusk.
Then, rumors swirled that Timberlake was planning a musical tribute to Prince that would include a hologram of the "majestic one", the kind of homage Prince himself one time called "the most demonic affair imaginable". That idea was scrapped briskly when Sheila E, Prince's quondam drummer, tweeted publicly that the hologram wouldn't accept received the vocalizer's blessing.
JT opted instead for a more than muted Prince paean, dedicating a cover of I Would Die 4 U to Prince'south hometown of Minneapolis while sitting at a white piano. Footage from Purple Pelting projected on to a billowing sheet during the song, which faintly echoed Prince's own 2007 half-time show, with which every one thereafter has been rightfully compared. The cameras panned back to prove the cityscape shrouded in Prince purple, a color for which Pantone has its own shade, and most everyone breathed a sigh of relief that there were no holograms.
We all know what happened the last time JT performed at the Super Basin; the details of that snafu – unfortunately memorialized with its own "-gate" – need no retelling hither. But there's a kind of appropriate symmetry to the fact that the game-winning quarterback that yr was a 26-yr-former Tom Brady, improbably playing in his tape eighth Super Bowl this twelvemonth.
Timberlake is effectively, if imprecisely, the Tom Brady of music, the boring, fail-safe pick to helm a half-time show. Both are creatures of the early on aughts who've weathered the passage of time prosperously. They're supremely talented, the poster-boys of their craft, and yet still lack a certain cultural cachet. And as filthy-rich, genetically blessed white dudes – 1 deigned to bring sexy back and the other poses for Ugg boots – they're objects of widespread, not-entirely-unearned resentment who bear the burden of existence besides strait-laced for an era of outspokenness.
So, there was no chiliad political statement, nor whatsoever subtext into which ane could be read; Timberlake more than or less went the Lady Gaga route, breaking out early hits, mid-career ones like Suit & Tie, Mirrors – accompanied by, you lot guessed it, a reflective mirror-show – and Until the End of Fourth dimension, and his most recent radio nail, Can't Stop the Feeling from the movie Trolls. The song is a notable drop-off in quality for someone who tin lay claim to some of the century'south smoothest pop music, but it was an advisable finale that got people clapping their hands and singing along.
Timberlake'southward co-headliners in Minneapolis were Leslie Odom Jr, who kicked things off before the game with a reliably cracking rendition of America the Beautiful, and Pinkish, who sang the national anthem boldly and impressively. In an age of streaming and hyper-curation, the Super Bowl is the final bastion of the monoculture, which makes the half-time show, the thing a big clamper of viewers tune in for, an intensely pressurized event. It'due south incommunicable to please anybody, unless y'all're Prince or Beyoncé, and performers are expected to make good on their massive platform and truncate their hits for 12 minutes of phase fourth dimension. Timberlake did just that, and if I'll have forgotten the performance past the end of the game I at least know I'll be listening to FutureSex/LoveSounds for the side by side couple of days.
Source: https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2018/feb/04/justin-timberlake-super-bowl-halftime-show-review
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