“What you are about to experience may or may not be real.”
The words flickered across the enormous, multi-panel LED screen parked at one end of Dickies Arena Tuesday night, a thesis statement, of sorts, for Justin Timberlake’s first-ever Fort Worth appearance. (Timberlake, and the tour, will return for a Dallas date at American Airlines Center on Dec. 6.)
The line between truth and fantasy is one upon which many a pop star has danced, whether figuratively or literally. Timberlake is no exception, but the 43-year-old, making his first appearance in North Texas in over five years, takes the tease only so far. There’s simply no way to hide the very real, very palpable joy he takes in delighting an arena full of fervent fans.
Over a breathlessly paced, relentlessly flashy two-plus hours and nearly 30 songs, the Grammy-winning singer-songwriter put on a master class in A-list pop craftsmanship, deploying seamless, occasionally eye-popping showmanship in service of R&B, gospel, funk and disco-kissed songs as sleek and supple as his falsetto.
The stage was loaded with talent beyond Timberlake's: five dancers, a quartet of musicians (guitar, drums, bass and keyboards), a quartet of horns and a trio of backing vocalists — all of whom were tighter than a gnat’s ass from first note to last. Such precision was even more impressive given the endless swirl of activity around them.
Timberlake’s “Forget Tomorrow” world tour has him on the road supporting his just-released sixth studio album, Everything I Thought It Was, which arrived and promptly fell off the Billboard charts, a concerning development for a star of his stature. Its initial reception notwithstanding, Timberlake still showcased the vast majority of the album’s 18 songs, including “No Angels,” “Infinity Sex,” “Technicolor” and “Selfish.”
If the truth of his latest album’s middling debut bothered him at all, Timberlake instead embraced the heady reality of what was unfolding in front of and around him: A beyond-primed audience screaming from the moment he materialized on stage, rabid to hear the hits now embedded in the cultural subconscious. (That said, the difference in crowd energy between tracks such as “Imagination” and culture-warping classics like “My Love” or “Cry Me a River” is like quibbling over the difference in hurricane categories.)
Grinning, sweating and working the crowd like the seasoned pro he is, the Memphis native, clad in a simple black suit and crisp white T-shirt, formed a tangible bond with the arena early on — dropping a fleeting reference to “Texas ass” in “LoveStoned,” while slipping a lyric from “Deep in the Heart of Texas” into the song’s outro. Deep into the evening, he was waving, pointing, dapping and thanking seemingly every person inside the cavernous space. His command of tempo — instigating a frenzy or sustaining a pensive mood, often at the flick of his fingers — was astonishing to behold.
Timberlake made broad use of the arena’s canvas, utilizing every square inch of the space — pinpoint lights radiating to the furthest reaches for “FutureSex/LoveSounds,” the stage seeming to take on a life of its own during “SexyBack” — and making a large room feel cozy.
Parasocial bonds aside, Timberlake does have a formidable ability to foster intimacy among several thousand strangers, breezily joking about the weather (“I grew up in this humidity, and now I remember why I had to move”) even as he lightly mocked the cascade of shouts which blanketed the room any time there was a moment’s silence (“If you all scream at the same time, I don’t know what you’re saying.”).
That rizz is not something every artist of his caliber possesses, and to see it so effortlessly deployed is as much of a special effect as the hunk of video screen that emerged and retreated from the stage, ultimately doubling as a platform upon which Timberlake stood for the night’s final song, “Mirrors.”
But there was more underpinning the night than simply sex appeal and indelible hooks. Timberlake, who relocated to a smaller stage at the rear of the arena for an extended, largely acoustic set, spoke at length of his gratitude for having had the opportunity to come of age in the spotlight: “I’ve grown up with you,” he said.
Dad Is Home
Timberlake wears the weight of years lightly. While Tuesday was his first solo appearance in Fort Worth, it was his second trip to Tarrant County as a performing artist: He was last there, two weeks shy of 26 years to the day, with N’Sync at a Six Flags Over Texas showcase in Arlington. The time, it flies.
That history was glancingly acknowledged Tuesday — the shrieks of nostalgic elation were probably heard clearly in Arizona — but Timberlake now balances the white-hot glare of pop stardom with other, more mortal concerns: as husband, father, friend and seeker — not for nothing was “Sanctified,” with its blistering blend of the sacred and profane, one of the night’s most electrifying moments.
It’s a tension Timberlake would be well served to mine further, especially as he grows older and will have a tougher time keeping pace with the generation behind him.
Indeed, while he isn’t as astonishingly kinetic as he once was — who among us, JT; who among us — the physical lessening has been met with an emotional and intellectual component which proves surprisingly enriching. The cad who cavorted through dimly lighted rooms teeming with models is now nearly two decades in the past; the frosted-tipped rascal is further back still.
The man standing before the screaming, dancing, ecstatic horde Tuesday night is, as the album title promises, everything he thought he was, but instead of clinging to the thin veneer of fleeting fame, he’s embraced a depth — a realness, even — suggesting he is as savvy about how to live off-stage as he is about his peerless power to captivate on stage.
