Timbaland - Tim's Bio: From The Motion Picture: Life From Da Bassment (2LP)

Tim’s first solo outing feels like a victory lap and a sketchbook at once. It landed on 24 November 1998 through Blackground and Atlantic, framed as a fake soundtrack to an imaginary film, and the title nods back to the old Swing Mob days in DeVante Swing’s Da Bassment. That in-joke matters, because Tim’s Bio is all about the crew ethos. You can hear Virginia’s DNA everywhere, a tight circle of voices sparking off each other while Timbaland toys with rhythm like a cat with red string.

If you’re used to his later pop monoliths, this record is scrappier in the best way. The drums jab in odd pockets, hi-hats chatter like cicadas, bass bubbles up under big empty spaces, and stray noises do a lot of heavy lifting. He was already famous for beats that swerve when everyone else goes straight, and Tim’s Bio leans into that instinct. Skits and quick pivots keep it moving like a mixtape, but there’s a clear through-line in the feel. It’s lean, rubbery, and often just plain weird in a way that still sounds modern.

The most obvious draw is the guest list and how Tim frames each voice. “Lobster & Scrimp” brings in Jay-Z right as he’s running 1998 radio, and the pairing clicks. Jay coolly slides across the beat while Tim flicks little percussive jolts at him, a prelude to the storm they would kick up again on Big Pimpin the next year. Then there’s “Fat Rabbit,” which throws an early spotlight to Ludacris, still a radio personality in Atlanta who hadn’t gone national yet. The track swings low and playful, letting him spool out charisma while Tim turns the kick into a trampoline. You can hear the door cracking open for a whole new wave.

Magoo pops up, as he should, steady and unhurried, the straight man to Tim’s rhythmic pranks. Missy Elliott’s energy courses through the record too, a reminder of how tight this circle was, bouncing ideas in real time. Ginuwine brings the silk when called upon, smoothing the edges just enough to show how these beats could cradle R&B without losing their odd pulse. The chemistry is the selling point. No one raps or sings like they’re renting time. They sound like they live here.

What makes the album stick isn’t just the features. It’s the production detail. Tim loves the negative space, and he trusts a kick drum to carry an entire arrangement. Snares snap like wet towels on a clothesline, synths wobble then vanish, and tiny hand percussion tics shift the groove by degrees. It’s danceable, but it’s also music that makes you lean in to catch the tricks. That approach would reshape late 90s R&B and hip hop, and you can hear the blueprint in rough pencil lines here.

Not every track is a knockout. Posse records rarely are, and the skits will either make you grin or skip. But the hit rate is high enough to frame this as more than a curiosity. It’s a document of Timbaland building his own world right after proving he could dominate everyone else’s. Critics at the time zeroed in on the sonics for good reason. The writing varies, the beats don’t. They’re focused, adventurous, and strangely warm.

For collectors, Tim’s Bio vinyl is a fun one to chase. The low-end breathes differently on wax, and the space between the drums feels wider, like stepping into a studio control room after dark. If you stumble on a copy at a Melbourne record store, it’s a no-brainer. And if you’re hunting from the couch, it’s the kind of title that nudges you to buy Timbaland records online, especially if you’re building a shelf of late 90s sleepers. There’s a persistent appetite for Timbaland vinyl because his production rewards a proper turntable spin, and this album proves it. Put it next to other Timbaland albums on vinyl and the progression tells its own story, from experimental crew project to unstoppable hit machine. For folks in vinyl records Australia circles, it’s a conversation starter, the sort of piece that gets passed around at listening nights with a nod and a grin.

Twenty-odd years on, Tim’s Bio feels like an open window. Airy, peculiar, and full of voices you know, all moving to a beat that seems to step sideways just when you expect it to stomp forward. It’s not his biggest release. It might be his most revealing.