Justin Biebe |
Justin Bieber turns 18 this March. As pop music’s little prince takes his first steps into adulthood, will he prove he’s ready to be the king?
I was going to write this all out. Spit articulate on the birth and the beast of Justin Bieber’s celebrity, his place in the annals of youth fame, how he stacks up against its storied casualties and its few but phenomenal survivors. As Justin (b. 3/1/94) approaches 18—exiting the protective bubble of adolescence and entering the first chapter of adulthood—can he transition into an artist for everyone rather than a teen phenom? What are the dangers of being Bieber? Decisions are now more his own than they’ve ever been, and as a target his attacks broaden from G-rated darts (aggro tween tweets; wardrobe judgments; girlfriend problems) to all-bets-are-off bullets. The recent press explosion surrounding the baseless accusations of illicit baby making weren’t so much about did-he-or-didn’t-he? but rather a global excitement that Bieber can now be subjected to such tabloid see-what-sticks shit-tossing.
I was going to write it all out, because I assumed I’d have to—that none of it would come from the teenager himself. We first met several months back at the photo shoot, where I held strong to my preconceived (and incorrect) notion that he’s probably a brat, a punk kid overfed on the perception of a world obsessed with him. Like many, I didn’t give him a chance, and I didn’t like him before I knew him at all. I’m his perfect demographic of disapproval: an adult man, the exact audience that Bieber will have to win over as he becomes a man himself.
The second time I met Justin Bieber, I watched him get punched in the face. We sat on a couch in his hotel room days before his second studio album, the Christmas themed Under the Mistletoe, debuted at number one on the U.S. Billboard 200, right in the middle of the highly publicized paternity scandal, the day before he went on an extensive press tour abroad. Justin walked in the room wearing a trapper hat that swallowed his head, looking genuinely exhausted with a pimple on the side of his mouth but every bit the handsome kid who defines for girls around the world their notion of love. This Bieber was insightful, self-aware, and prescient. He was totally unguarded, earnest, and real. I quickly stopped interviewing him and we just talked. I felt like I was hearing out the issues of a little brother, a descriptor I’d heard countless people close to him use in the 2011 concert film Never Say Never, a documentary-shaped strike against haters who write him off as another talentless pop-machine-robot, showing the journey of a hardworking, near-prodigy precocious kid, a born star.I’m not writing this all out because I don’t have to. Apparently the first sign of Justin Bieber being an adult is that no one has to speak for him. He knows exactly who he is, where he’s at, and what he wants. You don’t need to hear it from me because you can just hear it from him. After our talk, Bieber showed me a video on his phone of him and his friends boxing. More precisely, of him beating the shit out of one of his bigger friends. Justin Bieber’s a fighting man—fearless, graceful, ferocious—and that’s a pretty good place to start. I left our talk with plans to hang out when he returns to the city, without a doubt in my mind that he’s going to be just fine. I left with a sensation something like pride. A sensation the rest of the world will perhaps come to know once they meet the man Justin Bieber becomes. Elliott David
No comments:
Post a Comment