Short version / opening: I don't know who to blame for Justin Bieber. Or what to do with him. And from his newest album, I can say this definitively: neither does anybody else.
I mean, who do you hold responsible for Justin Bieber at this stage right now? Do you blame the kid himself, a poor but musically talented kid who got unbelievably lucky thanks to YouTube and is now becoming a product of the pop star universe around him? Do you blame Usher, who made him his protege and has cultivated elements of Bieber's image and personality in ways that would come back to haunt him? Do you blame the producers who are desperately trying to pin down what Justin Bieber should become, trying every option they can in a whirlwind of A-list production, guest stars, and half-formed musical ideas? Do you blame Justin Bieber's managers, who haven't provided him nearly enough guidance to prevent the fame from going straight to Bieber's head and turning him into a little entitled shithead with a cockiness he hasn't earned? Do you blame Selena Gomez, his far-more-talented girlfriend who has somehow managed to walk the line between innocence and sluttiness with a deft touch beyond most of her contemporaries and predecessors (Demi Lovato, Lindsey Lohan, Miley Cyrus, Hilary Duff to some extent, Britney Spears, the list goes on), and who clearly hasn't helped Bieber become less of a douche? Do we blame Bieber's protege Carly Rae Jepsen for releasing one of the most irritatingly juvenile and catchy songs of the year with 'Call Me Maybe' (which is now the number one song on the Billboard Hot 100 - kill me now), and who has been publically criticized for dressing like a preteen girl, far younger than her age of 26?
No, at this point, while I am going to place blame on all of these people for this album and what Bieber's become in the past few years, the real blame needs to be placed on Justin Bieber's rabid, preteen-to-teenage female fanbase, the girls who create mobs who throng Justin Bieber and spur the paparazzi to chase him with unparalleled fury outside of Brangelina and allegations that John Travolta might be gay. The girls that buy tons of Bieber merchandise to replace their Hannah Montana fixations and call themselves Beliebers (ugh, that word hurts to write). And the girls who have tastes so nebulous and fleeting that in the desire to appeal to them, the producers and writers of this album have completely abandoned any thematic conceits to create an album so unfocused and schizophrenic that I half-expected guest starring spots from Tony Bennett, Andrew W.K., and Eminem. Sadly, none of those guest stars showed up, because Tony Bennett was too busy working on some new jazz album, Eminem was working double-time between helping push Slaughterhouse and finish his eighth album, and Andrew W.K. was going to a My Little Pony convention to speak on a panel of 'In The Flesh: What Would Pinkie Pie Do?' (this is totally true, by the way, look it up - you can't invent shit like that).
I mean, who do you hold responsible for Justin Bieber at this stage right now? Do you blame the kid himself, a poor but musically talented kid who got unbelievably lucky thanks to YouTube and is now becoming a product of the pop star universe around him? Do you blame Usher, who made him his protege and has cultivated elements of Bieber's image and personality in ways that would come back to haunt him? Do you blame the producers who are desperately trying to pin down what Justin Bieber should become, trying every option they can in a whirlwind of A-list production, guest stars, and half-formed musical ideas? Do you blame Justin Bieber's managers, who haven't provided him nearly enough guidance to prevent the fame from going straight to Bieber's head and turning him into a little entitled shithead with a cockiness he hasn't earned? Do you blame Selena Gomez, his far-more-talented girlfriend who has somehow managed to walk the line between innocence and sluttiness with a deft touch beyond most of her contemporaries and predecessors (Demi Lovato, Lindsey Lohan, Miley Cyrus, Hilary Duff to some extent, Britney Spears, the list goes on), and who clearly hasn't helped Bieber become less of a douche? Do we blame Bieber's protege Carly Rae Jepsen for releasing one of the most irritatingly juvenile and catchy songs of the year with 'Call Me Maybe' (which is now the number one song on the Billboard Hot 100 - kill me now), and who has been publically criticized for dressing like a preteen girl, far younger than her age of 26?
No, at this point, while I am going to place blame on all of these people for this album and what Bieber's become in the past few years, the real blame needs to be placed on Justin Bieber's rabid, preteen-to-teenage female fanbase, the girls who create mobs who throng Justin Bieber and spur the paparazzi to chase him with unparalleled fury outside of Brangelina and allegations that John Travolta might be gay. The girls that buy tons of Bieber merchandise to replace their Hannah Montana fixations and call themselves Beliebers (ugh, that word hurts to write). And the girls who have tastes so nebulous and fleeting that in the desire to appeal to them, the producers and writers of this album have completely abandoned any thematic conceits to create an album so unfocused and schizophrenic that I half-expected guest starring spots from Tony Bennett, Andrew W.K., and Eminem. Sadly, none of those guest stars showed up, because Tony Bennett was too busy working on some new jazz album, Eminem was working double-time between helping push Slaughterhouse and finish his eighth album, and Andrew W.K. was going to a My Little Pony convention to speak on a panel of 'In The Flesh: What Would Pinkie Pie Do?' (this is totally true, by the way, look it up - you can't invent shit like that).