Justin Bieber @ Rod Laver Arena
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Justin Bieber @ Rod Laver Arena

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 “Justin”, “Bieber”. Two words, loaded with connotation, shorthand for all that is bad in music. A pop icon for the millennial masses. Philanthropist. Bucket-pissing, shitty-grafitti-purveying douche. Above all else, he’s a pop culture sensation – one of the biggest in recent memory.


I gave Believe, his most recent album, another run through in the day leading up to the concert. I remember enjoying it when it was released in 2012, but the majority of tracks on the record haven’t really held up that well. Bieber is in the midst of a hashtag-friendly release program, #MusicMondays, where actually-quite-decent songs are unleashed on a weekly basis. There’s musical growth alongside those well-documented extracurricular pursuits.

Australian sensation Cody Simpson took the stage amongst a swarm of cochlear-stabbing squeals, lapping it up in his contrived surfer dude charm. He couldn’t dance for shit, but picked up the six-string for some Mumford-And-Sons-lite tunes. It was fairly insipid fare, leading my imagination to supplant other acts into the support slot. Collarbones would have crushed it, Marcus Whale pulling shapes down the runway. Client Liaison have better dance moves than Cody, far superior pop songs, too.  It’s honestly not too much of a stretch for the next Bieber tour. Miley is hitting the road with Sky Ferreira in the states. The tectonic plates of mainstream and alternative are colliding.          

A series of certified pop bangers emanated through the PA in between acts, the Dr Luke and Max Martin-penned tracks triggering MDMA-like reactions for the tweens in attendance. California Gurls saw thousands of pre-pubescent girls rapping along with Snoop Dogg. Strange times.

The build-up to the main event was prolonged, each subtle change in environment – muted tracks, shifts in lighting, then the eventual countdown clock – eliciting bursts of pandemonium. I pitied the security trying to fight the tide crashing down on the runway.

The show unfolded with clinical – and predictable 0 precision. That’s not to say it wasn’t great. Invoking MJ, we got our first glimpse of Bieber as he launched upward from the centre of stage in a blaze of pyrotechnics, landing in a statuesque pose (like MJ), eventually snapping from freeze frame to generate another barrage of cacophonous squeals (like MJ). All Around The World was a hyper-stimulating opener, the pure spectacle of it all undeniably astounding. The set was Believe-heavy, the Australian leg of the tour being the tail end of the nearly two years-long touring cycle for the album. Bieber’s a good dancer, but not really mindblowing. He emanates a stoic brand of cool, compounded by the robotic pop and lock moves and cocky strut. The banter was corny, but endearing enough as he introduced tracks. Never Say Never is almost there as an anthem, but doesn’t quite carry the weight live. A pre-recorded Nicki Minaj made an appearance for Beauty And A Beat, Justin’s most bangin’ banger. Things reached fever pitch when Biebz strolled onstage sans shirt for the first time. Justifiably so: the dude is ripped. Nice work, Justin. He had a bash behind the kit, showcasing the drum chops that were hinted at during inter-song home movies. One less lonely girl was welcomed onstage to be serenaded with One Less Lonely Girl – a trademark of the tour along the lines of Bruce boogying down with a lucky lady for Dancing In The Dark.

Just as it is on record,  Believe’s title track acted as a big cheesy closer for the main portion of the set. The two-track encore of Boyfriend and Baby saw the audience take on most of the vocal duties, hitting the cues as Justin approximated Luda’s verse for the latter.

As far as arena spectaculars go, this was an adept imitation of one. It’s unfair to put Justin alongside the Michael Jacksons, Princes, Beyonces and Gagas of the music world. However, there will be longevity that most of his contemporaries won’t experience, and the potential to reach those lofty heights is genuine.

Any derision stems from a purely aesthetic level. We know that, right? And that’s okay, as long as we’re aware. There are real monsters out there, let the kids have their heroes.

BY LACHLAN KANONIUK
Photo by Charles Newbury 

Loved: Strolling past the ridiculous clusterfuck of a traffic jam on the way home.

Hated: Leaving earplugs at home.

Drank:  I felt like a big enough dirtbag as is.