BPD member Cheesesteak checks in:
Justin Bieber managed to be the center of attention and entirely superfluous all at the same time.
When he entered, in a man-sized metal gerbil ball, the mostly teenaged female crowd screamed.
When he sang, they screamed.
When he stopped, they screamed.
When he asked how everyone was doing, they screamed.
And on and on it went.
The fans had calmed somewhat by the time third track U Smile emerged from the enthusiastic cacophony, resulting in a surprisingly sweet singalong by fans who knew every word.
At the end of U Smile, a quiet coda stripped of the over-production that dogged most songs, Bieber proved he can still sing, delivering a pleasant straight-tone.
From a heart-shaped frame that eased out over the audience, he accompanied himself on acoustic guitar for Never Let You Go and Favourite Girl. He hit the most important notes in a slightly husky voice, far from the bubblegum boy-soprano on his studio albums. That touch of rawness bodes well for his maturing voice.
However, as a showman, he needs work.
He danced, moving more or less rhythmically to the music, but Michael Jackson he ain't.
Bieber foolishly covered Wanna Be Starting Something, but was shown up on the dance floor by his break-dancing back-up dancers and turned in his worst vocal performance of the night.
Earlier, he had looked awkward doing backflips on a harness in mid-air, after an admittedly super-cool vertical walk up a skyscraper prop.
His stage patter ("What's up everyone?") redefined banal. Time to replace the swagger coach with a staff writer.
The best piece of theatre came during One Less Lonely Girl, in which a dumbstruck teen was serenaded by Bieber on centre stage, then given a bouquet.
She was seated which was a good thing, because she likely would have keeled over, mouth still agape. When Bieber gave her a hug, she looked like she wouldn't let go.
But for tired traditionalists who believe concerts should be about performance, the show was abysmal. From both the back and the front, the sound system sucked. The bass was muddy, the vocals were mostly indistinguishable and the instruments little more than throbbing white noise.
JB knew this. When he came backstage, he was all pissy and nasty. I decided it was best to steer clear of him, rather than risk he might trun a mediocre night into Total Sh*t.
Thanks, BPD. I know you did your part. If only JB would have done his.
Sorry you're bummed, Cheesesteak.
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