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For nearly two decades, Justin Bieber’s music has taken a backseat to his popularity. For many, he’s become a Kardashian-like figure whose songs can be heard in places of bad taste: supermarkets, Ubers, children’s parties. He’s dogged by scandal, as is the tabloid coverage of it, often with paternalistic overtones: Has he relapsed into drugs? Is he divorcing Hailey Bieber? Does he have mental health issues? Is he spending enough time with his newborn son? He’s been accused of drunk driving, admitted to suicidal thoughts, and berated paparazzi for pestering him on the beach. He's everywhere: the Met Gala, Comedy Central, the NHL All-Star Game, Ellen DeGeneres's couch, TMZ and Page Six headlines, social media feeds and TV screens, his personal life so widely covered in the press that it becomes a piece of public property that never loses interest. It's hard to say what's more exhausting: being Justin Bieber or just being mildly involved in the conversations surrounding him.
As for his music, at 31, he is one of the most successful pop stars of all time, though he has never been seen as a true auteur. (He is perhaps best known for the chorus he sang as a teenager: baby, baby, baby, oh.) His talent is undeniable, and he is truly generous, but he has had to overcome adversity to channel his gifts into meaningful art, to escape the concerns of the industrial music complex and create a sound unfettered by the charts and trends. Bieber’s catalog is varied and fluid, veering between brilliant interpretations of trap-pop, mid-tempo R&B, ’80s new wave, Christian campfire choirs, Afrobeat, and dancehall; his smooth, flexible voice skims the surface of these styles without ever committing to any one of them. His stylistic flexibility is, in large part, his strength; he can expertly trade bars with Young Thug and Travis Scott in one breath, belt out a piercing piano ballad in another, and then effortlessly belt out the summery chorus to the EDM-infused Tropicália. Yet he’s never released a standout album, even a very good one. Until recently, it seemed unlikely he ever would.
Last Friday, Bieber released his seventh studio album, SWAG, without any accompanying singles, music videos, or interviews. It came as a surprise: Bieber eschewed the pre-release hype and pre-sales gimmicks that have become standard in the lead-up to new pop albums. But it was not without reason. Bieber had been dogged for months by rumors of drug use and marital discord, fueled in part by his out-of-control, unpredictable social-media behavior, which included screenshots of texts with friends-turned-enemies and printed rants about being “broken” and having “anger issues.” When he appeared in public, he looked haggard, sunken-eyed, unsmiling, and stern-faced—clear signs of ill health to fans and journalists alike. “You don’t notice I’m standing for business, do you?” “ he said, offended, to a photographer outside Soho House in Malibu, a clip whose virality has only fueled the tabloid drama and trolling over the anxiety. To be fair, the frenzy surrounding Bieber’s apparent slow-motion disaster reflects a special quality of his fame: the world thinks they own him, having watched him blossom from teenage prodigy to troubled, tattooed adult. Every post, every public appearance, is thus an opportunity for psychoanalysis, a reaction that Bieber seems to both cultivate and decry. “SWAG” has arrived on streaming platforms amid this maelstrom, with billboards in Times Square, Los Angeles, and Reykjavik capitalizing on the recent surge in attention. “This Is Not For You,” reads one; another shows a black-and-white portrait of Bieber standing with his wife and child.
While he’s not the first artist to eschew traditional promotion for a surprise release (Beyoncé, for example, dropped her self-titled album in 2013 without warning, and many have followed suit), the move feels especially significant for Bieber, given his stature in the pop world. In 2023, it was reported that he’d sold his share of the rights to his catalog for a reported $200 million and cut ties with his longtime manager Scooter Braun, completely breaking away from the corporations he’d been associated with since childhood. Bieber had spent years battling the cage of corporate pop stardom, but he had yet to open the door and step outside of it. Now he has, at least for now. “SWAG” is enjoying this newfound freedom.
Sourse: newyorker.com
