| "Definitely the chicks." - DAVID FARRIER on JUSTIN BIEBER [guest-blog]. |
| Written by David Farrier | |
| Friday, 01 April 2011 00:00 | |
He sat in front of me. His little face stares back. Some golden hair falls down into his eyes, most of it held back by a cap. He smiles to reveal white, evenly spaced teeth. I imagine his teeth are perfect for flossing: aligned and tight, but not tight enough to stop the floss from flicking out bits of old food and bacteria. “What’s the best thing about being JUSTIN BIEBER?” - I ask. He blinks his long eyelashes. “The chicks,” he replies. “Definitely the chicks”. What better response could I expect from Justin Bieber, the boy-child. In Roman times, he would no doubt be used as some kind of a sex toy. A pig on a spit. In the modern age, he is the pin-up of teenagers and middle-aged mothers everywhere. His concerts sell out within minutes, and his one album has been released in more special editions than I can count. His 3D movie proved so popular overseas, Paramount added another forty minutes and re-released that, too. “The Fan Edition” or some such thing. And the fans brought their popcorn and went. In droves.
The importance of this tiny package sitting before me was not lost on me. I knew all the millions that would beg, possibly kill, to be in my place. The wee-one was sitting in front of me because for some reason, through a random chain of events, I had become some kind of entertainment reporter. And Bieber was entertainment. The night before, I’d waited for him to arrive at Auckland Airport. I was there watching as Justin Bieber’s Mother was pushed over, as Bieber’s cap was stolen, as girls broke down in tears over his “beautiful, beautiful face”.
The mass hysteria his visit created was deemed bizarre enough to appear on the 6PM news - and I was in charge. And so I followed the teenager all over the place: I watched him arrive, I watched him perform, I watched him answer my questions. And all the time I marvelled at the whole situation. I imagined myself at sixteen, sitting in statistics or biology class, worrying about the next essay and whether I’d get into science camp. The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ 'Californication' had just been released. Bieber was four years old. Practically a baby, baby, baby oh.
My story went to air. It led the news. Part of my soul soured that day; part of it died. But three words will always live on: “Definitely the chicks.” I will remember these words for the rest of my life as I watch the career of Justin Bieber unfold. Will he continue to adore women, or switch to men? Will his squeaky clean image continue to propagate, or will the later years of his life resemble the climax in 'Requiem For A Dream'? I can’t wait to find out, and will always count myself lucky to have been there in the early years. DF 'JUSTIN BIEBER: NEVER SAY NEVER' in NZ cinemas April 14th! |
