Ambient Bieber Beatification

Who did it first is irrelevant. Numerous 4chan-types have taken credit…but ultimately it’s just a Justin Bieber song really slowed down. The drums break like waves beneath his cherubic syllables, their pure Auto-tuned tone granted beauty through reverb. Each simple chord is a revelation—especially the F of the chorus. Bieber becomes a more disciplined Panda Bear or Jónsi, tightening every screw as if in recognition that some day, some anonymous genius would come along to test the integrity of each one. No wonder it’s spread so quickly and virally.

To me, this is especially dramatic. My skepticism runs deep when it comes to the Bieb’s tween stranglehold. Songs like “Baby” sand off the rough squeaking edges of the brothers Hanson or Jackson in depressing ways. How is it possible to make inherently exploitative product even more exploit-y and product-y, to become simultaneously less edgy and more offensive? His nonsense is too quotidian, his musical talent too unexceptional to grant his youth excitement.

But all that can’t prevent the pure Music of his processed product from becoming sublime when rendered gargantuan. Over the course of half an hour, the unforgiving nature of his repetition makes William Basinski sound like John Coltrane. There’s the D again, and the C, and the G, the guitar vibrating as steadily as if it were fresh off GarageBand.

Of course, that grows tiresome. In the end, I find myself listening to the original, finding that Justin Bieber’s Inception agents have successfully infiltrated my subconscious. Quickened to the pace of a typical attention span, there’s an endearing feel to “U Smile,” as refreshing in its way as Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA”: solid song construction, with just enough room for the chorus to breathe and sink in. “When you smile, I smile,” the bang’d one coos, and my confusion and mild disgust abates for a time. Maybe the only way to really get to know a robot is examining its circuitry. It’s almost like when algebra started to make sense to me, the blandest of pop nonsense becoming intelligble. And now, in turn: a slight but new respect for the necessary Xs and the number that fits.