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\n SWAG is music that exists for the enrichment of the artist and not for the sole purpose of being widely, comfortably consumed.
\n Photo: Renell Medrano\n <\/p>\n
You start to come across a bit deranged trying to concisely recap the discourse around Justin Bieber these days. Everyone suspects something is up thanks to his online oversharing<\/a>, but no one can agree on what. People\u2019s concerns range from the reasonable to the fantastical. If he shares a pic of a lit blunt, he gets Christian sobriety inspo in the comments; if he rips a bong, TMZ brings out Dr. Drew<\/a> to pretend \u201cthe concentration of THC in weed approaches 100 percent\u201d now. Some people think Bieber got facial paralysis in 2022 from the COVID-19 vaccine and not Ramsay Hunt syndrome, as he announced. Many attribute his confusing behavior to a secret addiction; others believe it\u2019s the lure of a Christian cult. The conspiracy theories and armchair psych analyses don\u2019t neatly converge. But the cycle of drama fueling paparazzi stalking and more headlines is drainingly familiar; comparisons to Ye and Britney Spears abound.<\/p>\n The bits we don\u2019t need to speculate about seem daunting enough. Bieber\u2019s neurological disorder forced him to cancel the world tour for 2021\u2019s Justice, leaving him on the hook for a $26 million advance. The singer sold the rights to his back catalogue afterward \u2014 an eyebrow-raising move for anyone under 60, let alone 30 \u2014 giving an impression of yo-yoing finances as questions about marital distress percolated. Justin and Hailey Bieber became parents last summer, and Dad\u2019s Instagram page is an often unnervingly frank document of the joy but also the power struggles of the growing family. In the meantime, his past drug use and depression were trotted back out in the lunacy of the Diddy rumor mill<\/a>. Having left former manager Scooter Braun\u2019s SB Projects, moving forward without the exec who first discovered him, Justin Bieber feels poignantly unmanaged. He announced his seventh studio album, SWAG<\/a>, with billboards and sources whispering to magazines about its imminent release; the new music\u00a0admits that things are far from perfect. It revels in unpredictability, in mix-and-match sounds and sunny moods subject to rain showers. It\u2019s exhilarating stuff, music that exists for the enrichment of the artist and not for the sole purpose of being widely, comfortably consumed, though it does not lack commercial instincts.<\/p>\n The Prince-like \u201cGo Baby\u201d is indicative of the stormy scenes SWAG offers a window into. Blanketed by gossamer synths, a giddily mundane marital snapshot \u2014 \u201cThat\u2019s my baby \/ She\u2019s iconic \/ iPhone case \/ Lip gloss on it\u201d \u2014 slowly gives way to some sort of quarrel. Moments later, Bieber is distraught, singing \u201cnothing needs to work out, and nothing needs to break.\u201d The verses and choruses don\u2019t care what tawdry takeaways people see fit to draw from them, whether you do or don\u2019t become convinced of clandestine love triangles explored in 50-minute YouTube videos. Bieber\u2019s main agenda this cycle is simply toughing it out through today\u2019s difficulties to prepare for tomorrow\u2019s.<\/p>\n SWAG is every bit as musically unfettered as its author is psychologically transparent lately, spilling over with interests that were often sidelined to center pure pop exuberance. On one hand, it\u2019s a frothy batch of verge-of-breakup anthems, a throwback R&B pivot inspired by the production and vocal penchants of emotional crooners of the late \u201980s and early \u201990s. But a feeling that the track list could veer into a cover of New Edition\u2019s \u201cCan You Stand the Rain\u201d or Ralph Tresvant\u2019s \u201cLove Takes Time\u201d \u2014 prickly stories where couples question their long-term viability \u2014 is offset by both folk flourishes and a flashing of mainstream hip-hop-nerd bona fides. This all gels in delightfully strange combinations: \u201cYukon,\u201d its vocals pitched deliriously high, takes an acoustic approach to the darkly cherubic longing of Dallas singer 4batz, bouncing a youthful tone off of adult lyrics and R&B cadences off campfire sonics. Late-album highlight \u201c405\u201d blends clacky \u201980s electric piano; aughts U.K. garage drums; and tasteful, churchy guitar accents in a song that lends itself equally to throwing ass and weeping. SWAG is simultaneously a hanging-out-with-rappers album \u2014 Sexyy Redd, Lil B, and Cash Cobain are here \u2014 and an album that seeks to create distance from fame by leaning into soft-rock territory with guitar prodigies mk.gee and Dijon in tow. The only constant as the music drifts through genres is the sense that Braun would have pushed for a load-bearing lead single and campaign of reassurance, and that\u2019s probably why he\u2019s not here.<\/p>\n While the album presents as a splatter painting on the first pass, Bieber is threading a precarious needle throughout SWAG, repositioning himself in pop and R&B without making a screeching left turn away from the church pop of Justice and the wife-guy trap of 2020\u2019s Changes. The headier grooves and conversational verses might disappoint fans waiting for a \u201cSorry\u201d moment where the singer recommits to a more palatable sound and persona after a torrent of bad press; instead, Bieber defends his right to remain incomprehensible. But crane your neck and you see an acknowledgment of SZA as chart supreme of the 2020s. Her go-to producer and songwriter Carter Lang worked on every song; SWAG\u2019s diaristic wordplay takes cues from Bieber and SZA\u2019s team up for SOS\u2019s \u201cSnooze.\u201d Her vision of brutally honest modern soul fits folk and pop punk in its frame; this is license for the Canadian YouTube busker, Usher<\/a> prot\u00e9g\u00e9, and sometime wild boy to access all those parts of himself. He tried it over a decade ago on the post-Believe curio Journals, a skeletal and sometimes quite sad R&B album pawned off as a compilation whose first-week sales weren\u2019t made public in the year of bad headlines leading up to Bieber\u2019s 2014 Miami Beach DUI arrest. A \u201cstudio album\u201d is typically a space for him to win everyone back, but this one is a retreat into his gifts, not a face-saving maneuver. The howling \u201cGlory Voice Demo\u201d transmutes his troubles into gritty gospel blues; the sweetly expectant \u201cDaisies\u201d \u2014 imagining Michael Jackson fronting Death Cab for Cutie for \u201cThe Way You Make Me Feel\u201d \u2014 yields one of our greatest songs about anticipating a text while iMessage ellipses show the other person typing.<\/p>\n Justin Bieber is torching the image he and his team used to go to great lengths to maintain. His holy-rolling, easy-going veneer was untenable. And the expectations it garnered are difficult to shake; he reckons that you simply have to let people see you at both your artful best and acrimonious.\u00a0Donning the mantle of nostalgic (trap) soul man Trying to Make Things Work is lucrative posturing, a battle-tested sonic palette for guys in a romantic tight spot. Bieber does seem interested in upkeep of this image; he wants you to know he\u2019s tapped in enough to get that people still listen to Gunna despite the YSL trial Alford plea<\/a>, and comic and rap-skit regular Druski approves of the work.<\/p>\n But the try-hard Bieber of old shows in \u201cSoulful,\u201d an interlude when Druski says \u201cYour skin white, but your soul Black\u201d after the breakbeat banger \u201cFirst Place,\u201d a mountain of synth pads threatening to segue into Thriller\u2019s \u201cHuman Nature.\u201d Another interlude attempts to spin scrutiny into meme gold, replaying the singer\u2019s \u201cit\u2019s not clocking to you that I\u2019m standing on business\u201d quip during a paparazzi argument like a catchphrase, compiling borrowed and slightly misunderstood Black and trans community slang. He\u2019s only a few years removed from featuring Martin Luther King Jr. on Justice, David Guetta style. SWAG\u2019s stoned but spirited forays into Black artists\u2019 sonic signatures fit the pattern of playing to these tendencies most assertively when looking to escape or befuddle a pop crowd. He\u2019s not slick with it, but he remains a frustratingly intuitive study. Even his tackiest instincts (on the album or off it) feed the overarching project of aching, scathing honesty that manages to avoid giving a concise answer to the question: What\u2019s wrong with Justin Bieber? He\u2019d rather we stopped asking, as we were brought up with a manufactured idea of him to which he struggled to adhere. SWAG stuns as an unceremonious, rocky reintroduction to the person we thought we knew.<\/p>\n Sign up for The Critics<\/p>\n A weekly dispatch on the cultural discourse, for subscribers only.<\/p>\n Vox Media, LLC Terms and Privacy Notice<\/p>\n