My daughter warned me. Told me that she loved this song and that it was good. Played it for me (well as much of it as her short attention span would let her get away with). I remember thinking, there is no way I’m going to like this song, so I thought nothing of it while she was playing it for me.
Needless to say, I wasn’t listening.
Weeks and weeks later, on my Discover Weekly playlist on Spotify, the song comes up again. I’m listening to it; I like the beat. Before long my head subconsciously nods. Then I look who the artist is—Justin Bieber.
Justin Bieber? The Justin Bieber?
By no means am I a “BeLieber.” But this song, this is ear candy. Granted, most of his—rather all of his—previous offerings were out of my lane. They were all rather easily dismissed; even as I listened to them my mind was waiting to hear what was next by someone else. I was raised at the altar of R&B. Classic stuff. My mother worshiped at the church of Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin. She gave me the grounding in R&B that I have today. As I got older, I saw the rise of hip-hop and rap as I started high school. The closest I came to teen pop was the Jackson 5. And now, as the odometer on my life approaches an age where the number 5 is the starting number, I’m nodding my head and tapping my fingers to a Justin Bieber song.
Where did I go wrong? How did this happen? And why, when I realized what I was doing, did I say “NOOOOO!” and try to stop moving?
Despite all that, when I told a friend of mine on Twitter what had happened, she was kind about it. Told me not to be ashamed; it’s a good song. I will say it is well produced, and Bieber gives a decent vocal.
But it’s Justin Bieber!!! I’m not supposed to like it. Or I think I’m not supposed to like it.
Either way, it is now filed as a guilty pleasure. Yes, I like it. Even my daughter approves.