The Biebs & Me

In keeping with my teenage theme. I have an announcement to make. It’s big…

I am accompanying my newly thirteen year old daughter to a Justin Beiber concert. We’re in the 9^th row. Centre stage, pretty much. I am reborn.

I have in fact secretly been a fan of The Bieb probably for almost as long as my daughter. He’s a good musician. He’s cute. I blubbed watching his movie for heaven’s sake. And that song he did with Nicki Minaj sealed the deal. JUSTIN.

Plus the little guy’s human. His recent outbursts of bad behavior; punching paparazzi and missing concerts dates attests to that. Living in the limelight from a young age is not all that it’s cracked up to be. Ah Juzzer?

But loving JBiebz can be hard. Timely and expensive. Just ask my daughter. There is not an inch of wall in her bedroom not covered by this lad from Strafford, Ontario, Canada. The laddy who just got his Audi leopard dipped (see above).

I loved the Bay City Rollers at thirteen, had a picture of them in all their tartan knicker-bocker glory above my bed. But not that much. I don’t think I would have thought it a matter of life or BC Rollers had they travelled to the far shores of Aotearoa in 1977 offering to perform live for me.

Nevertheless JB, we’ll be there in our Belieber T-shirts, with our placards saying I love you, our cellphones waving and earplugs at the ready. Hopefully we’ll actually hear you sing Girlfriend as 12,000 girls swoon shrilling ‘pick me’ while fainting about us.

The heart warming part for me is that during this age and stage when us parents turn into these ugly aliens our loving children don’t want to be seen in public with, the daughter in question has re-friended me on facebook. Mummy sigh.

At first I thought it was a hoax, a trick, a slight of hand to lift me up then squash me flat. Much like the comments I receive daily. “Mum you can’t be seriously going to wear those shoes with those pants I’m sorry. NO. WRONG.”

I know Chuck Taylors creeping into the wardrobes of so many middle-aged women is wrong. And tragic. But they’re comfy. And reasonably priced if you fit into children’s sizes like I do.

Anyway, I stooped to question the genuineness of the lovely friendly friend request. And sweet daughter assured me it was REAL and necessary so we could experience pre-concert frenzy together. Sharing statuses, promos and Bieb merchandise offers etc.

Now all I need to do is book our flights and buy an emergency pack of Rescue Remedy. If you’ve read this music review you’ll now this is not my first teenage concert. I'm an old hand, so to speak.

Unfortunately the only hiccup in my continued re-birthing is that I’m now not allowed to attend, The One Direction concert in October. Okay, I understand when you're 15 you need to break out.

JUSTIN!