Justin Bieber (9 page)

On stage, we don’t want any surprises. We want everything to play out perfect, just the way we planned. In life, you get the full reveal. It’s all a surprise. And that makes it a lot more interesting, even though some of the surprises suck. In the Bible it says “everything works together for good” if you love God, but there are times when it does not feel that way at all. Times when you’re like, “Yo, God! This is messed up. Could you pay some attention down here?” Maybe faith is the ability to chill and trust that somebody up there got the set list right. Maybe when you’re cool with whatever comes your way, the reveal eventually happens, and even the bad moments can turn around to bless you.

Mom and Grandpa and Grandma took me to Scoopers Ice Cream after I lost the Stratford Star competition.

Grandpa told me, “You can lose without feeling like a loser. If you take the experience and learn from it, you’re still coming out ahead of where you were before.”

“We’re so proud of you,” said Grandma. “And remember, you did it for fun, and it was fun, right? You had fun, didn’t you?”

“Yeah...” I had to admit it. I had a ton of fun. It was actually kind of an incredibly fun experience, and I could definitely see myself doing that again. Or doing some other competition. Maybe even
American Idol
someday. In a thousand years. When I’d have a driver’s license. And probably a beard like Nathan, that Lion King dude...” Plus, you’re invited to sing for the autism benefit,” said Mom. “Are you excited about that?”

“Yeah. Kind of. I will be when it gets closer to the time to do it,” I said, trying not to sound too destroyed.

Mom gave me a good hug. “You did great, Justin. I wish everyone could have been there – the whole family and all our friends at church. But I got some great videos. I’m going to put them up on YouTube so everyone can all see how amazing you did.”

U
nderneath the stage, it’s like a whole city of steel beams, cables, equipment, rolling storage units and canvas curtains. Part of the stage floor drops down and elevators rise up with me onboard for a dramatic entrance, and coming down from the sides are ramps the dance crew and I use to exit. They lead to a narrow alley that’s curtained off and lit with flood lamps. All the costume changes are hanging on racks, carefully arranged in order of who belongs to which pair of pants and when in the show everything is needed.

After a lunch break and some Ping-Pong with the crew we charge into a second run-through of the show. The morning run-through was for working out the last few bugs in the technical stuff. No screw-ups this time. We’re cruising through the whole thing without stopping.

Ryan Good, my stylist and road dog, keeps everything rocking right along. When I come off stage, he helps me do a quick change into the next get-up. It’s pretty hectic – there’s me and the whole dance crew and we’re all working pretty hard. When we strip off our sweaty shirts and shoes, it smells like that sweaty old guy from the YMCA. You guys know what I’m talking about.

In addition to those costume changes, we have to work out the timing between one song and the next, and how the talking will fit with the video effects, which means I have to say something, but it changes from one show to the next. So, during the run-through, I’m just supposed to say whatever comes into my
head, and usually what comes into my head is a bunch of goofing off and teasing people.

“How y’all doing out there tonight? Oh, Ryan, you are looking good today. Was it Garnier Fructis you used last night?”

Somewhere in the dark arena, a voice yells, “Video rolling for forty-five... forty...”

“Man you’ve got some golden locks. AW C’MON!”

There’s laughter from underneath the stage and heckling from roadies and catering people wandering around. I suppose I could practice what I’m actually going to say, but I don’t want it to come out sounding phony. I’d rather just come out and look at the real faces of the real people and talk to them. As carefully as we nail down everything else, that connection has to stay unrehearsed and in the moment. I don’t know who’s going to be out there or what’s going to happen, but I know it has to be personal, and it doesn’t scare me to leave it wide open.

That’s another question I get asked all the time: “Do you get nervous?”

The truth is: I don’t. I don’t mean for that to come off as cocky. I just don’t see what’s to be afraid of. It’s not that I never make mistakes. Are you kidding? Mistakes happen all the time. But that’s life. You pick it up and keep going. My spleen isn’t going to explode if I play the wrong guitar chord or fluff the occasional song lyric. I’m kind of a perfectionist. I work hard to get it right, but part of that is being able to roll with the unexpected. I know someone who was busking in the park and a bird pooped on her head in the middle of “Amazing Grace.” That’s showbiz.

For those of you who don’t know what busking is, that’s when you play music for donations on the street, in a park, on the subway, or, in my case, on the front steps of the Avon Theatre...

I wanted to go golfing with my friends one day, but I didn’t have any money. After the Stratford Star competition, I was excited about the idea of playing music for people, so I decided to give busking a shot. During tourist season, the Stratford Shakespeare Festival was going on, and people came from far and wide to see those plays. Buses would pull up in front of the theatre, and about a hundred people would get out and mill around before they went off to shop or check out the local cafés and art galleries.

So this was a perfect place. Lots of pedestrians. And shade, if I went there at the right time of day. I knew all the words to a lot of songs and I didn’t need backup tracks. I could accompany myself on the guitar. Mom wasn’t sure what people were going to be like, so she didn’t want me sitting there by myself. I tried to tell her it would be fine and I’d be home by dark, but she insisted on
having Grandpa sit in his car across the street.

The first time I parked myself on the steps, I set my open guitar case in front of me, hoping people would be nice and I’d come up with twenty bucks or so. After just a couple hours, I had almost $200. I felt like I’d discovered a gold mine. When I got home and shared this discovery with Mom, she was completely blown away and immediately started talking about responsibility and a college account and that sort of thing. I had another idea.

“Mom, we could go to Disney World.”

She thought about the math for a minute and said, “We seriously could. At this rate, even if you put a good share into savings, you’d have enough for plane tickets by the end of summer.”

It was a plan. Mom and I had never gone anywhere on vacation except up to the rod-and-gun club cabin at Star Lake with Grandpa and Grandma. Disney World had always seemed about as possible as winning the lottery. The realization that I could make it happen just by playing music – doing something I’d been doing for years just for fun – was pretty cool. Mom was satisfied the people were going to be nice, but now she was worried about my sitting there with all that cash, so she and Grandpa took turns keeping an eye on me from across the street.

Busking was a blast. People were very kind and appreciative. Almost everybody threw me at least a buck or two
and had something nice to say. At the end of one day, there was a note in my guitar case. I don’t remember exactly what it said, but it was something to the effect of “You’re cute! Call me! Love, Tiffany.” And a phone number.

Chaz and Ryan were so like, “Whuuuut? No way!”

Way.

It’s hard to imagine improving on the situation, but this was getting ridiculously awesome. Disney World... plus girls. Busking was a pretty sweet gig!

The acoustics were great at that location, and on clear, calm days people told me they could hear me all the way down the street. Buses came and went, bringing all sorts of people. Ladies with big hats and giant bags, Japanese schoolgirls in plaid uniforms, Boy Scout troops and baseball teams, elderly couples out for a stroll. Tour groups would get dropped off on the corner so they could shop for souvenirs, and some of them would still be standing there when the bus came back.

Thanks to the musical influences of Mom and Dad, I had a nice repertoire that included something for everybody. Anything from R&B and pop standards to country and Christian music, and
even a little heavy metal. Which isn’t very heavy when it’s just a kid and his guitar, I guess, but – you know. Mini metal. It works.

One song that consistently wrecked people to tears and brought in a lot of donations was “Sarah Beth,” a Rascal Flatts song about a girl with cancer. Look up that video on YouTube and try to watch it without getting choked up. I dare you. “Sarah Beth” wrecks everybody. I don’t care if you’re one of those gnarly, bearded Bering Strait crab fishermen on
Deadliest Catch.
You’re crying by the end of that song.

People who ran the shops close to the theater loved me because customers lingered longer when I was playing. If it was up to them, I’d have been out there every day from open to close of business, but it was summertime and I was twelve. I wanted to hang out with my friends. And I wanted to start dating. I was feeling pretty flush in the financial department, more than ready to step up, be a gentleman, show a lady a good time.