Justin Bieber's problem is that he is a children's entertainer. That's a different job from "rock star". Justin Bieber is, at all times, wearing an implied fez covered in spangles. He might as well be called Mr Magic.
When he goes on stage two hours late (as he did to much parental rage in London last week), it's like being two hours late to shout: "Who's the birthday girl?" and pretend that a felt monkey is too shy to emerge from a suitcase.
It's no good being two hours late for a children's party. The window has closed. The kids have all drunk too much orange squash, run around screaming, had a wee on the floor, pushed a sausage into someone's eye, burst into tears and fallen asleep.
That is not the moment to leap into view shouting: "Who's ready for a chorus of Boyfriend?"
Poor Justin Bieber. He is, like so many child stars before, having his growing pains in public. He's turning 19, already five years into his career, fans getting younger before his eyes like policemen. He's wondering how to "make the transition": praying to be Justin Timberlake, fearing he'll be Gary Coleman.
I know the feeling. I was on TV when I was 15 – chubby, eager, naive and intimidatingly uncool. Years later, I struggled to reinvent myself as a 30-year-old – by then chubby, eager, naive and intimidatingly uncool. Thinking about it, that wasn't a difficult transition. But then, I'm not a pop star. This is in no way a useful analogy.
But I think we can all guess what might be going on in Justin Bieber's head, as he tires of the virginal squeakiness that characterised his 14-year-old fame and fights to be considered an adult. The world is his mum and dad, tutting: "What time do you call this?" and: "You're not going out like that!"
I think he may be a late developer. There was something wonderfully adolescent about his birthday night in London before the big concert. Bieber had planned to spend £8,000 on booze and private tables in a hot nightclub. Unfortunately, his friends were turned away by doormen. "Worst birthday!" tweeted Justin miserably.
That combination of adult wheeze and childish disappointment reminds me of the letter my friend Luke's 12-year-old sister once sent him (which I quote often, because it's such a brilliant snapshot of the confused pubescent mind): "I hate Mum and Dad and I'm going to run away. PS. For my birthday, I might be getting two mice!"
Bieber desperately wants to be older, cooler, edgier and more rock starry. He wants to reel out of clubs. He wants to be late on stage, riling and teasing the fans into a frenzy. One newspaper reported that he spends time "smoking scented cigarettes". Hmm.
Meanwhile, fair exchange is no robbery: as this young Canadian stirs up concert controversy in Britain, we've sent the old Brit Pete Townshend to stir some up in Canada.
Did you see this fascinating story? Eric Costello, a 50-year-old lifelong fan of the Who, took his seven-year-old daughter along to their gig in Ontario. The daughter sat on her father's shoulders, waving a placard that read: "Smash Your Guitar, Pete!"
Townshend took against this placard. He asked Eric to put it away. He then said: "I want to tell you two words, but I can't because you've got a child on you" and mouthed: "F*** off."
Unplacated by the lowered volume, incensed Eric told the Toronto Sun: "I expect a 70-year-old man to respect the fact there's a seven-year-old girl standing in front of him." Meh, won't kill Pete Townshend – the same's been said of him under far worse circumstances than that.
But Eric continued: "Nobody talks to my daughter like that. Nobody tells my kid to f*** off. Both she and I were huge fans of the band and now I'm left trying to explain to her that heroes are not infallible."
I find this bizarre and compelling. What did Eric "explain about heroes" when he passed on his love of Pete's guitar-smashing in the first place? Did he talk about anger and punk and auto-destructive art? Or did he just say that it was fun to break things?
Did he ever claim that Townshend was "infallible"? If so, good luck getting that seven-year-old to look after her violin nicely.
Whatever he told her, Eric Costello evidently hoped that his daughter would see some instrument-smashing, but he draws the line at swearing. Townshend, it seems, is squeamish about both.
Time has passed, for starry Pete and his super-fan Eric, and they are both tired. They've probably sung the line "Hope I die before I get old" as often as each other, over the years, but hopes have been dashed in both cases.
Pete Townshend no longer wants to smash a guitar into a speaker cabinet. He wants a nice cup of tea in front of Bargain Hunt.
Eric wants the guitar smashed, but not in a shocking, violent way; he wants it done in a fun, nostalgic, cartoony way that his little daughter can enjoy.
And this is because, for Pete and Eric, the anger is all gone. There is no passionate rage any more. They're just a bit tetchy and easily cheesed off. They should get together for a pint.
But you know what I'm going to suggest, don't you? Justin Bieber and the Who should swap audiences. Bieber would kill for the chance to smash a few instruments and talk about Gustav Metzger. Pete Townshend would give anything for a crowd that wants to see him take the stage on the dot of 7pm and wave everyone good night by 9pm.
This rock star business... it's a young man's game. Yet not a young man's game. You need to be exactly 27.
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