Justin Bieber (8 page)

One time I was sent to the Principal for clowning around. I walked down the hall toward the office, but then I just kept on walking. So long, suckers. I went out the door, up the street, and across town, all the way to my grandparents’ house, thinking I’d find some sympathy there. Not a chance. Grandpa was very surprised and not very happy when he found me with my feet up in the living room, watching TV. He put me in the car and took me back to school, where I had
to go in and face the Principal, who wanted to know where I’d been for the last hour and a half when I was supposed to be at school. By the time Mom got home from work that afternoon, they’d called her and told her all about it, which gave her plenty of time to work up a good wrath and think of a bunch of harsh things to say. Grounded again. I sat in my room, busting on those barré chords for a couple more weeks.

Nobody in my family lets me off the hook if I’m in the wrong, but they’re always on my side when I do the right thing. I don’t remember playing a basketball game when there wasn’t somebody who loved me in the stands. My memories of hockey games, as a player and a fan, will always be about how my grandpa shared that with me. My family and best buds were always there for me, so I knew I’d have at least a few friendly faces in the audience when I decided to enter a local talent competition hosted by the Stratford Youth Centre in January 2007.

The few people who’d heard me do music kept telling me, “Dude, you’re pretty good. You should try out for
American Idol.”
But you had to be sixteen for that – as old as you had to be for a driver’s license. To a twelve-year-old kid, that seemed like a million years away, so I never thought that much about it. The Stratford Star competition was basically the same idea on a smaller scale: all kids, aged twelve to eighteen, in a series of elimination rounds. The cost was two dollars at the door. Instead of Randy, Simon and Paula, we had some local folks who were involved in the community music scene, directing the church choir or teaching at the high school or whatever, and, instead
of Ryan Seacrest, we had this really nice girl who organized the summer music programs. The grand prize was a microphone you could use to record on your computer, plus a couple of hours at a local recording studio.

I thought that would be a fun prize, but I was more into the idea of getting up in front of people and doing music just to see how it felt. I wasn’t nervous about performing, because I was used to playing basketball and hockey in front of crowds much bigger than this. But this was going to be the first time I’d ever sang publicly. Anyway, what’s to be afraid of? The few people who knew me were people who loved me, and the rest were strangers, so if I didn’t do well it wasn’t like I’d ever have to see them again. My mom was more nervous that I was, I think, even though the understanding was that this was just for fun. She helped me
figure out what to wear and made sure I had the background track and all that.

For the first round I wore a huge brown sweater and jeans, and I did Matchbox 20’s “3 AM.” The girl introduced me, and there was a little bit of polite applause when I went up on stage. I said, “Hey, everybody” and tried to get them clapping on the intro. Mom and Grandma were out there with smiles a mile wide, clapping away, but most of the crowd just sat there looking bored.

Okay... so I started singing.

Then they perked up a little. I saw some heads nod, like people were thinking, “Hey, this little dude’s not bad.” By the end, they were surprised that this kid in the too-big sweater could actually sing pretty well, and the applause was a little more enthusiastic. This was the first time I heard an audience actually
cheer for me on stage, and it felt pretty good. I made it through to the next round.

I thought I’d dress up a little for the next performance. Mom ironed a blue dress shirt for me and helped me do the knot on a sharp blue necktie, which was made for a grown man, so it was longer than I was tall. I decided to sing Alicia Keys’ “Fallin” – which was my jam in the shower. When I came out, people remembered me from the week before. They were even more surprised and cheered even louder. That didn’t just feel good. That felt kind of... thrilling.

By the time I got to the next round, I’d settled into the idea that I should just be myself, so I wore my regular school clothes and a baseball cap. I decided to do the Aretha Franklin arrangement on “Respect.” By now people knew who I was. The girl doing the emcee duties said, “Let’s show Justin Bieber some respect.” And there was a burst of loud, shrill screaming from the back of the room.

A group of girls. Beautiful girls. Screaming. For me.

Holy crap!

I got up there and sang my little eighth-grade butt off, thinking this was possibly the greatest moment of my entire life – of anyone’s life – better than hockey, better than
Star Wars
, better than Grandma’s turkey and gravy. A few people up front looked like they were sitting on something pointy, but those
girls in the back were into the number, swaying and clapping. I was feeding off the energy and it felt great, and, when I got to the instrumental break, I hammed it up, playing air sax. I got so big with it, I dropped the mike, which made a loud thunk on the stage – but no problem – I grabbed it up just in time to plow into the next verse.

I brought it home with a wild blues run (I hope Aretha would have been proud), and there was big, appreciative applause, plus another shrill scream from those girls, so I gave it the classic Michael Jordan fist pump. The older contestants had been taking voice lessons for years and they were really good, but – wow! Girls were screaming for me.

I made it all the way to the last round of the competition, even though I was one of the youngest contestants and the other finalists were the oldest. The night of the final, after everyone had performed, one of the judges brought the three finalists up on stage. First a beautiful blonde who was tall and had all kinds of vocal training and sang great. Then a beautiful brunette who was even taller and more trained and sang even better. And then me. The twelve-year-old kid in baggy pants. But being surrounded by beautiful girls, win or lose, I wasn’t complaining. I was feeling really good about how it went, but not
cocky at all. I didn’t assume I’d win, but I really, really, really wanted to. I hooked my thumbs in my pockets, trying to look like “Hey, it’s cool. Whatever.” But inside I was praying for that judge to say my name.

“I want to tell you that you’re all winners,” she said.

Yeah. Awesome. Please, say my name now.

“It takes so much to get up on stage and showcase a talent like that. Music is important, so keep singing no matter what.”

Okay. Got it. Please, say my name. Please, say my name. Please, say my—

“Our Stratford Star winner this year is...”

She said someone else’s name.

The crowd cheered. A little chunk of my heart fell out and rolled under the piano.

I came in third out of, um... how many was it again? Let me see, I believe it was... three. The only person they announced at the time was the winner, and for a long time I was under the
impression I’d come in second, which was slightly less humiliating. But no.

After my first record blew up, somebody from the competition told a reporter that I was actually third. She was quoted as saying, “He was definitely up for the challenge, and he had the charisma. He just didn’t have the experience. We thought, give him a couple years with voice training.” Obviously, I’m pretty happy with the way things eventually worked out, but I was seriously crushed at the time. I just couldn’t understand it. I’d felt so totally high on it – had this awesome experience – and then I lost? I won’t even pretend I didn’t care. I wanted to win. I mean, if you don’t care about winning the competition, why show up? I know that sounds harsh but I just love competition so much that I’m sometimes very hard on myself The guys on the tour say I’m a perfectionist. But I was old enough to know that you have to be prepared to be gracious, win or lose. Even at the time, I clapped. I smiled. I shook the winner’s hand. I thanked the judges. Mom and Grandpa and Grandma were proud of the way I conducted myself. That’s something you learn playing sports. You want to win. You play your heart out. If it goes your way – joy! Winning feels great. If you lose, that sucks, and you have every right to feel bad, but you have to suck it up, be gracious, and go down the line, slapping hands with the other team, saying,
“Good game, good game, good game...”

So shout out to those two girls who beat me in Stratford Star. Good game, ladies!

While we were working up this touring show, Dan Kanter said, “I see a song from an aerial view. The intro, the verse, the chorus. And then I look at a show from the aerial view. The set list, the climax of a guitar solo. Writing a set list is an art. Before I go to concerts, I never look online. I want to go in and everything is a surprise. It’s too bad that, with YouTube, the fans are going to know so much in advance. They’re still going to freak out and think it’s great, but I wish it was a full reveal.”