Justin Bieber V Festival, Weston Park, Staffordshire
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You guys been to the chip shop yet? Is it good?' asks Justin Bieber, part way through his headline set at V Festival in Weston-under-Lizard – his second after Chelmsford the day before. Later, he'll ponder the insanity of microwaving Pop Tarts when they're perfectly nice cold.
Say what you like about Bieber – that last year's credibility-seeking, R&B-flavoured Purpose album was quite nice, as these things go, that he sometimes looks, in the midst of his dancers and his flashing stage, like a bored, handsome youth lost inside a computer game – but you can't accuse him of being too slick on the patter front.
The Canadian teen icon is attempting a complicated manoeuvre: trying to atone for bratty, charmless episodes of his recent past, appealing for a bit more understanding from those who might judge him harshly and, above all, nudging his appeal carefully into mature new terrain.
It's hard to shake the sense, most of the time, that the 22-year-old would sooner be nowhere near a stupid stage. With the air of someone half-heartedly looking for something to do
His Purpose live show, dropping in at the likeable, smoothly organised V Festival ahead of a 16-date British arena run in October, aims to address all these issues.
The set list goes in heavy on that album, singles such as Where Are Ü Now and Sorry warmly received by the rain-sodden, glitter-smeared crowd. A Bieber voiceover intones self-improvement slogans at dramatic moments, to let us know he's on the case with the bratty stuff.
But for all that, it's hard to shake the sense, most of the time, that the 22-year-old would sooner be nowhere near a stupid stage. With the air of someone half-heartedly looking for something to do, he ambles about – jogs up the angled bank of screens that cleverly separates two levels, wanders around, artfully grabs his crotch, trots down again.
Quite often he'll be involved in a little choreographed outbreak of dancing, but not enough to justify the fact that his voice keeps chirping out of the speakers even when he's holding the microphone by his side.
A two-song solo interlude, in which Bieber plays the guitar and genuinely sings on decent renditions of current hit Cold Water and the Ed Sheeran co-written Love Yourself, finds him necessarily more engaged. Otherwise, Bieber is an unpersuasive presence at the centre of his own show.
Bieber's main stage warm-up act, Sia, has her own issues with stardom but she turned them into drama, performing off to one side, her face obscured by hair, while dancers acted out strange and creative scenes. Tinie Tempah and Faithless, making plenty of friends on the next stage over, were likewise more purposeful than the main attraction.
Album of the Week
By Graeme Thomson
Frank Ocean Blond Def Jam/Boys Don't Cry, Out Now
Rating:
Prefaced by months of increasingly fevered speculation, the second album by US R&B star Frank Ocean finally arrived last weekend, teed up by a 45-minute 'visual album', four pop-up shops and a glossy limited-edition magazine.
The cause of all this hype turns out to be a low-key affair. Blonde is album as Instagram. A collection of 17 aural snapshots – some sharp, many more unfocused – it's a downbeat, self-absorbed, curiously confused work. Ocean isn't even sure of the title, opting for Blonde on the download and Blond on the CD.
As he did on his 2012 debut, the acclaimed Channel Orange, Ocean skilfully merges modern and old-school R&B with electronic innovation, but this time he majors on murky moods rather than melody. The exceptions are terrific, but there are not enough of them.
Blonde is album as Instagram. A collection of 17 aural snapshots – some sharp, many more unfocused – it's a downbeat, self-absorbed, curiously confused work
On Solo, church organ anchors a gorgeous tale of rootless hedonism. Self Control is a winningly simple soul ballad, Ocean's voice and vulnerability to the fore over sparse guitar, while the sample of The Beatles' Here, There And Everywhere on the aching White Ferrari is a masterstroke.
The Stevie Wonder-ish Skyline To is another highlight, featuring Kendrick Lamar. Other guest spots include Radiohead's Jonny Greenwood, Beyoncé and James Blake but, in keeping with the subdued mood, their contributions are muted to the point of anonymity.
More prominent is Ocean's mother, who dispenses concerned advice – 'Don't. Smoke. Marijuana' – on Be Yourself, a warning which, several songs make explicit, has gone unheeded.
Ocean (above) skilfully merges modern and old-school R&B with electronic innovation, but this time he majors on murky moods rather than melody
While too many of these tracks feel like sketches or fragments, lyrically Ocean is frustratingly opaque. America might be in a state of red alert, but he favours late-night, bombed-out introspection over reportage.
If Blonde has a theme, it's that the same technology that enables 24/7 communication has made human interaction more remote. Sometimes that dichotomy is communicated with skill – the cautionary tale of Facebook Story bleeding into Bacharach and David's Close To You is particularly smart – but too often the medium matches the message, resulting in a periodically impressive but ultimately muddled record.
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