PURPOSE:
The Movement is a series of music videos created to accompany Justin Bieber’s
most recent album, Purpose. Together,
the videos create a short film. As a unique marketing device, Bieber began to
release them on the hour, every hour on his VEVO account the day after his
album’s release. Jeff Beer of Fast
Company’s Co.Create, a business
magazine that focuses on “creativity in the converging worlds of advertising,
entertainment, and technology”, remarked that “considering that singles are the
dominant song form in pop music, it's intriguing to see how much of the
marketing around Justin Bieber's new album revolves around the entire album.” Perhaps
consequentially, Purpose had the biggest
first-week sales of the year and the largest debut since Taylor Swift’s 1989 in 2014. Purpose became Bieber’s “best-selling launch ever” (USA Today).
PURPOSE:
The Movement has a predecessor: Beyoncé’s 2013 self-titled album, which
includes 14 songs and 17 videos. Like Bieber’s videos, it was released unannounced
sometime in the middle of the night. Bieber, however, does more than emulate Queen
Bey; he draws from and relies upon various pop-culture phenomena. Beers puts it
this way: “It’s like Bieber has completely bought into the Netflix model of
binge-watching and applied it to music videos.” Bieber put more than just the
current binge-mentality to work: Twitter was used to market the project as
well, with Bieber’s passionate fans essentially doing the job for him.
However, what Bieber and his choreographer,
Parris Goebel, are best at adopting for their use is not just binge-happy Beliebers’
willingness to lap up new hourly music videos, but that fusion of mediums that
has become more and more prevalent with the digital age. Bieber’s videos rely
heavily, of course, on his music and Goebel’s choreography (and skilled team of
dancers). What makes PURPOSE: The
Movement a valuable step forward in the arts, however, is the particular
combination of adoption and adaptation: Beyoncé, Twitter, binge-watching,
clever marketing schemes, film, choreography that is at times simultaneously
sexual and emotional, street dancing, costume, and sleek production design.
The series of short films are
clearly used as a tool to manage Bieber’s “bad boy” reputation, to reinvent him
as a mature man who’s learned from his mistakes. The intro video, “Mark My
Words”, combines older footage of him cussing out the paparazzi with footage of
overwhelming, endless crowds of screaming fans and a Bieber voiceover telling
us that he had lost his purpose, but that he’s found it now. There’s even a
shot of Bieber standing behind a waterfall with his arms raised triumphantly,
and he continues with the voiceover, saying that he wants fans to think: “Hey,
if Justin did it, then I can do it.”
The first two videos, ”Mark My
Words” and “I’ll Show You”, are clear references to Bieber’s mistakes, apology,
and reformation. In the former, he shuffles on a wooden piano in the middle of
the desert and sings, “Oh, I don’t want to live a lie,” and explains in the
latter: “Sometimes it's hard to do the right thing when the pressure's coming
down like lightning. It's like they want me to be perfect when they don't even
know that I'm hurting.”
The edgy, street-wise choreography
in “I’ll Show You” prepares us for the rest of the film however, and we find
out by the next two tracks that this project is mainly about Bieber’s music and
his collaboration with Goebel. If
PURPOSE: The Movement, were only about restoring his image, it could be
considered a failure. After all, nine days into the new year, Bieber has
already gotten into trouble in Mexico (The Guardian), with some sources saying
he mooned other tourists and officials at a Mayan ruins site (TMZ). But PURPOSE: The Movement is more than a
smooth PR exercise.
“What Do You Mean?” is the first
song and video to shake us out of PR-land. The colors are saturated, the
dancers are sassing, and the camera rolls through a schoolyard, dizzy and
frenzied, until the video switches to “Sorry”, a brightly-outfitted girl gang
dancing their brashest best. The dancing itself is a kind of sexual, staccato,
almost stop-motion attitude that brags so loudly we think it really must be
saying something.
“Love Yourself” is a simple little piece
of didacticism told through “cute modern dance” (The Inquisitr). The colors are
cold and neutral, the set is claustrophobic: the featured couple dances from
their bed to the narrow hallway, from there to more tiny spaces. It’s only a
sassy send-off to an ex, but neatly told. “Company”’s super-saturated neon
lights and half-darkness are a perfect visual to express Bieber’s lyrics,
essentially a come-on, while “No Pressure” uses black-and-white coloring and
dramatic spotlights to focus in on the desperate dancer trying to get his girl
back. In “No Sense”, with sleazy red lights and another fairly sexualized
choreography, the dancers twerk and the camera shakes with them, a clever
trick: this is a hazy world in which even a twerk can unsettle.
There is heavy sentimentality, such
as in the ballad “Life is Worth Living”, where an angel hugs a girl with a
bullet wound in her chest, and in “Children”, an anthem featuring child
activists, in which Bieber sings, “What about the children?” But on “Purpose”,
the last video, Bieber is back in the desert, neutral-clad girls clinging to
him – maybe his desperate fans. He leaves them there and walks away into the
desert. “I’m not giving myself grace, I’m just like understanding that’s how it
is,” he narrates, as he solemnly sprinkles a handful of sand on his shoulder
like some desert baptism.
SPIN Magazine noted: “These songs
had to be good enough to shift an entire career’s narrative on their own. They
did.” But more than what they do for Bieber’s career is what they do for
artists. There is now a mainstream, marketable precedent for this kind of collaboration,
which has potential to foster braver work yet.
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