Two hours before Justin Bieber stepped onto the Coachella Stage on Saturday night, I was already deep in the crowd, shuffling forward inch by inch, knees aching, lungs slowly filling with desert dust. Around me, diehard Beliebers had staked out their spots near the front barricades. Someone to my left asked if he would play “Baby.” Someone else wanted to know where Hailey was. No water. No bathroom breaks. Just anticipation so thick you could almost taste it. This was Bieberchella, and the tension was real.
What made it so charged was the stakes. Justin Bieber, 32, was performing his first major festival headlining set ever, the first show at this scale since he cancelled his Justice World Tour in 2022 due to Ramsay Hunt syndrome. In the years between, he retreated into fatherhood, parted ways with longtime manager Scooter Braun, and quietly rebuilt. Then came Swag in July 2025, a Grammy-nominated R&B comeback that debuted at No. 2 on the Billboard 200. Then Swag II. Then a stripped-back, shirtless Grammy performance in February of just “Yukon” and a guitar. Eleven days after Swag II dropped, Coachella announced him as a headliner. The audience that stretched back nearly to the ferris wheel on Saturday night may have been the largest ever assembled on the Coachella field. Nobody was entirely sure what they were about to see.
Swag First, Then the YouTube Rabbit Hole
Bieber emerged alone in an oversized pink hoodie from his own brand SKYLRK, baggy Lu’u Dan shorts, and an unhurried ease that felt almost deliberately low-key. He opened with “All I Can Take,” then moved through cuts from Swag and Swag II: “Speed Demon,” “Go Baby,” “Everything Hallelujah.” On that last one, the camera caught Hailey Bieber in the crowd, mouthing the words, and Justin sang directly to her: “Hailey babe, Hallelujah… baby Jack, Hallelujah.” The crowd lost it. I lost it.
The set was stripped down in a way that shocked some and moved others. No backup dancers. No costume changes. No elaborate stage architecture beyond a halfpipe structure at the center of the stage. For much of the first act, it was just him and a microphone, pacing. The Kid LAROI joined for “Stay,” offering the first true eruption of the night. Then Bieber sat down on a stool, opened a laptop, and began scrolling YouTube. He pulled up “Baby.” He pulled up “Never Say Never,” “What Do You Mean,” “Sorry,” Chris Brown’s “With You” from back when a 13-year-old kid with a swoopy haircut was covering it on a webcam. He sang along, harmonizing with his younger self projected on the screen behind him. The crowd sang louder than he did on some of them, and he let us. For “Sorry,” he held the mic toward sixty thousand people and just let it ride.
What the Critics Got Wrong
The backlash hit fast. Rolling Stone called it too basic. Others called it lazy. Katy Perry, watching from the crowd, cracked: “Thank God he has YouTube Premium.” The $10 million paycheck Bieber reportedly secured made the stripped-back presentation feel, to some, like a mismatch. But there is another read entirely. Since leaving Scooter Braun‘s orbit, Bieber has spent two years reclaiming something. The Twitch streams where he and his friends had jam sessions and watched funny videos in a warehouse. The Grammys where he stood in just silk boxers and played one song without fanfare. The intimate Troubadour show he did April 4th as a warm-up, just to feel it again. Saturday night was an extension of all of it. He got lost in the moment because he was simply living, and the people paying attention understood exactly why.
The final stretch of the set confirmed what the rest of it had suggested: that Bieber’s best energy lives in collaboration. Dijon joined for “Devotion.” Tems came out for “I Think You’re Special” and “Essence,” with Wizkid appearing alongside her. Mk.gee closed everything out on “Daisies” as fireworks cracked open the sky. Bieber shed his pink hoodie, dropped to a black cutoff tee, and delivered those final songs with a looseness and joy that felt earned.
He left the stage with a simple “Love you all.” No long speech. No grand finale statement. Just that. And I found myself thinking about the moment he pulled up that Chris Brown cover video, a 13-year-old kid on a screen, and the 32-year-old man standing in front of us singing along, smiling. New dad. Health battles behind him. Scooter Braun behind him. Coachella field in front of him, stretching back forever. Some nights that’s the whole story.
Now: a world tour in 2027 would be great. This OG Belieber needs a seat.
