The first step to accepting Justin Bieber is getting past his age. It’s everywhere on this record, impossible to ignore, and, frankly, if Bieber was simply a twenty-something white boy with an R&B fetish, My World 2.0 would be easy to acknowledge as a disposable adult contemporary record in the vein of latter-day Backstreet Boys. But Bieber is just following in the proud tradition of plenty of vapid pop stars before him, from the Mickey Mouse club to Miley Cyrus, and although his voice stubbornly refuses to conjure up images of anyone older than thirteen, it would be shortsighted and irresponsible to write off Bieber as a flash in the pan novelty.