The Michael Buble Effect

December 2, 2009 § Leave a comment

I love Michael Buble.  By all accounts, the man seems to be charming, self-deprecating, and funny, and he’s a marvelously good singer.  Then there’s the gorgeous eyes, that great smile, and those dimples.

There was a bit of a brouhaha when his latest release, Crazy Love, premiered in the number 1 spot on the Billboard charts, putting KISS, with their first album in 11 years, at number 2.  Then, the next week it outsold the highly-anticipated Twilight: New Moon soundtrack.  Sites like Gawker and The Daily Beast dissected his appeal and chart-topping success.  The rhetoric went something like this: who is this Michael Buble guy (a Canadian no less!) whose music is “bland” (a matter of opinion), and who on earth is buying his music?  Apparently, it’s “Chardonnay-sipping” moms.  And this is not meant as a compliment.  I found it interesting that no one seemed to complain when those same “Chardonnay-sipping” mothers lined up with their children to see Twilight: New Moon on its opening weekend.

Call Michael Buble “bland” if you want, but he’s a risk taker.  He made Crazy Love with the musicians in the studio, “recorded it right from the floor.”  No one does that anymore.  And, probably more than anything, Michael Buble is an entertainer.  He can sing, live, he can dance, and he can joke, tease, play with his audience.  Dare I say, he appears to be having fun.  How many concerts have you been to where you’re shocked by the actual sound of a performer without the benefit of studio enhancement?  Or have you ever had a concert experience where the singer barely acknowledges the audience who has paid handsomely to be there?  Exactly.  Sure he’s a Frank Sinatra-like “crooner.”  What’s so wrong with that?  At a Michael Buble concert, you have a good time, you enjoy yourself.  Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?

So take a look at Michael Buble’s web site.  Scroll down and watch the music video for “Haven’t Met You Yet.”  You’ll feel good.  You may even catch yourself bopping, just a bit.  Or singing along, like my dear friend and her six-year-old son do while driving around in her convertible Mini with the top down.  Couldn’t we all use a little more bopping?  A little more singing along?  A little more Michael Buble?

Listen up!

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