Have you ever seen this man in concert?

If not, do yourself a favor and go if the opportunity should arise. At least buy his CDs.

~~~

This weekend, Tony and I saw Michael Buble perform live. I've relayed this information to a wide variety of people I know, and I'm shocked by how many of those people have never heard of Michael Buble. Like, all of them.

A little background...

I was raised on crooner music. My grandpa had tons of albums by Louis Prima, Keely Smith, Rosemary Clooney, the Rat Pack. This genre of music was always blaring from the speakers of the gigantic stereo cabinet that stood against the north wall of Gramp's den. Grandma hummed these tunes as she chopped onions and browned meatballs.

At family gatherings, it wasn't unusual for everyone seated around the dining room table to break into song or for me to tapdance on the table, singing "Just a Gigolo" while the entire group of crazy Italians sitting on green velveteen chair cushions clapped along. Karaoke machines have replaced the tape recorders we sang into, but the music is the same.

This music is a part of my history, my ancestry, my culture. When I hear it, the warmth and love of a Sunday afternoon spaghetti dinner enfolds my heart. It's part of who I am.

When I got the email that Michael Buble's tour included a stop in Washington, DC, I was elated. I planted myself in front of the computer the moment the tickets went on sale and my fast "refreshing" scored us two seats, front row, center.

Entering Lisner Auditorium, I was pleased to see the stage set in traditional crooner style. A black lacquered piano and drum kit flanked a single microphone, wooden stool, and seats for the horn section. A blue and silver color scheme and jazz guitar added a hint of contemporary elegance.

The band played an intro, and after a few minutes, the brass players leaned in to the center microphone and introduced Michael Buble in unison. He soft-shoed onto the stage clad entirely in black. His spiky haircut framed his expressive, deep-set almond eyes and he sparkled from the moment he faced the audience.

The concert set was the perfect balance of somber, thoughtful numbers, romantic ballads and upbeat tempos. The most impressive thing, to me, about Buble's artistry is his ability to take any song from any era and make it fit his genre and style. His rendition of George Michael's "Kissing a Fool" is flawless, and spawned an entire medley of eighties tunes that included "Faith," "I Want Your Sex," which he oozes, and "Billie Jean."

During this portion of the show, as well as the interim segues between songs, Buble demonstrated a sense of humor and an ability to banter well beyond his years. He cursed with class and was humbly grateful to his fans. He encouraged flash photography and spoke with boyish nostalgia of his grandfather's impact on his career. The best anecdote of the evening preceded the song "The Way You Look Tonight," one of my favorites. It went something like this...

"As I look out into this good-looking audience tonight, I see many men. Men who were, undoubtedly, dragged here by their wives or girlfriends, or boyfriends for that matter. I imagine their conversations sounded like this.

Honey! We're going to see Michael Buble next Sunday night!

Michael Buble? Michael Buble? FUCK Michael Buble!

I want to thank these men especially, knowing that there's got to be a sporting event or something on television they'd much rather be watching than sitting here, listening to me sing.

And for them, I can make only one promise. I promise to do my best up here on stage to make sure each and every one of you GETS LAID TONIGHT. I think this next song ought to do it."

How fantastic is that? One of the things I loved best about seeing Edwin McCain in concert was his exceptional rapport with the audience, built, in part, by interesting and well-told stories. Part of being a good performer is not just mastery of the craft, but an ability to connect with an audience through a signature style. Michael Buble has written his John Hancock all over his set list and he wins the audience over every time, I imagine. He won D.C. in a matter of seconds.

The encore, "My Funny Valentine," brought the audience to their feet involuntarily. During the last verse, Buble stepped away from the microphone and stood at the very edge of the stage. He sang the remainder of the song without amplification. His velvety voice filled the theater and his face twinkled with the look that only comes from someone who honestly and truly loves what he does with a passion. That passion was contagious and I, for one, left the theater, feverish and flushed.

In the car on the way home, I closed my eyes and remembered my three-year old self, sitting on the floor of Grandpa's back room, singing into a microphone that shocked my lips with static electricity. I sang the same songs I'd heard Sunday evening from the pouty lips of a 25-year old boy from Vancouver, Canada who has dedicated his life's work to keep this music thriving. He's keeping my childhood alive.

~~~

Grandpa, I didn't get to say goodbye. Is it too late to say thank you?