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Lovely Buble

The old school singer is hugely popular, yet incredibly divisive. Ahead of his Dublin concert tonight, Ed Power, a self- confessed Buble fan, tells the haters to lighten up

Frankly speaking: singer Michael Buble
Frankly speaking: singer Michael Buble
Michael Buble with his eldest son Noah
Michael Buble with his wife, model Luisana Lopilato

Michael Buble will be welcomed with open arms when he performs at Dublin's Croke Park tonight, but early in his career the Canadian crooner had the door shut in his face over and over.

A 20-year-old lounge singer who wanted to be the new Sinatra - only without the booze, the Mafia connections and the patchy acting career. It was a difficult sell, as Buble discovered when he collared big-wig record producer David Foster in Los Angeles.

Foster had worked with A-listers such as Whitney Houston and Celine Dion, so he knew a star when he saw one. Unfortunately, he didn't see much of anything in the irascible but wide-eyed Buble.

The kid could sing - of that there was no question. But was there a market for old-fashioned torch songs? Obviously not. "You will never be signed to my label, I will never produce you," Foster told the impish Buble. "You are talented, but I see no record sales for this genre of music."

Not wishing to completely shatter Buble's dreams, he made an offer: he'd produce the young man's debut album at a cost of $100,000 per song. Instead of slinking away, Buble looked Foster in the eye and told him that they would speak again.

And they did, a few weeks later, when Buble returned with a suitcase full of cash. "What he didn't know was that I would go back to Vancouver and go bank to bank with a manager I had at the time and find an investor," Buble said.

"I flew back to LA and went to David's house and he said, 'What do you want?' And I said, 'Mr Foster, I have the money.' He couldn't believe I had come back. But he said, 'All right', and we started making the record."

The anecdote is Buble's career in a nutshell. Everything he does is, at first glance, totally naff. He's cheesy, feelgood, with a wholesome grin always pasted on. Yet he's come up smelling of roses again and again. He has, in particular, pulled off the old school smoothie routine - harder than it looks, as demonstrated by the fading fortunes of Jamie Cullum and Josh Groban (better respected for his shtick than his music).

Let's not forget that crooning gone wrong can be completely terrifying. The most chilling example is, of course, Westlife's Allow Us To Be Frank - a disastrous attempt to reboot the boy band's image in 2004.

"Westlife aren't a match for the original Rat Pack. Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jnr et al were charismatic playboys and serial philanderers who would raise hell in Hollywood and Vegas alike," went one of the kinder reviewers.

"They courted tabloid controversy, but then this was always part of their appeal. Conversely, Westlife are a marketing man's dream and owe their success more to their clean-cut image."

Buble has done well avoiding those sort of write-ups. He's also managed to shift records at a time when selling music is just about impossible. His 2012 Christmas album has joined the pantheon of seasonal classics, pushing his tally of LPs sold past 30 million - a mind-boggling figure in this age of digital downloads and streaming.

Still, for all his success, he's never stopped having to prove himself. Buble was a rising star when he appeared on The X Factor in 2011. Yet, when he looked at the crowd, the first thing he saw was the Darth Vader of reality TV - aka Simon Cowell - pulling a face.

"I sang about four lines and he looked at me and did this (rolls his eyes) and that was it, I was done. It killed me," he recalled. "My confidence dropped. I'm so sensitive, I took it as a rejection."

He's even managed to attract the ire of Morrissey, the 1980s icon, who usually reserves his criticisms for meat-eaters and the royals. "Fire in the belly is essential," Morrissey once quipped. "Otherwise you become like Michael Buble - famous and meaningless."

One reason Buble has been able to ignore the haters and the eye-rollers is that he understands career isn't everything. He and his wife, Argentine model Luisana Lopilato, put their professional lives on hold when their eldest son, Noah, was diagnosed with cancer in 2016 (Buble has returned to music after announcing that the boy is doing well).

Crooners will never be cutting-edge. They dress nicely, pay attention to their hair and typically sing other people's songs. Buble has penned a few of his own hits, including Everything (a tribute to his then-girlfriend, the actress Emily Blunt), Haven't Met You Yet (inspired by their break-up after three years) and Home (which he revealed people frequently mistake as a Westlife cover), but it's the classics that fans adore.

They thus reek of premature fogey-dom and are widely perceived as a (non-ironic) Christmas jumper in human form. The contradiction here is that, though Buble is squeaky clean, the time to which he harks back was anything but. Fifties Vegas - the spiritual home of every crooner that has since stepped behind a mic - was the anti-Me Too era. Men were men and women were molls (or dolls). Evoking glamorous, decadent Vegas without embodying its more unsavoury aspects is quite the balancing act.

"The way a men's magazine portrays the 1950s is appealing: hard drinking, loads of women, the mob," Q magazine's then-editor, Paul Rees, observed in 2003, when Buble and Jamie Cullum were storming the charts. "But then these artists don't seem to embody that, do they? You can't really imagine little Jamie Cullum consorting with the Mafia."

Along with creating an audience for his interpretations of songs made famous by Sinatra and company, Buble has very savvily built a brand too. As anyone who has seen him on stage will testify, he's a top rank raconteur - naturally funny, self-deprecating and always in on the joke.

Indeed, his instinctive defence is to poke fun at himself before anyone else can. At Croke Park tonight, expect more than one shout-out to all the husbands and boyfriends dragged along against their will (a tactic that Ed Sheeran has smartly adopted too).

What we should, perhaps, pause to consider is whether crooners deserve all the disdain in the first place. They're not pretending to be authentic. That's a rock star's job. These old school entertainers, by contrast, have no ambition beyond showing you a good time.

You go to a Buble concert safe in the knowledge you won't be preached, or talked down, to. It's nice for a change not to be slammed over the head with politics by a person allegedly there to entertain us. Buble - and Sheeran, for that matter - are often dismissed as guilty pleasures. But what's wrong with wanting to make people smile?

Michael Buble hasn't set out to change the world and, for that reason, expect tonight's concert to be nothing but fun.

Heavens knows, we could do with some of that these days.

Michael Buble, Croke Park, Dublin, today, 7pm

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