I have a secret pleasure. Usually I like my music hard, fast, dark, and complex; yet I'm rather eclectic in my tastes. To be specific, I'm a fan of the Canadian crooner and pop singer Michael Bublé. Don't judge me. I heard him singing Christmas songs on the radio about three years ago. His voice blew me away. He's received wider acclaim since that time. In fact, he's all over the map: on the radio, on TV, and in print. Though his trademark sound involves the reinterpretation of classics from the crooner and big band eras, as well as the repackaging of hits from more contemporary artists, he's had stunning commercial success with some original pop tunes, the song "Hollywood" most recently. I don't put too much faith in celebrities, for they always disappoint in the moral or integrity category, but he seems fairly humble and down-to-earth in interviews, traits that have probably kept me a fan. Ultimately, though, it's about the talent, that golden voice. I'm not really embarrassed, but I started off with feigned embarrassment more for affectation than anything else. The older I get, the wider my interests. A delight in narrowly defined, obscure and esoteric aesthetic tastes is a young man's game, not mine. I've put away such childish ways. Okay, Michael, give me some of that ear candy!
