Onstage Offstage Page 4

  David said, ‘Grandpa, if this kid doesn’t do fifty to a hundred thousand copies, you ain’t going to see another record.’

  I came crashing right back down to reality. As an independent singer, it had taken me a decade to sell 10,000 to 15,000 records of my own, out of cars and at tables at the back of clubs. How was I going to sell 100,000?

  Taking Control

  The first album was self-titled and it was released on 11 February 2003, strategically timed for Valentine’s Day. I remember doing press for it beforehand, and being really nervous. David and Paul got involved in the interviews to help promote it. Paul told my hometown newspaper, ‘It’s important that I help him, and it’ll go down that I helped this guy be a big star . . . When you have that kind of voice, you could ultimately sing the phone book.’

  David told the same reporter, ‘He could have a thirty-year career. I don’t know if you could say that about every rock act that’s out there right now.’

  Bev weighed in too: ‘Maybe I didn’t have all the connections, but I always worked my ass off for him. And I believed in him. I never stopped believing.’

  On the outside, I tried to look confident, but inside I was worried. Would I make them proud? Would I go down in history as another record-label success story or a soon-to-be-forgotten failure? I suddenly felt I had a lot to prove – to my family, my girlfriend, my friends, my producers, my manager and my record label. It was my moment of truth, as if the world was challenging me: ‘Okay, Bublé, you wanted a shot at the big-time. Now show us what you got.’

  Nobody could believe the reaction to the record. Within weeks, it was climbing the charts. Suddenly the 50,000 in sales we were praying for seemed paltry. To our amazement, it had soon sold two million copies worldwide. Clearly, we were on to something.

  At the time, David and I liked to tell people that all the little pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and they truly were. I was a multi-platinum-selling international artist. I still had so much more to prove — but, hey, I finally had their attention. That first album went platinum in the UK and Canada, reaching the top ten on the albums charts. It went to number one on the Australian chart. By 2004, it was on Billboard’s top 200. Singles ‘Kissing A Fool’, ‘How Can You Mend A Broken Heart?’ and ‘Sway’ reached the top thirty of the adult contemporary chart.

  Goofy headlines started popping up, stuff like ‘He’s got the world on a string.’ I found myself singing ‘I’m Dreaming Of A White Christmas’ on CNN’s hugely popular Larry King Live. David and I did a Christmas EP that year, called Let It Snow. It was a brilliant way to get me television exposure around the holidays. I also picked up a few small acting parts around this time, with a small role in the movie The Snow Walker, and a couple of parts on TV. Although music is my passion, all forms of entertainment fascinate me. I remember taking tons of theatre classes as a kid and going to Tuesday movie nights at the local cinemas.

  Also in 2004, I won the Best New Artist award at Canada’s biggest music awards, the Junos. The album was nominated for Album of the Year, but it lost to Sam Roberts. It hardly mattered. Other pieces were falling into place. By this time we’d auditioned for a touring band, starting with the crucial role of musical director. I knew I’d be spending a lot of time with the MD, so I was fussy. We held an audition in Los Angeles, and Bruce’s long-time associate Randy Berswick, David and David’s sister Jaymes all sat in on it. In my mind, I had already settled on a wonderful, mature, extremely intelligent piano player who’d already auditioned. But then in walked Alan Chang, this tall, handsome Asian-American guy who could play piano equally well. I have to admit, I initially held his looks and youth against him. David, Randy and Jaymes were keen on him. I wasn’t.

  The conversation went something like this.

  ‘This is the kid you need. See how good-looking he is. And he plays so well.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I shot back. ‘What the hell is this? The

  Backstreet Boys? I need a musical director. I know how difficult that position is, and how important it is, and it has to be filled by someone who really has the maturity to do it.’

  As with most arguments at this early stage, I relented. It turned out that they were right. Alan wasn’t just a pretty face, but one of the best writers, arrangers and producers I could have hoped for. He co-writes my songs with me, travels on my tour bus, and he has turned into one of my best friends. He’s the perfect guy to take on the road because he’s so even-tempered. I like to have fun on the road, so I prefer having guys like Alan on the bus with me so we can chat, listen to music and play video games, post-show. It’s important that there’s a good rapport and camaraderie there. We put together a band comprising a rhythm section and four horns, and of that early touring band, Alan and two other guys are still with me today.

  If I hadn’t hired Alan as my musical director, I’d have made a bad call. I may be wilful, but I am also my father’s son, and my father taught me one of the most essential skills that a businessman or entrepreneur can possess: to surround yourself with honest, loyal and skilled people, and to know when to bow to their expertise. A huge part of success is the ability to know your strengths and your limitations. At that stage in my career, I might have still been feeling my way, but the years I’d spent on my dad’s fishing boat had equipped me with respect for those more experienced than I am.

  The boat was around eighty feet long, and had a crew of five guys. I started working on it in the summer when I was thirteen years old. I was unsure and quiet, humbled by my dad’s sometimes rough-talking men. By the time I was sixteen, I knew exactly what I was doing on that boat, and I’d become a pretty good skiff man. It was a purse seiner with a drum on the back, which is like a big spool of thread but with a net on it that can scoop up entire schools of fish. I would take the skiff maybe fifty feet from the boat to the beach, throw an anchor over and tie the net off to a tree or rock so that we could tow the line away from shore. It was an important job with a lot of responsibility, and I was good at it. It was a lot of fun, too, but most importantly, it taught me how to behave with adults, and to respect them. At school, we behaved like a bunch of bullies. But when you’re on a boat with hard-working men, you learn a thing or two about common respect. I was an immature kid, but every time I returned to school after one of those summers on the boat, I was more aware of other people’s feelings, and knew that when you show you respect, you receive it.

  Those summers on the boat helped shape me into the man I am today, but that’s not to say my lessons weren’t learned the hard way. When I was sixteen, feeling cocky about my skiff-man skills and the fact that I was the son of the boss, I decided to play boss man with this crew guy named Stubbs. He was around six foot five and weighed 220 pounds, a twenty-four-year-old street kid from suburban Ontario who was a super-easygoing but tough guy. I was crew chief because I’d been there longer than any of the other guys at that time. When the net got damaged, it had to be fixed right away with netting needles, which had to be kept filled and ready to go. My dad had told me to tell Stubbs to fill the needles, but instead of asking him nicely I made it an order. I went down into the fo’c’sle, which is the forward section of the boat, and I said, ‘Stubbs, you gotta go fill up the needles.’

  He said, ‘What?’

  I said, ‘Go fill up the goddamn needles.’

  He said, ‘Don’t talk to me like that.’

  I said, ‘Listen, if I tell you to jump, you ask me how high.’

  He looked at me. And then – whack! He head-butted me so hard, he knocked me out. When I came to seconds later, he said, ‘I don’t give a f**** who you or your daddy is. No one ever talks to me like that, you piece of shit. And you can go run to your daddy and tell him what I did.’

  I was so embarrassed by my behaviour that I never mentioned the incident to my father or anyone else until much, much later. I don’t know why I acted the way I did, other than that I simply wasn’t happy with myself in those early years. I was rid
dled with self-doubt, and I had to learn the hard way that putting other people down wasn’t going to make me superior. Suffice it to say, I never, ever talked to anyone that way again.

  The lessons on that fishing boat stuck with me. And so, many years later, when in the company of my more experienced elders, I knew I had to let them lead, and I showed them respect — even when deep inside I was eager to be the boss.

  Bruce started me off with an appearance on NBC’s Today show for Valentine’s Day. A couple of days later, I did a showcase to about forty people in New York, then went to Los Angeles and played for two weeks at the Roosevelt Hotel in the Cinegrill room, with Alan and my new band. The New York show was a technical disaster, but I managed to do damage control and win the crowd over. As for the shows at the Roosevelt, they started generating a lot of buzz and became a bit of a scene, selling out every night. David brought famous friends to these events, while record-label executives and agents came out to hear the new kid.

  I felt comfortable and confident moving among the crowd, chatting with everybody and casually introducing a few of my songs. By 2004, I had a major booking agent and was on the road, playing 1,000-capacity theatres in the US, Milan, Hamburg and Paris. Bruce brought in his long-time promoter friend Don Fox to handle the US shows, and Don is still a major part of my career today. I also met Australian promoter Paul Dainty around this time, and he still handles my shows in Australia.

  By the time my first record got to the two million mark, David and Bruce realized that I was on to something and they should start letting me take charge of my career. They could see that I was marketable, not just because I could sing but because I knew how to entertain people.

  For my second album, 2005’s It’s Time, I wanted to put my own artistic stamp on it instead of merely following everybody’s advice. I felt I had earned the right to do that.

  On the first record, I’d tried fighting to get my own way but, let’s face it, I was a junior surrounded by veterans. I lost every argument, quite rightly. I understand it. If I’d been in their shoes, trying to help a totally unproven kid who didn’t know anything about the business, I’d have shot down my ideas too. I mean, who knows more about choosing songs than a guy like Paul Anka? I bowed to their experience.

  But with the second record, I won a few more arguments. Even David conceded that he had to listen to me now.

  Later, when it was finished, I asked David if I had messed things up for him because I was so involved. He said, ‘Yeah, you did. It’s harder now because you step on my toes more and more, and I know I have to give you more respect and power,’ which was a very honest thing for him to say. He said it tongue-in-cheek, though, and I know he’s pretty proud of me. I remember I called him after my hit single ‘Home’ was released and told him about all the radio stations in the US that were adding it to their playlists. I was bouncing off the ceiling. I had written a hit song, which felt amazing. He joked, ‘You’re going to phase me out. You won’t need me any more. You go and write a song and it’s a huge hit.’

  I said, ‘Get out of here,’ because I couldn’t have done any of it without him. David is one of my best buddies to this day. We may argue a lot in the studio, but neither of us takes it home with us. We have a lot of fun working together and hanging out. One time a Canadian reporter came down to LA to do a story on me and spend time watching me record. He was a super-cool guy, also named David. He said he hadn’t expected it to be so much fun, and he asked if he could stay in the studio another day. He said, ‘I have something to tell you. I actually have everything I need for the story. I just feel like hanging out with you guys for a while longer.’ He ended up staying three more days.

  I didn’t have it all my own way on the second album, however. There was one exception, and that was the Sinatra cover, ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’. I didn’t want to do such a straight-ahead classic because I didn’t want to get the usual criticism of being a tribute artist. That is one of the most identifiable Sinatra songs in his repertoire. As much as I love the song, I really feared being seen as a tribute artist. Remember, I wasn’t as confident as I am now. I hadn’t fully developed my own identity. But Bruce and David were adamant. David said, ‘You’ve got to get this song on the record.’

  I said, ‘No. I’ve made it my record from start to finish. It’s representative of me, and these are my songs, my arrangements, and I put my treatment all over it. Unlike the first one, I’ve grown. You can hear the maturity.’

  David and Bruce said something like, ‘Michael, two million people bought that record and they bought it because you brought them comfort. “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” might be one of the greatest arrangements ever written.’ And they said, ‘People expect a certain thing from you now. You can’t just go off in another direction after all these people have invested in you.’ I gave in. Maybe they were right. After all, they’d been right so far.

  I sang it like it was my own song. I tried to make it mine. I don’t sing like Sinatra, anyway. I sing on my vowels, which was how my vocal coach taught me, and it’s the way I like to sing. I always enunciate my vowels. Not everybody does that.

  It’s a strange thing. Some artists of my generation who also cover the American songbook often make a point of distancing themselves from this kind of music. They’ll try to modernize the songs, or use gimmicks, or put their stamp all over it to the point at which the original is unrecognizable. I’ve always been of the mind that I want to respect the singers who came before me. I want to put my own stamp on the classics, but I also want to keep them alive. Frank is gone, Bobby Darin is gone, as are Dean Martin and others. I feel duty-bound to honour their music instead of trying to distance myself from it.

  I’m not the next Sinatra. There will never be another Sinatra, but I do want people to know all over the world that there is a guy who will continue to do this for them, who will keep the songs alive, carry on the legacy of those singers, because almost everyone else has run away from it.

  I don’t know why people are so afraid to embrace it. I’ve said to many critics and writers, ‘Would you rather bury Frank?’ They can’t seem to get over the fact that somebody born in 1975 might understand his music, and might be passionate about it, and might do it well.

  These days, I’m not worried about being viewed as a Sinatra clone, or anything like that. I think I’ve been around too long now for that to be the perception, and people know better. I have my own style, but I don’t go out of my way to distance myself too much from anybody else. That’s not my concern, maybe because I’m also a songwriter. These last few years I’ve more than proven that I’m not a tribute act. I’ve done the songs my own way, I’ve done the shows my own way, and it’s worked. I believe we’re coming up with a new style of music. It’s so simple, kind of a hybrid of traditional pop and standards, or popular jazz – whatever you want to call it.

  I took some serious risks with the second record, too. I included the Beatles song, ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’. You might not think it’s a big risk to include a song by one of the biggest pop acts in history, but that’s precisely why it is such a risk. I had to wrestle with the idea because the critics could skewer a so-called crooner for having the audacity even to think he could go near Beatles territory. But I approached the terrific Grammy-winning arranger John Clayton with the idea, and he and I came up with a jazzy rendition that perfectly captured my style and honoured the Beatles classic at the same time. I loved it.

  I said, ‘John, I want you to come up with a smoking version of this song. I want it to be Michael Bublé’s version.’ I had made a very conscious decision to include it. I’d thought it through carefully. Do I make a record for the critics or do I make a record for the people? Could I handle waking up in the morning and seeing critics slagging me every day? Yes, I could.

  My biggest critic and adviser is my mom. She’ll always tell me the truth.

  I called her and played the Beatles song for her. ‘What do you think?’ I asked.


  She said, ‘I hate it.’

  I said, ‘What’s your favourite song?’ She said her favourite song of mine was ‘Save The Last Dance.’ She loves the energy of it.

  I’ve noticed that if you’re under forty years old, you like my Beatles cover. If you’re over forty, you probably don’t. Older people say, ‘Don’t mess with the Beatles. They’re iconic!’ The same thing happened when I did ‘Moondance’ on the first album. Bruce called and said, ‘Get it off the record.’ Not just him, but everyone at the label.

  I said, ‘No.’

  He said, ‘The critics are going to kill you. You can’t touch Van Morrison. He’s done the definitive version.’

  But I said, ‘No. If I make it mine, then it becomes my song.’ And look what happened. My version of ‘Moondance’ became a hit.

  On the second album, I also brought in legendary producer Tommy LiPuma on the Harry Warren song ‘The More I See You’. Tommy had produced Miles Davis, Natalie Cole, Barbra Streisand and Diana Krall, just to name a few. We worked on the song with producer and engineer Al Schmitt. Tommy and Al have won dozens of Grammys.

  Another idea I had for the album was to do a duet with Canadian superstar Nelly Furtado. Nelly had achieved stardom with her 2000 major-label début and her mega-hit ‘I’m Like A Bird’. I loved her voice, and I thought she would lend the perfect seductive tone to an Italian pop song from the 1960s ‘Quando Quando Quando’. I loved the idea of having her on that song so much that if she couldn’t do it I was going to nix the song from the album. But I didn’t want to ask her myself because that would put her on the spot. I got Bruce to check with her manager and she immediately said yes. She came into the studio and I already knew she had a lovely voice, but I was struck by its power. I kept telling her how amazing she was, and she was so humble and sweet. And she really got into the song. She totally dug it and thought it was really romantic. It spoke to her. The result was super-sexy. Nelly killed it. She even did a version in her ancestral Portuguese, just to have for herself.