Onstage Offstage Read online

  Of course, the fans meant well. They were just excited girls. I’ve felt the way they did then towards an artist I admire, although I never trampled anyone. It was tremendously flattering.

  A more sinister episode happened early on, when I was playing to about ten thousand people in the state of Virginia. I was at a place called the Wolf Trap and I was in the crowd and I heard this screaming. I turned around and the first thing I saw was a fist swinging towards me. I ducked and had enough time to put my hand on the guy’s chin and just push him away from me. I didn’t have security at the time, and it’s because of guys like him that I have a bodyguard in the crowds with me today.

  I didn’t think much more about it, and I got back on to the stage, but the guy came running at me, this time with wire wrapped around his hands, like he was going to strangle me. A bunch of people pulled him away and he was arrested by the FBI. I heard later that he was so irate he tried to kick out the rear window inside the car. It turned out he believed that I had stolen music from black people and I deserved to die. I didn’t press charges because I didn’t want any more to do with him.

  Another time, I was walking along a downtown street in Vancouver, just doing some shopping. I was standing at a street corner when a guy came up to me and said, ‘You’re Michael Bublé? You deserve an upper cut, you f****** jerk. You stole my song “Home”. I wrote that song with my buddy.’ The guy had a liquor-store bag and looked like he was going to clock me with an unopened bottle. He made a jerking motion towards me with it, and I instinctively punched him in the nose. He ran into a nearby bookstore and I pursued him. I was really angry that he could threaten me like that. He ran up the escalator inside the store and screamed, ‘Hey, everybody, Canada’s favourite crooner is trying to kill me!’ I yelled at him to be a man, that he couldn’t just threaten someone and run off, but I could see it was a lost battle. I walked home shaking, I was so upset. I felt really bad that I’d lost my temper and caused a scene. I guess you can take the boy out of Burnaby but you can’t take Burnaby out of the boy.

  By the way, those episodes are the exceptions. Almost everybody is really nice to me when I meet them. They are so laid-back and sweet. But because of those weird situations, I can get a little gun-shy, too, when people walk up to me on the street. I don’t know what to expect. But I don’t want a wall between me and my audience. I want to be able to interact and meet my fans. It’s one of the best things about this job.

  One thing I can’t stand is when a security person, or anyone else, thinks they’re doing me a favour by being rude to a fan. They’ll ask, ‘Are you all right with this person?’ right in front of them, and I’ll say, ‘Of course. It’s fine.’ I’m extremely embarrassed by this type of élitist treatment. I feel badly because people should always remember not to take away someone’s dignity. You can crush someone really easily, and it might seem like a mere moment to you, but to them it will stick for a lifetime, the pain, the embarrassment. We should all be sensitive to our potential to hurt someone. And, really, so what if I have to put up with a drunk person blabbing away to me about what my music means to them, and how their little sister likes to dance to ‘Quando Quando Quando’? It’s a small price to pay for having fans who are willing to spend their money on my records. I’m not being a martyr, I’m just being fair.

  It reminds me of all the times when I was young and I’d get dressed up nicely and go downtown to this nightclub where lots of hot girls would hang out. This was way before I’d had a taste of fame. I’d be waiting in line, and it could be totally dead, and the bouncer would say, ‘No. You can’t go in.’

  I’d say, ‘Screw you. Who do you think you are? You think I need to come to your shit club so bad?’

  That kind of thing would really get my back up. I still have those moments, too, even now that I have money – although today I’m more likely to get access. There was a time in London, when I was staying in the upscale Trafalgar Hotel, and I wanted to go to the bar, called the Rockwell. I’d left my hotel key with the valet, and the Rockwell bouncer said I couldn’t get in without it. I was livid. He wouldn’t let me in, probably because I look young. I said, ‘I’m staying at this hotel. You have got to let me in,’ and took a step towards the entrance. He stepped in front of me. I said, ‘Fifty-four people are staying at this hotel and I’m paying for those fifty-four people. Now, you let me in and get your hands off me.’ I just couldn’t take it.

  I’m not the sort of guy who demands champagne to be waiting for him on his arrival, but I can’t stand to be confronted by prejudice. Look at where I come from. We’re not trailer trash, but at one point I didn’t know which fork to use, and it made me a bit insecure. If I’m paying for a hotel, if I’m paying good money, don’t make me feel like I’m something stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

  I’ve also been protective of my girlfriends over the years and, of course, of my wife, Luisana. I won’t let anybody treat my girl like a second-class citizen. I remember I was dating someone who was snubbed while she was trying to buy a piece of jewellery at an expensive store in Los Angeles. She asked how much it cost, and the assistant responded, ‘If you have to ask, I guess it’s too much.’

  My girlfriend said, ‘All right,’ and walked out.

  Well, I was furious when I heard what had happened. Of course, I went right back into that store and I said to the clerk, ‘What is wrong with you? My girlfriend came in here. I have enough money. But because you were a rude, pompous jerk, you lost the sale. Think about it the next time, and don’t judge us because we come in wearing jeans and we’re young.’

  She said, ‘Sorry, sir.’

  I said, ‘I’m sorry for you, because I can’t imagine how many times a day you do it and you don’t even know you’re doing it.’

  As I’ve said, I’m a guy with a temper. It’s nothing like when I was a kid. It’s just one of those things about me. It takes a lot to get me angry, but when I do, I can blow. The CBS journalist who was doing that piece in the public market took me aside and said, ‘I like you a lot, but what are you doing? You can’t do that, Michael. The ten things you’ve done that are great are erased in one moment because those two people who saw you are going to tell fifty people what a dick you are.’ There are days when I wish I could be more like my dad. That low-key guy, so patient, no temper . . . I’m way more like my mom. I’m fiery. We’re Italian.

  I was never a great student, and I never felt like a genius. But I am learning that you don’t have to be smart at math to be good in business. If you know what you want and can talk to people, you can achieve things in life. Sometimes I worry that I’m coming over as opportunistic or manipulative. But, on the other hand, I may simply be seen as diplomatic.

  My father, for example, has a brilliantly diplomatic way: he knows how to make everyone around him happy. He’s a great boss and leader type of guy, and my role model. When I was around nine or ten years old, my father wanted to throw out our hot-water tank because it was old. There must have been some city scheme to get rid of old hot-water tanks because a lot of people in the neighbourhood were throwing them out. My father took me up to the beer and wine store, and bought a case of beer. On garbage pick-up day, he put the hot-water tank out on the street with the beer and a note that said, ‘If you can take it, thanks, boys. If not, enjoy the brew.’ He knew the garbage guys. And our hot-water tank was the only one that got picked up that morning. Everybody else had to take theirs to the dump and pay way more than a case of beer cost.

  I know my dad and he wouldn’t have been disappointed if they’d said they couldn’t take it. His whole lesson to me was that it takes nothing to be thoughtful towards other people.

  You don’t rob people of their dignity. For example, I don’t like posing for photos at the best of times, even when it’s a professional photographer who’s taking the pictures. If someone on the street asks me to pose, I’ll say no. Then, unfortunately, they feel really stupid and embarrassed for asking. So, I’ll immediately follow with, ‘P
lease don’t take it personally. It’s just that if I pose for photos then inevitably they end up on the Internet, and I look stupid or ugly. How about I call your sister and say hello? I could sign your shopping bag. Whatever you want.’

  When you get a little famous, you have to be very sensitive to other people, because you can easily forget. Paul Anka is really good at interacting with his fans. We’ll be out for dinner and a fan will come up to the table and say hello, and he’ll say warmly, ‘Thank you so much. It’s great to meet you. Enjoy your night.’ The conversation is over. The fan who came up to say hello walks away feeling good, and Paul gets to enjoy his dinner and his privacy without feeling like a jerk. It’s a fine balance, and he’s mastered it.

  By the way, as an aside, I do a terrific Paul Anka impersonation. I could probably have been an impersonator in another life.

  There are other celebrities, however, who don’t have the same deft touch that Paul has. I don’t want to mention any names, but there was this big actor at the Grammys, and I saw a kid come up to him and ask for a picture. The actor shut the kid down like he was dropping a brick on his head. He said very coldly, ‘I don’t feel like it right now.’ I watched that kid walk away and my heart sank for him. I didn’t understand how anyone could be so mean to another person. That kid must have had his perception of the actor completely shattered by that one embarrassing episode. All the actor had to do was put his hand on the kid’s shoulder and say, ‘You know what, kiddo? It’s really nice to meet you, but I don’t pose for pictures. I’m sorry.’

  It would have cost him nothing.

  And it’s that easy – it all comes back to the fact that it’s easy to be kind and respectful to others. It’s not rocket science, and there’s no excuse for being rude. I have extended this mindset to members of my staff, including my manager, who has a different approach. Bruce is notoriously blunt with people, mostly because he doesn’t have time to waste dancing around the task at hand. Also, he likes to share his opinions on local politics and current events on a popular radio show he does in Vancouver. In Vancouver, Bruce is as much a celebrity as I am. I know that his tough exterior is a bit of shtick and the man has a soft side, but the rest of the world isn’t aware of that. I’ve had conversations with Bruce, David and other members of my team and told them that yelling at people and being rude is not part of the game plan. Not as long as I’m paying the bills.

  It’s a conundrum, the fame thing. You can be hungry for it – and, let’s face it, it’s imperative that you’re hungry for it if you’re ever going to get it – and then, once you have it, it can weigh on you heavily. I’ll never forget the people who were there for me. It’s not just about protecting the feelings of strangers, but family and friends, too.

  I feel guilty that I can’t spend more time and energy on the people who cared for me on my way up, people like my first manager, Bev. I seldom see her now simply because of my relentless tour schedule. I’ll phone and text my old friends when I can, such as on Christmas Day, but every spare hour I have when I’m not working is so precious that I can’t properly catch up with most of the old gang any more. That’s a major downside to success.

  There’s also the fact that paparazzi follow you everywhere, looking for that one super-embarrassing shot that will snare them a pay cheque. As I said earlier, the misinformation spread around the Internet scares me. I think of it as a minefield that I have to navigate on a daily basis. I’ll do an interview with a newspaper reporter and make some off-the-cuff remark, and the next morning I’ll see it spread around the Internet but twisted into something controversial. I know that controversy makes for good headlines, but it can feel like such a betrayal to be used in that way.

  I was misquoted after I announced to Kathie Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotb on NBC’s Today show that Luisana and I were to be married on 6 April 2011. I jokingly made reference to the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. I said, ‘I was going to do it on the twenty-ninth but I figured they wouldn’t get any press.’ And if the media had quoted me the exact way I’d said it, the joke would have been clear to everyone. Instead I was quoted with one word changed that drastically altered my meaning. The quote that ran was: ‘I was going to do it on the twenty-ninth, but I figured I wouldn’t get any press,’ which made it look like I’m such an egomaniac that I’d actually be worried about being overshadowed by the royal wedding. This was the perfect example of how one word change can completely misconstrue a quote and make me look like a jerk. It drives me nuts, and it happens more often than you’d think. That attempt to generate negative publicity where there was none really made me think that, when it came to the press, there was no winning.

  On the upside, the fans who know my work seem to be unfazed by the tabloid silliness, so I’m thankful for that. It has made me more cautious, though. I’m less inclined to be so frank with the media these days. I’m particularly careful with comments about my family and people close to me. I don’t want them to get hurt in this crazy game of celebrity. Luisana and I have made it a policy not to discuss our relationship in public: sharing such personal details with the world would be the quickest way to destroy it.

  Crazy in Love

  The making of my fourth album, Crazy Love, was meaningful for a couple of reasons. I pushed to make a record that was more authentic-sounding than my previous recordings, and I had fallen in love with Luisana Lopilato.

  I first laid eyes on her backstage after a show in Buenos Aires, where I’d played at the famous Gran Rex Theatre. I was walking with my grandpa and a security guard to a waiting van when I saw Lu standing about forty feet away. I was feeling very down, very lonely, and I said to my grandpa, ‘That is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.’ As we drove off, I added, ‘And I will never see her again.’

  Later, as Fate would have it, I met Lu again while I was sitting with my grandpa and my uncle Butch at a bar. The show’s promoter came over and asked if I’d like to meet two of Argentina’s biggest actors. I’d had a few drinks and said, ‘Sure, whatever.’ In walked Lu with this incredibly handsome actor named Rodrigo. He could speak English, and Lu couldn’t, so I ended up talking to him for most of the night. I assumed they were a couple and, of course, I didn’t want to hit on his girlfriend. Little did I know that Lu was texting her mother a message that said, ‘I think Michael Bublé must be gay.’ Later, once we were engaged, I would tell that story at my shows.

  I finally asked Rodrigo if they were together, and when he said, ‘No’, I thought, Oh, my God. This is incredible. I invited them out and Lu’s sister came along, and she knew a little English, which helped us communicate. Susan Leon, my good friend from Warner Bros Records, was also with us. I said to her, ‘If this girl falls in love with me, I’m going to marry her.’

  She said, ‘I know. This is it, isn’t it, Michael?’

  Seven months later, in August 2009, I had finished Crazy Love and was doing promotional interviews. I remember telling a reporter friend in Vancouver that I had met the girl I planned on marrying. I was that sure.

  On 9 October, a couple of months later, Oprah Winfrey launched my record by inviting me to appear on her show to sing my third number-one hit, ‘Haven’t Met You Yet’. My other two number ones were ‘Home’ and ‘Everything’. It was a great time in my life, and I finally felt truly fulfilled and happy.

  Crazy Love may be my most autobiographical album yet, not because the songs are directly about my life but because they spoke to me on a personal level. The only song from the album that didn’t fit this theme, ‘Georgia On My Mind’, was intended as a tribute to Ray Charles, who will for ever own it. I included it on the album to keep the song alive for Ray, for the fans.

  A lot of songs these days are recorded to perfection. Thanks to technology, songs can come out sounding glistening and shiny, as if they were manufactured by machines instead of people. It has an odd effect on the ear. We feel instinctively that something is not quite right, although we may not realize why. When
I made the record, I decided I wanted to go back in time and record the songs live, with the backing singers and musicians in the room with me so that the vocals would bleed into the strings and the strings would bleed into the trumpet, and there would be all sorts of little flaws that are natural to old-time recordings. It’s closer to the sound you’d hear when seeing a band live: all of those imperfections infuse it with depth and complexity. That depth gives a recording warmth, because it’s man-made, not manufactured.

  When I finished the album, I remember listening to it and saying to Dion Singer, from Warner Bros Records, that it felt entirely different from my previous recordings. I couldn’t express to him what that difference was, but he knew instantly. Dion has been a major ally and adviser throughout every album I’ve made. I value and respect his opinions. He said to me, ‘Music is not notes. Those are just noise. It’s the space between the notes, it’s the air in between, that makes it music.’ That was a little epiphany for me because someone had finally articulated what I already understood at an instinctive level. The problem with modern technology is that it sucks the life out of music. A recording is put on an MP3 file and it’s compressed till it’s flat and lifeless, all the air has been sucked out. To the human ear, it just sounds wrong.

  I was on a mission with Crazy Love to recapture that warm old sound, to set up microphones in the studio, to open the doors and let the sounds meld together, to have an edge and the vibe that I need to listen to those records.

  Before we started recording, I conveyed this mission to David, sitting in a fancy steak restaurant in Vancouver. He was opposed to the idea. It wasn’t his style. He preferred polished productions, nothing raw or organic. I said, ‘Bullshit. You’re the most brilliant music person I’ve met in my life. You can leave your comfort zone.’ I convinced him and he came around.