Skeeter Buble

Michael Bublé at the Sydney Entertainment Cent...

Image via Wikipedia

By SKEETER JOHNSON

Not too long ago I had the evenin of a lifetime. For my birthday, all my young’uns took up a collection and sended me and my sweet little Bobbi Jo to see Michael Bublé at that big fancy basketball place in Big D. I think it is called the Americanized Airplane Canteen or something or other. Those folks around me just kept on a callin it the AAC.

I was a lookin forward to a foot-stompin good time, bein that I love old school music, and Michael surely croons the kind of stuff I take to. What I wasn’t a knowin was that there was a group of young fellers who came out and commenced to give a small little show before Mike came out, I guess he must a been nervous or somethin. There was 7 young fellers singin without any banjos, fiddles, or instruments of any kind, but they sounded like drums, horns, and all of that. Bobbi Jo told me they was singin something called octopella or somethin French soundin like that. Well I still ain’t sure if I got that word right, but I can tell you that them lads could sing sing sing! It weren’t long afore I was on my feet cutting a jig right there in the aisle. I sure was glad I wore my dancing boots and good roomy overalls.

Well, them fellers got us on all on our feet, and I guess Michael got over his nerves and came on out to see what the racket was about. He started off with some big ‘ole James Bond soundin intro to “Cry Me River.” When he finally showed his face from behind some large sheets, all the young ladies went dad-burned crazy. One of ’em beside me started a screamin about him bein cute. I guess he could be cute, but I my Pappy raised me to not look at a man that way, so I cain’t really tell much more than that.

He spent some time talkin a bit after that first number and he was pretty durned funny. He introduced hisself as Michael Bubble, although I always figured that his name was more French soundin, like BooBlay or something on a fancy menu in one of them places with a Matree Dee. He told a few jokes and then a story or two that I didn’t get, but everyone else laughed, so I commenced to let out a chuckle, so as folks wouldn’t get to lookin funny at me. He soon went back to singin and did some darn good songs like “At This Moment,” “Me and Mrs. Jones,” and my favorite “Mack the Knife.” Along the way, he stopped to introduce his band members by name and give us a little story about each one.

Before he went back to singin, he stopped and talked about how he wanted to sing like that Michelle Jackson feller when he was growing up. He then put on a black fedora and sang part of a song called “Beat It” while he jigged around the stage like it was coated in 10w-30.

My favorite part of the night was when he sang “All I Do Is Dream of You” while moseying through the crowd to a small stage in the back. Partly way through that number I noticed that them 7 fellers what had sang earlier were with him, and they all sounded as sweet as a rooster crowin on a bright fall morning. Once he got there, he sang a song called “Home” and dedder-cated it to all them G.I. fellers overseas. I got tears in my eyes as I thought about my Junior, my oldest boy, who never came back from ‘Nam. Michael really punched me right in the ticker with that song and his singin. I wish Simpson could have been there with me. He lost a son in the war too. Poor Simpson, his wife up and left him when he took ill and then he passed directly. Darn shame, I’ll tell ya.

After he moseyed on back to the big stage, he sanged a lot of his newer stuff that I ain’t never heered before, but I liked ’em all the same. There was a catchy little tune called “Haven’t Met You Yet” which some folks around me said was on the radio, but I listen to talk radio in the old F-150, so that song was new to me. He ended his show singin a tune called “Song For You” all octopella like them fellers what had started the night, only he didn’t even use the microphone.

It was a really good show. I found his singin to be very pleasin to my ears, kinda like a young Frank Sinatry, only more new fangled. Michael’s personality came through on all the songs, and he looked like he was a havin a great time, like a 2nd grade boy on the first day of summer vacation. I also found his band to be powerful enough to turn goat whiz into high octane gasoline. All in all, I thought it was a good ‘ole foot stompin good time. I cain’t wait until he comes back through town agin.

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