I had watery eyes last night while listening to Michael Buble's rendition of the great standard "You'll Never Know." He came to Manila for a one-night concert and I got one of the better seats, a divine treat.
The song may be old, but pretty much familiar to me. I have heard my Dad sing it for so many times growing up. He would be on guitar and he'd be surrounded by his friends, sometimes my uncles. But my Dad would outperform everyone with his crisp crooner baritone voice. They would mostly sing Sinatra or Mathis or Nat King Cole or, sometimes even Tom Jones. So one can say, I grew up with standards being a standard in the house repertoire.
That's probably the reason why I have a hard time relating with pop music. For me, the pop beat is so disturbingly unnatural, detached, and devoid of the sincere and heartfelt music of an era gone by. It's much like eating chicken with the usual knife-and-fork utensil, something that takes out what otherwise would have been a sumptuous dining experience when the utensils are discarded and our two hands are made to do the works. A chicken is not chicken unless eaten with the hands.
Watching Buble last night made me pray. I was so awed with Michael's gift of voice and talent that I so humbly praised God. I said, "God, you're good!" It was heartwarming to see Michael relish the experience of performing before the Manila audience, without the slightest air of arrogance. The voice was undoubtedly refreshing, something that's new yet timeless. He admits, they sometimes not take themselves too seriously. But with their music, it's a completely different story.
I hope Michael Buble will go a long, long way. As a testament to God's goodness. Oh yes, at least Michael and I shared one thing similar that time. I think we both got misty-eyed, him wiping his eyes a few times in the dark unlit stage while I was trying my best not to let any tear flow. He fondly remembers his Grandad, his bestfriend.
And I missed my Dad, whom I wished was my bestfriend.
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