Killing The Monster

I see that singer Michael Bublé has decided to quit singing and the limelight.  I can quite understand why.  At a time when his beloved son was close to death from cancer, Bublé found himself in a blizzard of “well-meaning” Press attention, with articles sensitively entitled “Michael’s Torment“, “Michael Looks Depressed As He Leaves Hospital” and the always-popular “Will Michael Bublé Ever Be Able To Sing Again?”  (“No” being the eventual answer to this question, as it happens.)

Under those circumstances, Bublé discovered that while his fame sold albums and made him rich, the price he had to pay was the complete loss of privacy and even dignity.  For attention-whores like the Kardashians and their ilk, this celebrity and attention might have been accepted, even welcomed;  for him, facing that most awful and personal of tragedies, the scouring of his anguish and its parade in the tabloids must have been torture — and his desire to quit the spotlight both literally and figuratively is both understandable and even laudable.

And good for him, say I.  His wealth is secure, his family likewise;  but should his young son ever get nailed by cancer again — a horrible possibility — I can only hope that he and his wife can deal with whatever happens in solitude and isolation.  I don’t even want to hear about it, for that matter.  Whatever happens, Michael Bublé deserves his privacy, and I can only hope that the Media Vultures leave him alone from now on.

I for one will refuse to read anything about him and his family ever again.  I can’t escape the future headlines, should they occur, but I don’t have to reward the Jackals Of The Press by reading about the details.  He deserves the anonymity he craves, and I’m happy to grant it to him.

Michael, I wish lasting happiness, health and peace to you and your family;  and thank you for sharing your magnificent talent with us while you did.


  1. Every time there’s a tragedy, some vulture will find someone who’s just experienced a catastrophic loss, stick a microphone in their face, and ask how they “feel”. My response in such a situation would be unprintable/un-air-able. But it wouldn’t matter because the microphone would be inserted deeply into a place on the reporters anatomy that would require the services of a good gastroenterologist to retrieve. I’d then of course ask the reporter how he/she “feels”.

    I can’t say that vultures in the press are anything new. I recall when Woody Allen and Mia Farrow were going thru their divorce, how the NYC newspapers had nothing else on the front page for weeks.

      1. Also, I suspect that the DM may have got it right, but when his lawyers and record company heard about it, they read him the Riot Act.

  2. > … ever get nailed by cancer again — a horrible possibility

    I have an aunt who is about to lose her fourth or fifth round with cancer. We got news this week that the chemo had stopped working. She’s in her 80s, tired and has decided not to fight anymore–hospice care until the end.

    Fuck cancer.

  3. Hi Kim,

    I don’t know if he has retired or not. I see on YouTube that he has new music, so perhaps this last CD is the fulfillment of a recording contract then he’ll be done.

    But if he is done, I’ll miss his voice and the passion he put into his music. As David Foster said (on the DVD ‘HitMan’), Michael occupies a ‘unique space’. Bublé is a fantastic creator and I hope he finds some way to share his gift without the downside of feeding the Monster.


  4. He probably is retiring, at least for the time being, in his own mind. But I have played music for a portion of my living, and when you quit, it is hard to keep away from going back again.
    I believe Garth Brooks did the same thing at one time, quitting the business. But it drew him back again. I hope for Michael Buble’s sake, he can at the least live his life on his own terms. Because as those of us who get to my age learn, money doesn’t matter a whole lot, compared to other things in life.
    I have never been rich, I have been poor, but I always had a roof over my head and food to eat.

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