Defrosted with clockwork efficiency for the festive period and never making much of a splash, it is marginally impressive to hear that Michael Bublé has released a new album. His cover tracks, which include a Willie Nelson duet of all things, are not the festive jingles the wider public may expect. That is the trouble of a Christmas hit, the artist is forever chasing their reputation as an actual musician rather than one-hit seasonal wonder. Few overcome that, and while the public discourse around Bublé will always be that of his soothing, crooning voice, it is wonderful to hear Higher, his latest album of covers, is as charming as the vocalist behind it. Some fine and light cover tracks rush through with relative simplicity and complete clarity.
There is a natural comparison to be made between Bublé and Frank Sinatra. It can be heard on My Valentine, a crooner love song that utilises wavering lyrics as an impressive moment to observe Bublé’s vocal strengths. His quality has always come from a vocal arrangement. What makes those Christmas covers so strong is that infectious, broadly enjoyable voice. Higher relies on that, as well as a grand, orchestral movement that brings much depth to very sparse and warbling lyrics. Even the sparse and non-committal lyrical moments are a lot of fun, though. A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square is a great example of that, and likely the strongest track on the album. Jazz-infused with saxophones doing much of the heavy lifting as Bublé rattles through vague lyrics with such a powerful voice that it is hard to be all that bothered about the context.
Higher struggles greatly with that, though. It can never quite elevate itself to that next level of artistic improvisation or a commitment to some unique and new phase for Bublé. He is, at his core, a pop artist. A good pop artist, granted, but a pop artist that knows where his audience lie and what he can do to appeal to that same core. Stagnation sets in particularly quick, and although there are some enjoyable tracks here, it is nothing that hasn’t been heard before. At least one artist is still out there churning out Sinatra-style crooner tracks, though. Richard Hawley cannot stand that up with brief vocal switches alone.
Never annoying or thoroughly dull, but by track five everything Bublé hopes to show off is done. Everything he possesses as an artist is boiled down to those first five tracks. Surplus to requirement the other eight tracks may be, they are as harmless as they are vaguely nice. Empty pop tracks that at the very least have some heart to them, as well as a consistently strong voice. Higher is a solid effort, its title track is the most broad-ranging and interesting of any piece here. Rises and falls like any album, highlights of which include Nelson duets on Crazy and an out-of-the-blue guitar solo on Bring It On Home to Me. Not a bad place to start with discovering Bublé’s consistently tribute-like classical voice, if not a bit too familiar and similar throughout. Completely likeable, wonderfully fine.
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