by John Tarpley
Good god, it's about to be Ladies' Night 2010 in Little Rock when the Justin Bieber for the 40-and-up crowd croons his way to Verizon Arena, sprinkling that blue-eyed, non-threatening charm through the Great American Songbook and probably touching a lot of hands in the crowd along the way. For years, Canadian standard-bearer Michael Buble has been the Coldplay to Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett's Beatles, racking up awards and album sales every step of the way. Like the bulk of the traditional crooner-loving world, Buble rubs me in a generally wrong way. Try as he may, he's no Rat Packer — not even a Pat Boone — but, dang it, I can't commit to hating the guy. He's got a "Today Show" charm that's broad enough to leave even snobs like me susceptible. And, hey, if he's leading people on the right track to picking up Sinatra's Capitol records or any of the Tony Bennett/Count Basie Orchestra collaborations, he can fawn and pander as much as he needs.