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CAN I ask you something - does this look like a popstar to you? I'm not exactly Justin Timberlake with abs and s**t. The popstar I'm looking at is Canadian singer Michael Buble, and he is insisting that I examine his stomach.
Closely. "Come on, I bet yours isn't this bad," he says, wanting to compare girths, which, unless I first do a few rounds on The Biggest Loser, isn't going to happen in this lifetime.
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"You know, what happened to the days when being a little chunky was sexy?" he continues. "What happened to those days when you looked at photos and you could tell the wealth of the person by how heavy they were and it was beautiful? You know, I like a bit of meat on a girl's bones, and I'm no skinny minnie."
Ah, such is the image-obsessed world we live in that even a hugely successful, multimillion-album-selling singer is worried about his weight (frankly, he looks fine to me). What hope is there for the rest of us, I ask? "We all have our own strengths and weaknesses," he says, with a sigh, "and a good McChicken burger with extra mayonnaise is my weakness."
Buble may think his stomach is a little soft around the edges, but his strengths are many. He's the guy with the silky, smooth voice; the man who's been compared to Tony Bennett, Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. He's the guy who shares a Vancouver apartment with his girlfriend, The Devil Wears Prada star and Golden Globe winner, Emily Blunt. He's also the guy who makes many other ladies - memorably, one Kath Day-Knight - go a bit wobbly at the knees. (Buble tells me excitedly that being thumped by Kel during his guest appearance on Da Kath & Kim Code was a career highlight.)
When I watched one of his shows during his 2005 Australian tour, I actually feared a stampede of hormonal 30- and 40-something women, such was the level of hysteria. "It was my mother," he deadpans, when I remind him. "You're just so sexy, Michael..." he laughs, imitating his mum with a high-pitched squeak. "No, it's funny, because I'll be at home with Emily and I'll be sitting on the couch with my hand down my pants, a la Al Bundy, with corn chips crumbled on my chest, and she'll say, "God, if they could just see you now, you dork."
Luckily, they can't. In fact, the fans remain happy because the 31-year-old has just released his latest album, Call Me Irresponsible. He admits he's a little nervous, however, because he's no longer the cheeky up-and-comer. His albums have sold more than 11 million globally (Michael Buble and It's Time are both platinum-sellers here) and, it's fair to say, there's a bit more pressure on him this time around.
"It's tough and I don't know if I've made the right decisions with this one," he says of the album which, along with Buble, takes on classic Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday, also features versions of Leonard Cohen's `I'm Your Man' and Eric Clapton's `Wonderful Tonight.'
He's hoping that, by including songs people don't expect from him, he will be able to move away from the `swing' tag. "Who wants to be categorised?" he asks. "I think being categorised can be pretty ugly. If I can get away with singing different stuff and putting together stuff that I love, you know, it's a blast, I'm glad I can do it. I get away with it."
Still, he remains very aware of what it is that has got him to this point in his career. "I don't want to sell myself out and, at the same time, I want to show growth as an artist without alienating all of the people who were kind enough to buy my records."
Buble says that, ultimately, he makes records for the people, and that it's not unusual for him to play new tracks for everyone from his barber to his local corner-store manager because, to him, they're the people who buy the CDs. Perhaps surprisingly, he says that he doesn't make music for himself.
"Oh, listen, there are songs on there that are for me and that I love, but I can't make the whole record a self-indulgent mess. It wouldn't sell anything, because it would be like this jazzy-jazz thing and it would sell, like, 20 copies and my career would be finished."
After spending a little time with Buble, it's clear that he worries about how he is perceived, and is at pains to point out that he's a man's man. He's a massive sports fan - he's passionate about the Vancouver Canucks ice-hockey team - and he seems concerned that other blokes will think him a bit, well, soft. And not just in the abdominal region. "I'm very aware that a lot of men are going to be dragged to my shows," he says, "and won't want to be there." He recalls a particularly nerve-ridden performance at the 2005 AFL Grand Final where he performed alongside Delta Goodrem.
"I was terrified. I stepped out in front of 80,000 people and probably 60,000 of them were men having a few beers and, by the
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