Cheap medicine from Canada…

[Video][Website]
[3.83]

Martin Skidmore: Annoyingly plinky piano, plus the other smooth trappings, with Buble phoning in a performance of a wet and clumsily cliched song. I’ve never really got his appeal at all, I’m afraid.
[2]

Fergal O’Reilly: The previous incarnation of this website officially denounced Booble as the worst musical artist in the entire world for the years 2005-2007 after reacting unfavourably to some piece of insipid, slobbering dreck he released at the time. He’s far jauntier here, even having the audacity to bust out some entirely unearned middle eight/trucker’s chorus combo, but in the long run the switch from “comatose” to “actively annoying” seems potentially ill-advised. On top of that, his over-eager “I just can’t wait to shower somebody I haven’t met yet with vaguely sinister affection!!!” narrative also seems tragically destined to end in tears and/or the Sex Offender’s Register.
[2]

John Seroff: In which everybody’s favorite blandly expert Canuck Crooner pulls the ol’ “Hello My Future Girlfriend“/”Isn’t She Lovely”-as-TV-theme-song switcheroo. Beatles flourishes and grocery store pickups in the video notwithstanding, “Haven’t Met You Yet” plays less like a love song for that special gal and more like a bald shuck-and-jive for Anne Geddes-loving expectant mothers, militant anti-choice evangelicals and adopting gay couples alike. Ambiguity in the name of commercial success aside, hating this is like hating a puppy; Bublé’s specialty is in putting a silver lining on even the shiniest of rainbows and his honeyed voice is extra jim-dandy full of gumdrops and smiles here. You can almost picture the inevitable movie montage now: Jessica Alba looking confusedly at the instructions on the breast pump, Hugh Grant exasperatedly changing diapers, the both of them pacing with the crying child, a beatific Grant gently shushing Alba as they peer down at the sweetly sleeping bundle of joy. Awwww, cute. But I will never ever ever need to hear this again. “Half sluck,” indeed.
[4]

Alfred Soto: When my younger sister brought home his first album a few Thanksgivings ago I confused him for a Roger Whittaker type with better skin. Whether it’s Van Morrison, George Michael, or this number, he projects an enthusiasm that stops just short of callowness (like your sister’s handsome boyfriend charming your family on Thanksgiving, actually). Arguing the merits of this cutie’s albums is beside the point. He doesn’t care about interpreting these songs, he just likes them enough to wish he could interpret them, which is rather touching: after all, you and I feel the same about Van Morrison, George Michael, and this song, and we show as much when we sing karaoke. The worst thing I can say about him is that he reminds me of John Waite without a “Missing You” in his veins, but will work hard enough to raise hopes.
[5]

Hillary Brown: Sure, it makes The Wiggles look like The Misfits, but there’s a reason this stuff is so popular with your grandparents, and it’s not necessarily that they have terrible taste. Very Branson and not really that bad, either.
[6]

Martin Kavka: The kind of artist who exists to make dental work bearable: it’s not insignificant, but it’s nothing to swoon over. Nevertheless, when I watch the video and see him smile, I suddenly wonder whether I should quit my job to start stalking him. It’s not like he cares about his current girlfriend, that Argentine woman whose name is almost an anagram for “Alias: Pollution.” Why would he cast her in a video for a song about finding the right mate in the *future* unless he’s planning to dump her next week (for me! for me!)?
[6]

Anthony Easton: There is something manic about this song, that suggests a rabid false hope — which would be a stylistically interesting choice if there was any core of darkness or secrecy that was hidden.
[2]

Ian Mathers: There’s an implicit pathos to Bublé’s situation here: he’s resolutely optimistic, and never does the idea that he might never meet you cross his lips, but it lurks darkly in the song’s subtext, and even beyond that the naked dissatification with his situation and even just himself in lines like “baby, I know your love will change me” elevate this in ways the overstuffed arrangement and his kind of hammy vocals can’t. Still, I’d rather listen to a song that tackles the darkness hear head on (Will Young’s “All Time Love,” say) instead.
[6]

Kat Stevens: Just think of the constant stream of cheerful piano duets that would result if Michael ever got married to Sara Bareilles. They would populate the world with pleasant melodies and good-natured children, inspiring kindness, happiness and unconscious-yet-rhythmic side-to-side head bobbing wherever they went. Would that be such a bad thing?
[5]

Doug Robertson: You could record a fridge and still end up with something more valid and worthwhile than this pointless waste of plinks and plonks.
[1]

Anthony Miccio: I was under the impression this guy was a lite jazz crooner, so I’m going to assume this blandly boisterous piano-thumper is an attempt to freshen his audience with a VH1 crossover. Gave it a close listen just to make sure there wasn’t some Beautiful South wit I’d missed.
[4]

Matt Cibula: This song has a lot of nice elements to it, including the man’s undeniable vocal chops and the good old late-model-Tears-for-Fears-version-of-Beatles-horns. But it’s about as sexless as a tricycle and sappier than a tree in Vermont.
[3]