Supposedly his casino tours during the summer consist of him singing a whole bunch of songs and telling funny stories. My grandmother and mother say he's got a very good voice (hey, they gotta use their comps for something!).
At the crappy record store where I worked all summer, our blues/jazz/classical/latin/world/christian/gospel/country/folk/soundtrack/easy listening/comedy/childrens floor had a very strict playlist. On this playlist was an about so unbelievably schmaltzy that over a 3 month span of employment went from unlistenable pap to kitsch classic and back. That album?
It's every lounge cliche in the book. It's dreadful and atrocious and sometimes it's just what you need to hear. You know, when you just can't listen to any more Booby Darin. Or Bobby Vinton. But you're not ready for Bobby Goldsboro.