EDMONTON - Tony Bennett is the perfect example of an entertainer who can get a standing ovation just by showing up, just by still being alive -- but he would never, ever leave his audience wanting.

That would be unthinkable from this guy. He is a true mensch when it comes to both his music and his fans.

Bennett enthralled a crowd of 2,300 at the Jubilee Auditorium last night with a grand display of "lounge jazz," for lack of a better term.

It was more than just another trip down memory lane, more than just a stroll through the halls of giants: Gerswhin, Sondheim, Kurt Weill, Rodgers and/or Hart and so on.

It was a lesson in how to sing this music properly, interpreted by the master vocal jazz interpreter of all time. Other, lesser talents tend to pile on the irony when performing vocal jazz classics like this.

Michael Buble particularly seems incapable of keeping a straight face for more than two minutes. Frank Sinatra and his gang also tended to cut-up a bit more than was necessary.

Bennett, however, doesn't have an ounce of schmaltz about him. He is free of cheese, bereft of irony, he is not trying to be cool in the slightest, which of course makes him ultimately cool.

His impressive readings from what they call the Great American Songbook obviously came from a place of complete joy. He really feels this stuff, even the most corny, bygone-age lyric rendered sublime.

And when Bennett dug deeper with classic pieces like Maybe This Time and Boulevard of Broken Dreams (not to be confused with the Green Day tune), the singer was completely captivating. Among many highlights was a jazzed-out version of Hank Williams's Cold Cold Heart, which I daresay had as much pathos as the original, despite the fact that Hank once phoned Tony to say, "You ruined my song."

Between songs came the stories and mild jocularity. The man exuded warmth at every turn.

His voice worked wonders, too, from his mellow spoken-word intros quoting sweet platitudes about love to powerful, emotional climaxes. Bennett is not one to waste notes, usually only deploying three or four of his best ones per song. Such infrequent bursts of power meant all that much more than if he were wailing mindlessly all the time.

Notice I haven't mentioned Bennett's age yet -- which is 83, for the record. This seems irrelevant now. His performance, like some of the music itself, was timeless.

If he was lacking anything in range or timbre, and you'd really have to be a nitpicker to find anything, the emotional impact of his singing has deepened. That's experience for you.

As he quipped to the crowd, "I've been singing 50 years (pause for cheers). I'll be honest: It's 60 years." Yes, Bennett has outlived them all: Bob Hope, who gave him his name, his buddy Frank, most of his peers from back in the day, including Rosemary Clooney -- "we were the first American Idols," Bennett said -- and needless to say, the writers of most of the music he sings.

He made no bones about it, saying "I guess you can tell by now I really like the old songs better than the new songs ... they're better songs." It's such a bold statement, but it's hard to argue with an 83-year-old performer who's still this vital.

It helped that Bennett had a great band to help him with the heavy lifting, though he did his share. Pianist Lee Musiker was especially amazing, his solo turn during an unusual arrangement of Maybe This Time a showstopper. Rounding out the combo was guitarist Gray Sargent, drummer Harold Jones and upright bassist Marshall Wood. They are all monster players in their own right, masters of the straight-ahead jazz genre, given generous, though not excessive, time for solos throughout the evening.

Tony smiled the entire time.

Opening the show was his daughter Antonia, who similarly believes in what she's doing without irony and obviously also goes for the old stuff. At least two songs invoked the word "marvellous" -- including S'Wonderful, S'Marvellous and the ancient You're Too Marvellous For Words.

For any words except for marvellous, of course.