Barry Manilow The Power of a Melody, Even Now

 

I admit it — I’m a big Barry Manilow fan and have been since the very beginning. I played "Tryin’ to Get the Feeling" and "Even Now" so often that I actually wore them out and had to buy new copies. When CDs replaced LPs, I didn’t hesitate; I replaced every one of my Manilow albums without a second thought.

And then there were the concerts.

Of all the artists I’ve seen live — and I’ve seen plenty — Barry is the one I’ve returned to again and again. His shows were never just concerts; they were little emotional tune‑ups. I loved his humor, the way he could poke fun at himself, and those gloriously over‑the‑top costumes. The Copacabana outfit alone deserves its own museum wing. I’m not entirely sure, but I think it actually is in the Smithsonian.

And for anyone who still insists that sentiment is a weakness, think again. And for all of you out there that think that sentiment is a weakness, think again.  There is nothing like a good melody to bring back a good memory.  

But one-night stands above the rest.

I had managed to snag third‑row center seats, the kind of seats you don’t even dare to dream about because they seem reserved for people with connections or cosmic luck. I guess mine was cosmic luck. 

Barry walked out and pulled up his stool.

And then he started to sing.

For a moment, a long, suspended, impossible moment, it felt like he was singing directly to me. Not to the crowd, not to the arena, not to the thousands of people who loved him just as much as I did. To me. He was looking straight at me, and I sat there thinking, well, this is it. This is the moment I will remember forever.

And I have.

Music is funny that way. It bookmarks our lives. It ties us to versions of ourselves we might have forgotten. When you’re young, the possibilities feel endless; when you’re older, you sometimes have to work a little harder to make new ones happen. These days, I try to live more in the present, while still allowing myself to glance back at the past now and then.

What sent me looking back this time was some difficult news. I just read that Barry Manilow has been diagnosed with lung cancer. Reports say it was caught early, and I truly hope that’s the case. Even with early detection, surgery and recovery are still ahead of him, and that’s a heavy road for anyone to walk. It’s hard not to feel a jolt of fear at the thought of losing someone whose music has woven itself so deeply into so many chapters of my life. A disease like that takes enough; it doesn’t need to take him too.

Joy doesn’t always come from grand gestures — sometimes it comes from a worn‑out album, a familiar voice, or a single moment in a crowded concert hall when the world narrows to one song and one singer.

I and all of Barry's fans, I am sure, are sending out positive energy and prayers for his recovery.