Why it's terrible: If you like your Manilow love songs to soar, this one takes a long time to get off the ground. I write the songs of love and special things Bad karma. Perma-smiling beauty queens cuddling armfuls of puppies and kittens would have a hard time swallowing this saccharine tribute to the fact the sun, seemingly against all odds, rises every morning. Listen to this song and try not to smile.
The walk-in-the-park opening whistle puts a spring in your step, and the infectiously repeating refrain keeps the sunny spirit of Manilow spinning through your brain for days. Why it's terrible: Too perky. His handlers fibbed about his age he was 32, not 29 , hoping to enhance his affinity with the Tiger Beat crowd, and Manilow became a king of the slow-skate song.
The fans get it. Manilow was at a loss when asked if he knew the music of any of the other artists on the album charts today. He looked to his personal assistant. Blige, I know her music, but not the new stuff. But the idea for the album came from Clive Davis, the music impresario who has been a guiding hand in the career resurrections of Carlos Santana and Rod Stewart, the latter a rocker who was coaxed into performing standards with spectacular commercial results.
Whether he is sitting in the pressurized cabin of his Gulfstream jet or singing at center stage, Manilow is in a bubble that blurs his view when he tries to peer out. He is wary when he speaks and plainly mystified by pop culture, circa Manilow has got the Palm Springs look down. He arrived for the plane trip in a pristine windbreaker, black slacks ironed to a razor crease and wide silver rings on two fingers. Like many of the fans he plays to, he has turned to makeup and plastic surgery to keep his appearance as youthful as his outlook.
Instead he sports the same strategy as William Shatner -- mock yourself before the other guy does. And I thought I was doing great. I still do. But you do have to stop taking yourself seriously or it will just tear you up. Manilow shifted in his seat and made a sour face. A few moments later he was back in a comfortable spot in his bubble of music culture. The next topic was Liberace, a performer Manilow thought very little of until he recently viewed some old performances.
He was playing this complicated Chopin piece and there was not a single clam, he killed it. Getting frustrated I found a fourth radio station and was amazed! All four radio stations were playing the same damned Barry Manilow song all at the same time. I got me a pencil and pad of paper and started writing down the names of each song. I discovered they were cheating a bit on their billing.
Each and every one of them was playing a song rotation of eight. No Top 40 songs for you — you got eight. What that meant was, you heard the same eight songs at least once an hour or less. Eight songs is no where near forty. About that time there were allegations of payola floating around in which payment was made in the form of cocaine instead of money. One of the local radio DJs Disk Jockeys categorically denied it over the air — ending his statement with an audible nasal sniff.
As for Barry Manilow himself, I will not question his musical instrumental or compositional skills; but I will question his vocal range. He had none. Get off that note. Another thing I have against Barry Manilow was that he wrote several television commercial jingles — you know, those catchy little ditties that are meant to stick in your brain just through raw repetition?
Barry Manilow was obviously in the thick of the advertising industry. Repetition is all that is necessary for mass media brainwashing to work. You'll get the latest updates on this topic in your browser notifications.
Credit: Martin Schoeller. All rights reserved. Close Sign in.
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