Manilow (Still Has Some) Magic

Life is really one big circle. In 1977, I was working for a New York radio station, courtesy of a kind friend, Joe Persek, WXLO, 99X. I had put off law school for six months thinking that I might try my hand at radio broadcasting, the college version of which I had done already for five years.  The main job I had was related to the weekly top ten. One afternoon, in between management sweeps of staff, I was passing by Jay Thomas' studio and there was a freshly famous (by a few years) Barry Manilow. And fresh faced, with the shaggy hair of the period, casual jeans dress, and, of course, the renowned nose that somehow did not prevent him from being kind of attractive. It was definitely the oozing charm. I didn't speak to him, of course, respecting the boundaries of famous/not famous and employee/stay out of the way rules.

Last night, 35 years later, he brought his now retro showman self (he made a joke about how he was the "Justin Bieber" of his day, apt, but a little sad for those of us of a certain age), to the Hollywood Bowl. As he said, he's been a lot of places in between. So have I, though perhaps not so glamorous. And so too the mostly senior-ish crowd who sang every every song that Manilow wrote (yep, including "I Write the Songs") when all of us were fresh-faced and on our way to who knew where.  I was tempted to ask "Who ARE all these old people?" until I realized that someone was probably saying that about me!

But I didn't feel old when I walked in there, and I surely did not while I marvelled at Barry's style and grace, even when in lower registers he seemed to struggle with his voice. Then he'd pull out the Manilow I remembered. I felt like I needed to run home and stuff my I-pod with songs I had actually forgotten about, "Even Now" among them.  How did I forget to put Manilow on there?  Sacrilegious almost!

I remember pushing the door open of WFUV's engineering room as "Mandy" played time and time again, when, was it 1975?  I watched the crowd last night waving their red glow sticks and I could touch the nostalgia, the sense of delight at a summer time machine evening, each of us conjuring memories of where we were when we heard each song.. And yet, there was a connection to 2012, as some of the crowd clearly had not been there back in the "day". The kids next to me couldn't have been more than 20 something. And as some of the more romantic tunes were crooned, the young man with the Corona put his arm around the young girl with the tasteful glass of white, and they smiled at one another. 

I see why the old talk about the past so much- people and things which used to be right there, part of a taken for granted existence--it's something to hold onto as life whisks by. When a Manilow appears on stage, we can say, "Oh, things are safe, things are like we remember." And then we lose someone like Andy Griffith, and we have to recognize that things just aren't the same, and neither are any of us.

But for an hour and a half last night, we had the magic of old. And Manilow was still around to give it to us.

Even now.