Singer-songwriter Barry Manilow

DATE April 23, 2004 ACCOUNT NUMBER N/A
TIME 12:00 Noon-1:00 PM AUDIENCE N/A
NETWORK NPR
PROGRAM Fresh Air

Interview: Barry Manilow discusses his music
DAVE DAVIES, host:

This is FRESH AIR. I'm Dave Davies in for Terry Gross.

(Soundbite of performance)

Mr. BARRY MANILOW (Singer): Well, good evening. It is I, the ultimate
Manilow.

DAVIES: Barry Manilow is one of the most successful pop performers of the
'70s and early '80s. He had 25 Top 40 hits between 1974 and '83, including
"Mandy," "I Write The Songs," "Tryin' To Get The Feeling Again," "Looks Like
We Made It," "Daybreak," "Can't Smile Without You," "Copacabana" and "I Made
It Through The Rain." Before he started writing and singing pop songs, he
wrote commercial jingles, and he was Bette Midler's first music director. He
stopped recording his own songs in the '80s; there didn't seem to be much
interest in them anymore. But he's had something of a revival in recent
years. Now he has a new concert DVD called, "Ultimate Manilow" and a new
concert CD set called "Two Nights Live."

(Soundbite of music)

Mr. MANILOW: (Singing) Her name is Lola, she was a showgirl with yellow
feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there. She was morange and do
the cha-cha. And while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar across
the crowded floor. They worked from 8 till 4. They were young and they had
each other. Who could ask for more? At the Copa, Copacabana. It's the
hottest spot north of Havana, at the Copa, Copacabana. Music and fashion were
always the passion at the Copa. They fell in love.

Unidentified Singers: (Singing) Copa, Copacabana.

Mr. MANILOW: (Singing) His name was Rico, he wore a diamond. He was
escorted to his chair. He saw Lola dancing there. And when she finished, he
called her over, but Rico went a bit too far, Tony sailed across the bar and
then the punches flew and chairs were smashed in two. There was blood and a
single gunshot, but just who shot who at the Copa, Copacabana. It's the
hottest sport north of Havana. At the Copa, Copacabana. Music and fashion
were always the passion at the Copa. He lost her love. Oh, the poor little
thing. Come on, guys, cheer us up. Play the instrumental for us.

DAVIES: That's "Copacabana" from Barry Manilow's new concert CD, "Two Nights
Live." Terry spoke with Barry Manilow in 2002.

TERRY GROSS, host:

Well, suddenly you're really high-profile again.

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah. Yeah. I guess--well, have you ever seen my profile? No.
Sorry. But I am high-profile. I am as hot as a knish. And it is surprising
everybody, most of all me, 'cause, you know, I've been making albums like this
for, you know, 20-some-odd years and I've been touring every few years for
that time. And they've all been, you know, successful in one way or another,
but nothing has--it's never exploded quite like this, and I can't really give
you a reason why.

GROSS: When I picked up your "Ultimate Manilow" record, the great hits
record, I looked at the songs on the back and I thought, `Well, I know that.
I know that one. Don't know this one. Don't know this one,' but when I
played it, I realized that I knew the ones that I didn't think I knew. I just
didn't remember them by title.

Mr. MANILOW: Oh, I have insinuated my little self into your brains over the
last 20 years.

GROSS: Well, but that's the thing. I mean, you know, your songs were
everywhere. I mean...

Mr. MANILOW: They were everywhere.

GROSS: ...they were on the radio. They were on TV. They were in stores...

Mr. MANILOW: They were.

GROSS: ...and probably in elevators. I mean, they were just all over.

Mr. MANILOW: Oh, I'm sure they were in elevators. I'm sure they were in
elevators, yes.

GROSS: Well...

Mr. MANILOW: No, it's true. And, you know, I hadn't even listened to these
records. You know, I sing them nightly, but, you know, they don't sound
exactly like the old records did. And I actually--somebody was playing it and
I actually listened to it and they all sound pretty good. I mean, you know,
we get into it and it sounds pretty good even, you know, all these years
later.

GROSS: What are some of the most unusual places you've heard your songs?

Mr. MANILOW: Some of the--that's a great question. Some of the most unusual
places--well, you know, well, I must say that, you know, I have heard it in
restaurants, but unusual places, I don't know. Sometimes they do it in big
stadiums and, of course, in, you know, boutiques and, you know, karaoke bars.
That was pretty awful. I must say that was really...

GROSS: Well, tell me a karaoke story.

Mr. MANILOW: It was some very bad singer trying to do "I Write The Songs."
It was really--I had to leave.

GROSS: Well, what were you doing there in the first place? Why were you in a
karaoke bar?

Mr. MANILOW: I didn't know it was a karaoke bar. It was a Mexican
restaurant, and suddenly somebody got up and sang. I hope they didn't know
that I was there.

GROSS: That's really funny. So somebody was singing--What?--"I Write The
Songs," did you say?

Mr. MANILOW: "I Write The Songs," yes, it was lovely.

GROSS: Oh.

Mr. MANILOW: Actually, the karaoke part wasn't bad, though. The track that
they sing to wasn't bad.

GROSS: The funny thing about "I Write The Songs"--you know, people associate
that song with you 'cause you recorded it, but you didn't write "I Write The
Songs."

Mr. MANILOW: I did not. And I knew it was going to get me in trouble as soon
as Clive showed--you know, my hit record "Experience" is all--I give the
credit to Clive Davis, who was the president of Arista while I was there. And
when I went on to Arista Records, I really knew nothing about pop music at
all. My first single was "Could It Be Magic," you know, a song that I based
on a Chopin prelude and it came in at eight minutes long, so what did I know
about pop music. So, I mean, you're supposed to have a three-minute record.
But when Clive started to work with me, he actually taught me the ins and outs
of how to have a hit record. And he would submit songs to me so that I would
arrange and produce and sing these outside pieces of material even though I
considered myself a songwriter. And "I Write The Songs" was one of the ones
he gave me. And I knew I was going to get in trouble if I accepted this
because, first of all, I figured everybody was going to think that I was
screaming about how I write all the songs in the world. What does he think he
is? Burt Bacharach, you know?

And then, you know, I didn't write "I Write The Songs," but Bruce Johnson of
The Beach Boys wrote it, and when I sang it, I knew what he was trying to get
to. He's saying the spirit of music is really the creator of everything, you
know, of all composers' work. And I believe that, too. I believe that when
I'm writing, I have nothing to do with it. I'm just taking dictation. I
loved that idea, but I didn't think anybody listening to "I Write The Songs"
would really understand that. And I was right. Most people actually thought
that I was singing about myself. And it didn't seem to bother anybody,
either, but it's true. I didn't write "I Write The Songs."

GROSS: Are you sorry you recorded it or...

Mr. MANILOW: Oh, no, no, no. I think over the years I think people really
get a big pleasure out of it.

GROSS: Why don't we hear a little bit of "I Write The Songs."

(Soundbite of "I Write The Songs")

Mr. MANILOW: (Singing) I've been alive forever, and I wrote the very first
song. I put the words and the melodies together. I am music, and I write the
songs. I write the songs that make the whole world sing. I write the songs
of love and special things. I write the songs that make the young girls cry.
I write the songs. I write the songs.

GROSS: You did a lot of the arranging on your songs. I mean, before you were
even a singer, you were an arranger and music director. Talk a little bit
about the kind of production you liked on your pop records.

Mr. MANILOW: I like emotional productions. I like to take a listener on a
trip. I don't like--you know, a lot of the records that I hear are, like, one
feeling. They start with a groove and three minutes later nothing has
happened except a groove. And I've never been able to do that. Some of them
I like that kind of thing, and a lot of people do it very well today. But
that's not my thing. I really like for your heart to start to beat a little
faster and, you know, I like to make you have goose bumps now and again. I
like to convey the passion that I have for my music to you, the listener. And
that's what I have always loved and that's what I've always done with my
arranging. I've always started it on one level and tried to take it
someplace, so that by the end of the song, you've gone somewhere with me.

GROSS: Now let's talk about your early musical life. Your first instrument
was, I think, accordion?

Mr. MANILOW: I'm sorry.

GROSS: What happened?

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah. I'm sorry that it was the accordion.

GROSS: Oh, you're sorry that it was the accordion. Oh.

Mr. MANILOW: I am.

GROSS: Why do you have to apologize?

Mr. MANILOW: Yes, I'm guilty. I'm guilty that it was the accordion.

GROSS: Well, the accordion is, like, the hippest instrument now. I don't
have to tell you that, you know?

Mr. MANILOW: Not when I play it.

GROSS: Not when you played it. The whole "Lady Of Spain" bit?

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah, I think every Jewish and Italian boy cannot get out of
Brooklyn, New York, unless he learns how to play the accordion. There's a
guard at the Brooklyn Bridge and you have to play "Lady Of Spain" before you
can go over the bridge. Everybody I knew played the accordion badly. I
happened to--you know, because I was more musical than the rest of my friends,
I kind of got through "Hava Nagila" and "Lady Of Spain," and I actually
entertained my relatives. You know, they just thought it was the greatest
thing. It really wasn't the thing that turned my musical motor on, I can tell
you, but you're right. There are people who play the accordion and actually
make it sound good. I was not one of those people.

GROSS: Did you sing when you played?

Mr. MANILOW: No, I never sang. I didn't sing until I started making records.
I never really thought of myself as a singer. Singing was for other people to
do.

GROSS: Right.

Mr. MANILOW: Performing was for other people to do. I was at--if I was going
to have a career in music at all, it was going to be as a musician. And that
was it. No, I never sang.

DAVIES: Barry Manilow speaking with Terry Gross. We'll hear more of their
conversation this break. This is FRESH AIR.

(Soundbite of music)

DAVIES: Let's get back to our interview with Barry Manilow. He has a new CD
concert recording called "Two Nights Live" and a new live in-concert DVD
titled "Ultimate Manilow." He spoke with Terry Gross in 2002.

GROSS: Now you said that your stepfather introduced you to jazz, to music
that you really loved.

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah.

GROSS: Tell us about how he introduced you to the music you fell in love
with.

Mr. MANILOW: Well, when my mother remarried, the three of us moved into a
little apartment still in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and he brought with him a
stack of records that I had never heard of before, records that included
people like June Christy, Chris Connor, Stan Kenton, lots of Broadway musical
sound tracks, a lot of jazz, Chet Baker, Gerry Mulligan, some classical music,
and, you know, I had never been exposed to that kind of thing. I was raised
for the first part of my life with my mother and my grandparents, who were all
very musical but not in the musical world, but Willie was. And I devoured
this stack of music. I memorized every note from every overture, every lick
that anybody sang or played. And it was really the beginning of my musical
passion for what wound up to be a career. But had I not been exposed to that
at the tender age of, like, 12 or 13, I really don't think I would have gone
into the music business. I wouldn't have known what to do.

GROSS: How did you ditch the accordion and start playing piano?

Mr. MANILOW: Actually he did it. He convinced my mother to buy a spinet
piano. And so we got a spinet piano in our little apartment and they pooled
their money together and gave me piano lessons. And I began to love making
music more so than I ever did before.

GROSS: Now is jazz playing something that you picked up by ear or something
that your teacher was actually able to help you with?

Mr. MANILOW: No, it was by ear. I think jazz--you can't be taught jazz. You
listen to it and then you do your own version of it. But, well, for me, at
least, I needed to know the rules of music. I needed to know the language of
music, and that's what the lessons were so handy for.

GROSS: Now you've said that when you were in college, you expected to have a
pretty conventional life--get married, get a good job, live in the suburbs.
What changed your mind and made you pursue music?

Mr. MANILOW: It was coming out of my ears, and it just wouldn't leave me
alone. I tried everything not to follow this muse that would not leave me
alone. You know, because coming from where I come from, you know, a
four-floor, six-flight walk-up where people were just struggling, you know, to
make the rent every Friday, you know, that paycheck every Friday was the most
important thing. That's what I learned. You know, there was really no way
that anybody would take the risk and go into the biz, show biz, the music biz.
You know, you just--the most important thing was security.

So no matter how much I loved it--and I played in jazz bands and I won the
best musician award in high school and all--it never dawned on me that I was
going to make a career out of it because it just was too risky.

But I just kept getting these offers to do things musically. I got a job at
CBS as a log clerk; first as a mail boy, then I was a log clerk when I was
jotting down times of television commercials. And I had, you know, this
regular 9-to-5 life plotted out for me. But whenever I'd play or arrange for
somebody, you know, I would keep getting these offers to go further than just
my 9-to-5 job. And I finally took one, and I took a chance and I left CBS and
I never looked back.

GROSS: When you first started working professionally, I think it was in more
of a supporting role, working--like you had an act with a woman singer--I
think Jeannie was her name?

Mr. MANILOW: Yes.

GROSS: And so you did some arranging for her. You were the pianist. You
sang some duets with her. But it was kind of--it sounds from your book like
it was a kind of supporting role. Did you see yourself as being like a
supporting role type of character in music?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, if I saw myself at all in music--and like I said, it was
so risky I never even dreamed about even that. But if I were to imagine
myself in the music business at that time, it would have been in a supporting
role, as an arranger, as a pianist, as a producer, as a songwriter. Those
were my goals. Those were my dreams. Those were my fantasies that one day,
if I ever took the risk, that's where I would wind up. And so my first
professional engagement was as an accompanist for many, many singers, and
Jeannie was one of them.

GROSS: Well, your most famous position in a supporting role was as Bette
Midler's accompanist and music arranger, and this was in the era when she was
playing at the Continental Baths, the gay steam bath in Manhattan. How did
you meet Bette Midler?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, she was one of the dozens of girl and boy singers that I
was accompanying. I had left CBS and I had begun accompanying singers, and I
was making a really healthy living because I'm really a good accompanist. I'm
not that great a pianist, but I'm a really good accompanist. And they are
always in demand in New York for auditions and people who need arranging and
coaching and stuff. So before I knew it, I was coaching just about every
singer that needed a pianist. I was booked like 12 hours a day. And Bette
must have heard of me and called me and asked if I would play a couple of
weekends for her at this placed called the Continental Baths. So I worked for
a couple of weekends for her. I subbed for her piano player that she had, and
she exploded and asked me if I would stay along with her. And I, frankly,
didn't want to just work for one person, and she couldn't afford to, you know,
really just, you know, pay me for, you know, 24 hours a day, but Bette Midler
was so incredibly talented that I just could not say no, and I began to work
for her exclusively.

GROSS: What was your role in her act? I mean, were you just quiet at the
piano or did you participate in any of the banter or sing duets?

Mr. MANILOW: No, no, no, no. That, again, you know, I was not up to singing
then. This was still before I began to sing. In the beginning, I just
arranged her music, put her act together, tightened it up, led her band, hired
the background singers, taught them what to sing. You know, I put the whole
musical part of her show together.

GROSS: Could you talk a little bit about what it was like to play to an
audience in a gay steam bath?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, I only worked there for two weekends. You know, people
got--you know, there's this unbelievable reputation that both Bette and I had,
you know, about working in, you know, all the gay bath houses around the
world, you know, in Iran and Paris. But I don't know how long she worked
there, but I know for me, it was only two weekends, and it was a nightclub
situation there, although they were in towels, but it was a nightclub
situation, and there was a stage and lights and a sound system. And Bette
would come out and do her brilliant hour and a half, and they would freak out,
and after the two weekends, she got booked at a place called the Upstairs at
the Downstairs, which was in Manhattan, and that was it. That was the end of
my experience at the Continental Baths. But a lot of other people worked at
the baths because, like I said, it was a really interesting nightclub
situation, and the audiences were fantastic to the performers.

DAVIES: Barry Manilow speaking with Terry Gross. We'll continue their
conversation in the second half of the show. Here's Bette Midler recorded in
1972. This was arranged and conducted by Barry Manilow. He's also at the
piano.

I'm Dave Davies, and this is FRESH AIR.

(Soundbite of music)

Ms. BETTE MIDLER: (Singing) Oh, spring is here and the sky's so very blue.
Whoa, ho, ho, ho, birds all sing as if they knew.

Ms. MIDLER and Group of Singers: (Singing) Today's the day we'll say `I do,'
and we'll never be lonely anymore. Because we're going to the chapel and
we're gonna get married, going to the chapel and we're gonna get married.
Gee, I really love you and we're gonna get married, going to the chapel of
love.

Ms. MIDLER: (Singing) Bells will ring and the sun is gonna shine, yeah, yeah,
yeah. I'm gonna be his. He's gonna be mine.

Ms. MIDLER and Group of Singers: (Singing) We're gonna love until the end of
time, and we'll never be lonely anymore. Because we're going to the chapel
and we're gonna get married, going to the chapel and we're gonna get married.
Gee, I really love you and we're gonna get married, going to the chapel of
love.

Ms. MIDLER: One more time around! (Singing) Oh!

Ms. MIDLER and Group of Singers: Going to the chapel and we're gonna get
married, going to the chapel and we're...

(Program sponsorships)

DAVIES: Coming up, platform shoes and feeling self-conscious on stage. We
continue our conversation with Barry Manilow. And David Edelstein reviews
"Man on Fire," the latest revenge film starring Denzel Washington.

(Announcements)

DAVIES: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Dave Davies, senior writer for the
Philadelphia Daily News, filling in for Terry Gross.

Let's get back to Terry's interview with Barry Manilow, who was one of the
biggest pop hitmakers of the '70s and early '80s. He has a new live collection
called "Two Nights Live." Here's the original recording of his first big hit,
"Mandy."

(Soundbite of "Mandy")

Mr. MANILOW: (Singing) I remember all my life raining down as cold as ice,
shadows of a man, a face through a window, crying in the night, the night goes
into morning. Just another day, happy people pass my way. Looking in their
eyes, I see a memory. I never realized how happy you made me. Oh, Mandy.
Well, you came and you gave without taking. But I...

GROSS: At what point did you think, `Well, I'm going to be the one by the
microphone. I'm going to be the one singing. I'm going to have my own act'?
What led you to that point?

Mr. MANILOW: You know, I was--it felt to me--it still seems to me that I was
not in charge of that until way, way into my career. It felt like I was just
catching up. I was just keeping up barely, because when this opportunity to
sing for myself came up, I was very reluctant to pursue this. I, first of
all, didn't believe that I had any right to be a singer. I didn't think that
I had a voice. I didn't think that I had a style. I didn't think that--and
frankly, it wasn't anything that I'd ever aspired to anyway.

But I got this record offer, a contract offer because somebody had heard my
demos that I had sung. I had sung my own songs, and I was trying to get other
people to record them, but I couldn't afford other singers. So I sang them
myself. And I got an offer to make a record, because Bell Records thought
that--I don't know what they thought. They liked what they heard. And, you
know, I was so interested in promoting my own songs that if that was the only
way to do it, I took it.

But they said that I could not--they wouldn't give me this deal unless I
promised to go out and put a show together and promote it. Well, that--I just
didn't know how to do that, but I was still conducting for Bette, and I asked
her if I could sing a few songs to open her second act. And in that way I
would tour to promote my album and I would also stay music director for her
show. And she let me do it. So I would conduct her first act, then I would
open her second act with three of my songs from this new album that I had
made, and then I would continue to conduct. So that kind of worked out great.

GROSS: When you were doing demos, what kind of person were you hoping would
record your song? Like, who were you looking at?

Mr. MANILOW: Who were the singers? Andy Williams. Who were the singers that
needed--Nancy Wilson, you know, Shirley Bassey, Tom Jones. This was the end
of the '60s, and those were the kinds of singers that were recording other
people's material. But at the same time, there was the new crop of young
singer/songwriters, which little did I know I was one of.

GROSS: Right.

Mr. MANILOW: But I didn't know that. I was still trying to come from that
old Tin Pan Alley school where you wrote songs for other people to record.
So, you know, I was just writing songs that seemed like they could be recorded
by other people. Little did I know that I was going to be the one that did
it.

GROSS: Were you the first person to record one of your own songs?

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah, I was. Yes, I was. I was the first person to record one
of my own songs, if you don't want to count "State Farm is there."

(Soundbite of laughter)

GROSS: Is that one of your commercials?

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah.

GROSS: Yeah, 'cause you wrote a lot of jingles before you made it as a
performer.

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah, I did. Yeah, I did.

GROSS: Oh, so how's the whole thing go? What's the first line in that, the
"State Farm is there"?

Mr. MANILOW: What? "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there."

GROSS: Yeah.

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah.

GROSS: Oh, wow.

Mr. MANILOW: A very talented girl named Leslie Miller recorded that one after
I wrote it, and then there was another one called "I am stuck on Band-Aids and
a Band-Aid's stuck on me," and there was a whole batch of little kids that
recorded that. But, I mean, you know, I wouldn't consider that that was, you
know, my first hit, you know.

GROSS: Well, let me back up to that. How did you start writing commercials?
You know, we've got you going from Bette Midler's music director to recording
demos and recording yourself. Where do the commercials fit in?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, when I was sending my demos out, a commercial agent heard
some of these demos and they thought that I was writing commercially. And
they called me and said, `Do you want to up for a Dodge commercial?' And I
said, `Sure.' So I wrote a Dodge commercial, the melody to the lyric that
they gave me. And, of course, my commercial, not knowing anything, came in
like, you know, at four minutes or something. I was supposed to write it for
30 seconds, you know. But they liked the melody, and ultimately after we
pared the whole thing down to 30 seconds, I got it. I got the first one I
went out for. And then they kept calling me to write various jingles. And
State Farm and Band-Aids are the ones that people still remember.

GROSS: Well, what about...

Mr. MANILOW: And I think they're still playing them.

GROSS: What about the McDonald's "Have It Your Way"?(ph) Isn't that one
yours?

Mr. MANILOW: No, that--it was "You Deserve a Break Today."

GROSS: Oh, yeah, "You Deserve a Break Today," right. That was yours, wasn't
it?

Mr. MANILOW: Right. I only sang on that one. I was part of the vocal group.
I got into to the commercial world while I was conducting for Bette. You see,
when I started--I stopped accompanying everybody except Bette. But like I
said, she couldn't afford to keep me on salary, so I was really making a
handsome living doing these commercials. And so between the two of them, I
was able to support myself.

GROSS: Now what did you learn about the craft of songwriting from writing
commercial jingles?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, you know, I attended the New York College of Music and a
little while I went to Juilliard. And even though that was pretty good
training for my brains, the commercial world, my three years in the commercial
world was really the college that I went to because I got to work with the top
musicians. You know, they pay so well. You work with the top studio
musicians, who taught me really how to arrange music. You know, the oboe
player would say, `Psst. Come on over here. You see this thing? You're
writing it too high.' I'd say, `Really? I'm writing it too high?' `Yeah.
The oboe can't go up that high, so take it down an octave.' This would go on
and on.

I worked with the great, great studio singers who taught me how to harmonize
and how to change the timbre of my voice. I worked with these great engineers
who, you know, I would stand behind and I would see how they made these
jingles sound so hot that they would jump out of the radio. And as far as the
songwriting goes, well, you're up against so many fantastic songwriters that
you've got to write the catchiest melody in 30 seconds. If you don't write
the best one, then the other guys get it. And so for three years, I was in
school, and I'll never forget that.

GROSS: Now did you ever come up with a hook for a jingle and think, `Wait a
minute. That's really a song. It's not a jingle. I'm keeping that one for
myself'?

Mr. MANILOW: A lot of them. But, you know, once you start to write 30-second
jingles, they really don't want to be much more than 30-second jingles.

GROSS: Uh-huh. So, like, there were ideas coming to you that you knew were
just, like, 30-second ideas?

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah. They were great hooks, but every time I tried to expand
them, they didn't work.

GROSS: Right. So there was no bridge to "You Deserve a Break Today"?

Mr. MANILOW: No, there's no bridge to "You Deserve"--and there's no bridge to
"State Farm is there." And, you know, I mean, "State Farm is there" is a
pretty little melody, you know, that it could be a melody. But frankly, it's
probably better as a commercial.

DAVIES: Barry Manilow speaking with Terry Gross. We'll hear more of their
conversation after a break. This is FRESH AIR.

(Soundbite of music)

DAVIES: Let's get back to our interview with Barry Manilow. He spoke with
Terry Gross in 2002.

GROSS: Let's get back to when you started performing after being more behind
the scenes as a music director and writing commercial jingles. Were you
self-conscious the first few times when you got up on stage and you were at
the front of the stage?

Mr. MANILOW: I would say I was the geek of all time on the stage. I really
didn't know what I was doing up there. I can't express how uncomfortable I
was walking out on a stage, having the spotlight hit me and me having to lead
the evening. I...

GROSS: And what about that experience made you so uncomfortable?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, like I say, I had never practiced for it, and I had never
imagined it, and I had never thought about it. All I really ever thought
about was making music, not performing music. And so it was a very
uncomfortable, scary experience for me. But the amazing part about that was
that the audience never had trouble with it, ever. From the very first moment
I hit the stage and sang my own songs, the audiences never had the kind of
trouble that I was having accepting this new role.

GROSS: What did you think it took to be a good performer or entertainer that
you were afraid you might not have?

Mr. MANILOW: Style, confidence, experience, not being self-conscious. I
mean, those were all the things, you know, that I didn't have. I was very
self-conscious. I didn't know my way around a stage. I didn't know the rules
of performing, you know, I didn't know what to do with my legs. I was...

GROSS: What about your arms?

Mr. MANILOW: Or my arms. Forget about my legs. I mean, I would stand there,
you know, and I know that I would feel like, you know, naked and vulnerable,
and the audiences loved that.

GROSS: Maybe they identified with your self-consciousness.

Mr. MANILOW: Maybe they did. Whatever it was, I was very comfortable sitting
at the piano singing "Could Have Been Magic," but then, you know, having to
talk with them and stand up and, you know, lead a whole hourlong set, it was
torture. It was just torture for me. I was just very uncomfortable for many,
many years.

GROSS: When you were having all those top-10 hits--this was the '70s and the
'80s--now all of us who remember then know that--well, most of us were fashion
victims of one sort or another during that era, particularly in the '70s.

Mr. MANILOW: Weren't we?

GROSS: There were some pretty frightening things that we all wore, that we
all participated in. As a performer--I think it's even worse for performers,
'cause performers have to wear more extreme versions of whatever...

Mr. MANILOW: And you're tortured with them for the rest of your life.

GROSS: Yeah. Here I am bringing it up again for you. So what are some of
your worst fashion memories?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, you know, I looked just like Rod Stewart and Elton John
did. You know, we were all wearing--we all looked like idiots back then, you
know.

GROSS: With the white suits, yeah.

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah. With the glitter and the, you know, bell-bottoms and the
platform shoes and the Puca beads. Frankly, I looked like Britney Spears back
then with my long blond hair, really, before the boob job.

GROSS: Exactly. I was going to...

Mr. MANILOW: Right.

GROSS: I was going to mention that.

Mr. MANILOW: That was me.

GROSS: David Rakoff did an interview with you in the Sunday New York Times
Magazine.

Mr. MANILOW: Yeah.

GROSS: And you had mentioned that the Smithsonian had asked for your
"Copacabana" jacket, which you described...

Mr. MANILOW: Really. Isn't that funny?

GROSS: Yeah. You described it as being a `huge ruffled Desi Arnaz babaloo
kind of thing.'

Mr. MANILOW: It is. I did it as a joke in 1978. And, you know, they
take--and somebody took a photo of me. And, you know, from that moment on I
was sunk. I was just sunk. You know, I did it as a joke, but I think people,
you know, thought that I was serious.

GROSS: Well, you said that the Smithsonian asked you for the jacket, you sent
it to them and then they sent it back to you.

Mr. MANILOW: Well, here's--the real story is this. I just put my foot in my
mouth. They asked me for the jacket. And, you know, it's such a funny
jacket, it's a joke. And so when I got it out--I was interviewed and the
interviewer said, `It's going to the Smithsonian.' I said, `Yeah. I always
knew it was going to wind up in an institution.' And the Smithsonian got so
insulted, they sent it back.

GROSS: Oh. Oh. So where is the jacket now?

Mr. MANILOW: Oh, it lives in my offices in Los Angeles, and it's still as
silly as it ever was, but now it has a little bit more meaning for me.

GROSS: What are some of your favorite things from the very early part of your
career when you were just taking off or, you know, from the '70s or early
'80s, things that are either in your closets or on your walls?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, I have these platform shoes that we all wore, and I made a
planter out of them.

GROSS: That's perfect. And where do you keep it?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, I don't know. Where do I keep it? I think I keep it in
my studios.

GROSS: What kind of plant...

Mr. MANILOW: It's just a reminder of what never to do again.

GROSS: That's very good. How do you dress now on stage?

Mr. MANILOW: Oh, well, I'm very dapper now. You know, I just wear, like,
clothes and there's no costumes anymore. I mean, are people wearing costumes?
God, I don't know. You know, I see people on stage wearing sweat suits or
something. You know, I can't go as far as that.

GROSS: Now I have a question for you, and I know you're asked this a lot, but
has it bothered you that although you've had this huge success over the years,
there's also been people, you know, listeners and some critics who, like, use
the word `syrupy' to describe your music? And, you know, you've been the butt
of jokes in some articles and other places. Is that difficult to handle?
Does it bug you?

Mr. MANILOW: Now and again it does. I'm, you know, human, so, yeah, it does.
You know, I go into self-pity for a while and I pull the covers over my head,
like any human being would do. But it never really stopped me, mostly because
I believe in what I do. I listen to these songs, you know, trying to get the
feeling, "This One's For You" and "When October Goes" and I say, `Well, I like
them. I think they sound great.' And, you know, my band likes them, and the
audiences like them. And so I just keep going. I just keep doing what I love
doing and hope that there's an audience out there for it.

And I was always surprised at the critics when they felt they needed to be so
mean-spirited in their opinions to somebody that they'd never even met. But I
forgave them, the little creeps, for making my life miserable all those years.
But, you know, the best revenge is, like I said before, you know, I continue
to get the opportunity to make music, to make the music that I love to make.
And so that's really the best revenge.

GROSS: Are you still self-conscious when you're performing?

Mr. MANILOW: No, not anymore. Not anymore. I am a sex god now. And I
accept it. I have accepted the fact that I am a sex god and...

GROSS: Have women ever thrown panties at you and done that whole bit?

Mr. MANILOW: Only once. Only once. And I thought maybe she was asking me to
take it out to the laundry, you know? But...

GROSS: Where was this?

Mr. MANILOW: It was in Vegas. Where else would they do that?

GROSS: Exactly. Right.

Mr. MANILOW: And so--but, no, they usually throw--they don't throw very much
things at me. You know, little soft teddy bears and roses and stuff. It's
always very nice. No, I'm very comfortable on the stage these days, much more
comfortable than I ever thought I would ever be. And it hit around, I would
say, 10, 11, 12 years ago when I finally accepted that this was not going to
stop, this was not going to go away, it seemed to be getting bigger and I had
better learn how to make myself comfortable on that stage or else I was going
to be a very miserable old man.

GROSS: Right.

Mr. MANILOW: And I took acting classes.

GROSS: Oh.

Mr. MANILOW: Took acting classes from a brilliant acting teacher and actress
named Nina Foch, F-O-C-H. She was, and is, one of the great, great actresses
of her time, in the '40s, and still works a lot. And when I started taking
acting lessons, it was the first time I realized that what I was doing--there
were rules for what I was doing. For those first, I'd say, 10 years, I was
meandering around the stage trying to crawl into a lyric as honestly as I
could, but because I'd never thought about actions and motivations and reasons
for singing or reasons for moving on a stage, it always felt so unsafe to me,
because I didn't know where I was, I didn't know why I was doing it.

As soon as I began to take acting lessons--not that I'm a great actor, but I
was able to learn the rules of acting. You break down a script. You don't
walk unless you have a reason to walk. You don't speak unless you know who
you're speaking to. These were the rules that--I mean, I guess other
performers know how to do that. I didn't. I was just flying by the seat of
my pants, and luckily the audiences liked it, and again, because I had the
music to rely on, and I was pretty good at that, I was able to get through it.
But emotionally I was a wreck every night because I had no rules. I was out
of control.

As soon as I finished taking acting classes, or in the middle of it, I began
to learn the rules of what you do when you're on a stage. And it was the
thing that saved my life as a performer.

GROSS: Now did it help you figure out how to inhabit a song when you were
singing it, how to kind of give the impression of sadness if you were singing
a sad song or exuberance if you were singing "Daybreak"?

Mr. MANILOW: Well, you know as an actor I put my imaginary partner out in
front of me and I sing even now to her, or to my grandfather or to whoever,
you know, happens to come to my mind at that moment. And the audience doesn't
need to necessarily know that, but they know something. They know that I'm
connecting with somebody, and I think it makes the performances much more
powerful than if I was closing my eyes and, you know, doodling the song, as so
many performers do these days. I think, you know, the difference between an
actor and a singer is you open your eyes.

DAVIES: Barry Manilow speaking with Terry Gross in 2002. His new live CD set
is called "Two Nights Live." There's also a new DVD of his live performances
called "Ultimate Manilow."

Coming up, David Edelstein on "Man on Fire" with Denzel Washington and
Hollywood's growing crop of revenge films. This is FRESH AIR.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Review: Denzel Washington's "Man on Fire" is another revenge
movie
DAVE DAVIES, host:

In the new thriller "Man on Fire," Denzel Washington plays a drunken
government assassin who tries to restart his life as a bodyguard for the
daughter of a wealthy family in Mexico City. But the relationship is
short-lived, and Washington ends up torturing and killing everyone who crossed
him. Yes, it's another revenge movie. And film critic David Edelstein has
had just about enough.

DAVID EDELSTEIN reporting:

Once again, payback dominates the box office. Last week, it was "Kill Bill:
Volume 2" and "The Punisher." Now comes "Man on Fire" with Denzel Washington,
which makes "The Punisher" look like Shakespeare.

I've always been of two minds about revenge movies. As a critic, I get
downright moralistic about the ways they make their audiences drool for blood,
yet I admit I keep going to them. I'm the perfect vengeance maven. I'm angry
at injustice, enraged by my own powerlessness, and addicted to scenarios of
injury followed by holy retribution. It worries me how in touch I am with the
punisher in myself, wanting the child molester to take a shiv in prison; or,
at the other extreme, to beat up the guy who cuts in front of me in line.
It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. And this is a genre that caters to that
madness and even, I feel certain, reinforces it.

It's important to say that humans have always gone for tit-for-tat scenarios.
One of our earliest epics, "The Odyssey," closes with bloody retribution. And
that's for people merely lusting after the hero's wife when they thought he
was dead, not for doing anything.

The Jacobeans made a specialty of celebrating bloodthirsty Machiavellian
revengers, but I think even they would blanch at the hero of "Man on Fire."
Denzel Washington is Creasy, the alcoholic bodyguard of a little girl in
Mexico played by blond moppet Dakota Fanning, who's kidnapped, held for
ransom, then--well, some bad things happen.

The Bible-toting Creasy doesn't turn the other cheek. He goes on a punishment
spree that's sexed up by the director, Tony Scott, who's like an old white guy
trying to be a rap master, zooming in and out, mixing film stocks,
superimposing shrieking victims, making even the subtitles dance.

In the early '60s, it was shocking when 007 had `license to kill.' Now the
hero has license to torture first. He cuts off fingers one by one, he shreds
ears. He gets his info and pulls the trigger anyway. His friend, played by
Christopher Walken, tells a sympathetic inspector he'll deliver more justice
in a weekend than 10 years of your courts and tribunals.

Creasy's art is death. He's about to paint his masterpiece. And then Creasy,
the impassive avenging angel, has a banner vigilante line. `Forgiveness is
between them and God. It's my job to arrange the meeting.' In this scene, he
stuffs a time bomb up the rectum of a corrupt police official who expects his
confession to get him off.

(Soundbite of "Man on Fire")

Unidentified Man: I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for the girl. It was just
business. You know, I'm a professional.

Mr. DENZEL WASHINGTON: (As Creasy) That's what everybody keeps saying. `I'm
just a professional.' Everybody keeps saying that to me. `I'm just a
professional, I'm just a professional.' I'm getting sick and tired of hearing
that, you understand me?

Unidentified Man: What are you going to do now?

Mr. WASHINGTON: (As Creasy) What am I going to do? I'm going to leave. I go
to go.

Unidentified Man: Yeah. Go? Go?

Mr. WASHINGTON: (As Creasy) Yeah, I got...

Unidentified Man: Come on, come on. What about me?

Mr. WASHINGTON: (As Creasy) What about you? You got 40 seconds.
Forty-five.

Unidentified Man: A last wish, please, please. Please.

Mr. WASHINGTON: (As Creasy) Last wish? I wish you had more time.

Unidentified Man: Hey. Hey, hey.

(Soundbite of beeping noise, explosion)

EDELSTEIN: Ka-boom! I'd love to keep summarizing the horrors of "Man on
Fire," but it would be more helpful to mention movies, all of them on DVD,
that give you the kick of a vengeance scenario and something else--a view of
the avenger that's tragic or at least double-edged.

In John Ford's "The Searchers," the motives of its obsessed protagonist,
played by John Wayne, become more and more questionable, until he's on the
verge of executing the niece whom he's rescued from the Comanches. And then
he becomes the movie's racist villain.

"Taxi Driver" was inspired by "The Searchers" and also the life of would-be
George Wallace assassin Arthur Bremer. And that even more thoroughly blurs
the line between heroism and sociopathic obsession.

In "The Limey," a father's similarly ferocious hunt for the killer of his
daughter ends when he learns that the ultimate responsibility for her death
was his.

"In the Bedroom" features a climactic act of revenge by the mild, humane
protagonist that clearly violates his own nature and effectively ends his
life.

Then, of course, there's the ultimate conflicted avenger work, "Hamlet,"
especially the inspired modern take by Michael Almereyda, whom, I should
mention, is a friend. In this version, Ethan Hawke recites `to be or not to
be' while pacing the action aisles of a Blockbuster video store, his
irresolution mocked by rows of revenge pictures.

Quentin Tarantino has said that a "Kill Bill: Volume 3" will have as its
heroine the grown daughter of Vernita Green, who watched The Bride kill her
mother at the start of "Volume 1" and now wants justice. That's a great idea,
because it dramatizes the way that even righteous avengers set in motion blood
feuds that victimize innocents and span generations. It's payback that pays
you back.

DAVIES: David Edelstein is film critic for the online magazine Slate.

(Soundbite of song)

Mr. LOUIS JORDAN: (Singing) I'll be glad when you're dead, you rascal,
you. I'll be glad when you're dead, you rascal, you. You know you done me
wrong, you stole my wife and gone. I'll be glad when you're dead, you
rascal, you.

Mr. LOUIS ARMSTRONG: Talk about it, Jordan. Talk about it.

Mr. JORDAN: (Singing) I'm going to kill you just for fun, you rascal, you.
I'm going to kill you just for fun, you rascal, you. I'm going to kill you
just for fun, the bugs can have you when I'm done. I'll be glad when you're
dad, you rascal, you.

Mr. ARMSTRONG: Ah, let me talk about him a while.

(Singing) You asked my wife for some cabbage, you dog.

DAVIES: That's Louis Armstrong with Louis Jordan.

(Credits)

DAVIES: For Terry Gross, I'm Dave Davies.

(Soundbite of song)

Mr. ARMSTRONG: (Singing) ...you rascal, you.

Mr. JORDAN: Run, Satch.

Mr. ARMSTRONG: (Singing) There ain't no use in running, you rascal, you.

Mr. JORDAN: Catch up with him, catch up with him.

Mr. ARMSTRONG: (Singing) You know, it's easy to run...
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