 September 26, 1999 |
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September 26, 1999 |
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Barry Manilow made an
office administrator from Antioch named Vickie Molina a very happy woman Sunday
night in San Jose. During a nice jazzy version of "Can't Smile Without You," he spotted her from the back of the floor seating at the San Jose Arena, and called her up to join him in a duet on the song. She told him she'd seen him 13 times, including the previous night in Concord, and said it was her birthday. He sang "Happy Birthday" before they launched into a full-blown chorus of "Can't Smile." At one point, he hopped onto his grand piano, and threw his arms a round her from behind, while they bouncily swayed to the tune. Vickie sounded pretty good, Manilow told her so, and sent her swooning back to her seat. Seconds later, he conjured up a video of the sequence and signed it. "Isn't he the nicest guy?" he said to the audience. Yes, he is, and that's the reason why Manilow has so many fans just like Vickie _ people who unabashedly love the singer/songwriter, who, despite his megahits, has always been seriously uncool. That's his appeal, and, for the most part, he knows it. Even before he appeared on stage, a taped hip-hoppy introduction included a sound bite that said, "I'm proud to say it _ I'm the biggest Barry Manilow fan in America." Being an underdog, unsure of yourself, failing in romance and unafraid to emote freely _ those are the things that make Manilow great, and they're the things he stressed in his two-hour show that was packed with hits done in fully orchestrated arrangements about which he was clearly excited. No one can do a power ballad like Barry _ he practically defined the genre _ and on Sunday he performed his chart toppers his classic way. He began, sitting at the piano, then built each song into its lush, inevitable heartbreaking crescendo. Two-thirds through, he let his band take over keyboard duties while he stood up and faced the crowd for the big finish. Ladies in the crowd were thrilled with perfect versions of "Somewhere In the Night," "Trying To Get the Feeling," "Even Now," "Mandy," "This One's For You" and "Weekend In New England." He's less known for his up tempo numbers, but he pulled out a few fairly obscure oldies from the red album ("Trying To Get The Feeling") that also sounded great with the big orchestra: "Bandstand Boogie," his ode to television's American Bandstand and "New York City Rhythm," a Latin-flavored homage to his hometown that included a competitive piano jam between Manilow and his two keyboard players. Later on, after he sang the equally Latin "Copacabana," he said, "Eat your heart out, Ricky Martin." It's clear that Ricky has nothing to worry about, because, once again, the reason people love Barry is because he's not like Ricky. In fact, the only unsatisfying part of Manilow's show was a too-long tribute to Frank Sinatra. Even though we might believe that he sang the songs not to plug his new album, but "to say goodbye and thank you to a guy who gave (the world) a style of music we'll never see again," the segment just didn't work because Manilow's about the exact opposite of Ol' Blue Eyes. Frank is cool. Barry is warm. Manilow was OK on the standards "Saturday Night" and "All The Way," and to a lesser extent, on "You Make Me Feel So Young." His own song, "When October Goes," with lyrics by Johnny Mercer, was the best tune in the group. But "That's Life" _ no can do, Barry. You don't have the right attitude. Manilow's best in his Everyman mode. Perhaps the show's highlight was the quieter tune, "All The Time," a song from the "This One's For You" album that never was a hit, but is the favorite of a lot of Manilow fans. He introduced it, saying "misfits aren't misfits around other misfits." He sang it sitting on some steps that led from the stage to the floor. Another highlight was "Daybreak," not generally one of Manilow's better songs, but this version, with Manilow accompanying himself on accordion, was fun. Again relying on the underdog theme, Manilow reveled in the fact the first instrument he ever played is truly unhip. His encore, of course, was "I Write the Songs." It's a song he didn't write, and through the years, he's been candid about saying how uncomfortable he's felt singing it, how he didn't want people to take it the wrong way. He called it "a tribute to the spirit of music." And his fans, after sustaining for 25 years the indignities of loving the sweetest geek in the ever-cruel world of pop music, believed him. You can reach Leslie Katz by e-mail at lkatz@angnewspapers.com or by phone at (925) 416-4812. |