I Write The Songs

Don't laugh at Barry Manilow.

Carol just wrangled a Manilow best hits CD and it is magnificent.

Popped it in on the way to our weekly cribbage battle last night. Every week is another battle in the overall war that will end on August 30.

This is a tough crowd. We sit with weapons on the table. Six shooters, Uzi's, machetes, nooses, dynamite. Drink whiskey right from the bottle; usually go through 4 or 5 bottles in 2 hours. There is cursing and threats, occasional fisticuffs, but no death. Not yet.

I have lost every single battle and have no chance to win the war and yet I play with grim determination.

But that is a story for another place and time.

The first song on the CD is Mandy. Boom. I'm singing along by the second verse and Carol is trying to activate the ejector seat she had installed especially for me. (Between you and me - I disconnected it.)

We saw Mr. Manilow in concert many years ago. I don't remember when, I don't remember where, I don't remember if anybody was with us.

I do remember that we dug it.

Somewhere along the cribbage commute, "I Write The Songs" popped up. What a song.

"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."

What an ambitious topic to tackle. Writing a song from the perspective of music itself.

The concept fluffs my waffles. Music is everything. It soothes the savage human, makes us forget, encourages us to remember, makes us feel alive, accentuates our emotions, expresses things we cannot or do not want to express, amplifies things we feel and do want to express, to a spiritual level that gives wings to our souls.

I don't trust people who are not into music anymore than I trust people who don't love animals and children.

"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."

The whole world, baby. The whole world. You might not dig French rock 'n roll but the French do and your opinion doesn't matter.

I just YouTubed the song and watched and listened to Barry sing it in concert approximately 315 years ago.

The audience is fresh faced and clean cut, which is always frightening to me. Makes me wonder what the hell Carol and I looked like at the concert we attended.

Barry himself is wearing a pullover V-neck sweater, but, surprisingly, none of that gets in the way of the song.

The video is of an encore at this concert. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Every encore at every concert should be "I Write The Songs."

The crowd sways and their eyes are illuminated by the smiles on their faces. When he gets to the part where the tempo picks up - "Oh, my music makes you dance" - the crowd starts rocking out.

He gets back to business and ends the song in soaring majesty. Of course the audience sang the whole way through.

"My home lies deep within you, and I've got my own place in your soul, now when I look out through your eyes, I'm young again, even though I'm very old."

The same song can mean 100 different things to a hundred different people. Music is born again every time somebody listens.

Barry Manilow nailed this concept, he nails the song. Magnificent stuff.

Don't laugh at Barry Manilow until you give him a chance to make you cry.