About the song

There are songs that feel like slow sunsets, and there are songs that feel like sudden rainstorms—unexpected, electric, and full of motion. Cloudburst by Barry Manilow belongs to the latter: a burst of energy wrapped in Manilow’s unmistakable theatrical flair, carrying the vibrant spirit of earlier jazz-pop eras while still glowing with his signature warmth.

From the opening moments, the song rushes in like a sky shifting from calm to storm. You can almost imagine a busy city street in the 1950s—neon signs flickering, cars gliding through puddles, people ducking under awnings as the rain starts to fall. There’s a lively, big-band heartbeat to Cloudburst, but what makes it cinematic is Manilow’s delivery: playful, bright, full of color, as though he’s narrating the scene with a wink in his voice.

His vocals carry a joyful nostalgia, the kind that feels like flipping through an old vinyl collection and stumbling on a track that instantly lights up the room. Manilow doesn’t just sing the notes—he performs them. You can hear the sparkle, the swing, the little bursts of excitement between the lines. It’s the sound of a singer who grew up loving spotlight warmth and orchestra glow, bringing that golden-era energy into a modern moment.

Each lyric feels like a quick cut in a lively film montage—rain-splashed sidewalks, a couple spinning under a streetlamp, a hurried dash through a storm that somehow turns into laughter. It’s a song that celebrates motion, joy, and that delightful rush when emotions come pouring in all at once, like a sudden cloudburst that drenches you before you can decide whether to run or dance in it.

And beneath its playful surface, there’s that unmistakable Manilow charm: the sense that even in the chaos, even in the storm, there’s music worth chasing. Cloudburst doesn’t just entertain—it invites you into a world where life’s unpredictable moments turn into rhythm, where rain becomes melody, and where joy arrives not quietly, but in a rush of bright, cinematic sound.

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