About the song

There’s a quiet ache in Barry Manilow’s rendition of “I Can’t Get Started,” a standard that has lived through generations of hearts and heartbreaks. Originally written in the 1930s, this song has been sung by countless voices — but when Manilow touches it, something shifts. It becomes more personal, more vulnerable, as if he’s not just performing a classic tune but confessing a lifetime of unspoken truths.

From the very first line, you can feel that familiar Manilow tenderness — that ability to turn melody into memory. His phrasing carries the wistful charm of a man who’s achieved everything in life except the one thing that matters most: love. The lyric, “I’ve flown around the world in a plane,” suddenly feels heavier in his voice, as though success has become a bittersweet echo in the absence of connection.

Manilow came from an era that respected storytelling in music. Whether he was writing originals or interpreting the Great American Songbook, he always treated each song as a living story. In “I Can’t Get Started,” he channels that old-world elegance — the smoky intimacy of jazz clubs, the lingering sadness of 2 a.m. reflections, the way love used to hurt beautifully rather than loudly. His smooth, deliberate pacing invites the listener to lean in, to remember, to feel.

What makes this version special is not just his voice but his empathy. Manilow doesn’t just sing about longing — he becomes longing itself. You can almost see the soft light, the glass on the piano, the quiet sigh between verses. This isn’t a song for the young; it’s a song for those who’ve lived, lost, and learned that some loves stay unfinished, no matter how much time passes.

With “I Can’t Get Started,” Barry Manilow reminds us that elegance and emotion never go out of style — they simply grow deeper with age.

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