INTRODUCTION
The humid air of a 1960s Brooklyn apartment often carried the rhythmic weight of a young man’s obsession, a sound that competed with the soft domesticity of a new marriage. For Barry Manilow—then still operating under the shadow of his birth name, Pincus—the piano was not merely an instrument, but a demanding mistress that required total allegiance. In a rare and reflective moment as he enters his 2026 season of performance, the eighty-two-year-old maestro has addressed the profound bifurcation of his youth. The admission is stark: at twenty-two, the architect of the modern American ballad was “not ready” for the static comfort of a traditional family, choosing instead a solitary, meteoric climb toward artistic immortality.
THE DETAILED STORY

The narrative of Barry Manilow is often framed by the glitter of the Las Vegas Strip, yet its foundation was poured in the compromise and clarity of his early twenties. His brief marriage to high school sweetheart Susan Deixler in 1964 represents the final moment of a conventional life before his total immersion into the industry. While contemporaries sought the stability of the suburban dream, Manilow describes a period of intense intellectual and creative restlessness. He was a young man possessed by a “musical quest,” a drive so singular that the responsibilities of being a husband felt like a restriction on a destiny he could sense but not yet fully articulate.
This admission of being “too immature” for family life at the time adds a layer of poignant nuance to his 2026 single and music video, “Once Before I Go.” In the visual narrative, Manilow explores the character of a performer who trades the warmth of a dinner table for the sterile brilliance of the spotlight. It is a meticulous examination of the trade-offs required to build a multi-billion dollar legacy. The USD ($) value of his career is astronomical, with over 85 million albums sold, yet the personal cost of that initial divergence in 1965 remains a central theme in his elder statesmanship.

Today, Manilow views that decision not with regret, but with a sophisticated sense of inevitability. He acknowledges that the “showman” required a level of focus that a domestic partnership could not then sustain. This transparency resonates deeply with a modern audience that values the authenticity of an artist’s journey. By reconciling with his twenty-two-year-old self, Manilow demonstrates that his greatest hit was never a song, but the courage to follow a path that felt as certain as the sunrise. The silence of that early Brooklyn apartment was the necessary prerequisite for the thunderous applause that has followed him for six decades.
