THE PRUDE AND THE MANIAC: How a Shy “Mummy’s Boy” Tamed the Wildest Woman in Show Business

Introduction

It was a collision between a slide rule and a stick of dynamite.

To understand the cultural explosion that was the Bette Midler and Barry Manilow partnership, you have to understand that, legally speaking, these two human beings should not have occupied the same zip code, let alone the same stage.

Barry Manilow was the definition of “safe.” He was a tall, gangly, neurotic Jewish kid from Brooklyn who lived for structure. He was a creature of the conservatory—obsessed with perfect pitch, complex chord progressions, and musical theory. He was the guy who ironed his socks. He was the guy who wanted the world to make sense.

Bette Midler was the agent of chaos. She was “The Divine Miss M”—a red-headed tornado of vulgarity, camp, and raw, unpolished talent. She didn’t just sing songs; she mauled them. She performed in bathhouses, flashed audiences, and cracked jokes that would make a sailor blush. She thrived on improvisation and danger.

When they met, it was matter colliding with anti-matter.

The brilliance of their partnership wasn’t that they liked each other—it was that they fixed each other. Bette was pure, unadulterated electricity, but electricity without a conduit just starts a fire and burns out. She was all energy, no direction. She needed a container. Barry became that container.

Barry Manilow provided the “straitjacket” that Bette needed to become a superstar. He took her frantic, manic energy and forced it into a structure. He slowed down “Do You Want To Dance” from a rock track to a sultry ballad, forcing her to actually sing rather than shout. He orchestrated her chaos. He built a sonic cage so beautiful that the beast inside looked like a goddess.

Conversely, Bette did the one thing no one else could do for Barry: she terrified him into greatness. Barry was comfortable in the background, hiding behind his piano. Bette dragged him into the spotlight by the throat. Her wildness forced him to play louder, to arrange bolder, to stop being polite and start being emotional. She injected blood into his veins.

It is the ultimate paradox of pop psychology. The shy boy needed the wild girl to feel alive; the wild girl needed the square boy to keep her feet on the ground. Together, they were a perfect circle. Apart, they were just fragments. It is a testament to the fact that in art, comfort is the enemy. You don’t need a partner who is like you; you need a partner who scares the hell out of you.

Video: Barry Manilow – Jump Shout Boogie