By admin 
Introduction
Barry Manilow at 80: A Life of Reinvention, Resilience, and Relentless Rhythm
At 80 years old, Barry Manilow stands at the edge of his Palm Springs pool, looking out over the Coachella Valley. His eight-bedroom hillside home feels serene, yet the man himself remains in motion—tapping his foot to an energetic Calvin Harris techno track pulsing from the speakers. The surprise? Manilow, the king of shimmering ballads, adores dance music. And even more surprising: he is in the middle of one of the most active chapters of his six-decade career.
Last September, he performed his 637th show at Las Vegas’ Westgate Resort, officially surpassing Elvis Presley’s record on that same stage. A month later, he sold out five nights at Radio City Music Hall—and plans to do it again in April. And this summer, he’ll return to London’s Palladium for what he calls his “last, last U.K. concerts.”
But live shows aren’t his only focus. After 25 years of development, Harmony—the musical he created with longtime collaborator Bruce Sussman—finally made its Broadway debut. It tells the true story of a Jewish vocal group rising to stardom in Berlin as the Nazi regime approached. And while conquering Vegas, New York, and Broadway, Manilow also placed another hit on the Billboard Adult Contemporary chart: his rendition of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas,” sitting comfortably above artists half his age.
He shakes his head at it all. “My family never made it past 74,” he jokes. “When I hit that number, I thought, ‘Well… this might be it.’ But here I am—still recording, still touring. When’s my body going to give up?”
According to Ken Thomas, his tour manager of 15 years, that moment seems distant. “He’ll perform until he physically can’t walk on stage. He’s never said it aloud, but we all know it,” Thomas says. “And he’s always right about the changes he makes—even the last-minute ones.”
That drive to improve never left him. Manilow admits the creative tinkering is the part he loves most—adjusting lighting, playing with arrangements, experimenting with visuals. “That’s the fun,” he says. “Performing? That’s the hard job. It looks joyful, and a part of it is. But it’s work.”
His routine reflects discipline. He trains every morning, carries an e-cigarette instead of the three packs of Pall Malls he once smoked, and eats sparingly—sometimes too sparingly. “Sometimes I tremble and think, ‘Maybe I should eat something,’” he laughs. He sleeps four hours a night, waking before dawn to “make trouble” for his husband and manager of 45 years, Garry Kief.
For a quarter century, the couple have lived full-time in Palm Springs, and Manilow is a beloved figure in town. His annual A Gift of Love concerts raise money for local charities, and he’s known to show up at local events—from choir performances to gay-bar sing-alongs—where he’s welcomed like family.
Still, fame was never his initial goal. Growing up in Brooklyn’s Williamsburg neighborhood, he dreamed of being an arranger and orchestrator—not the star at center stage. Before his breakthrough, he worked by day writing jingles (“Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there” earned him only $500) and by night played piano for aspiring belters. Then in 1971, everything changed when Bette Midler walked into his life.
They met at the infamous Continental Baths, a gay bathhouse turned nightclub where Midler began developing her Divine Miss M persona. She needed an accompanist; he needed a gig. Their chemistry was immediate. Midler remembers instantly recognizing his talent: “He could play anything, arrange anything, make anything funny or heartbreaking.”
Their act caught fire. Ahmet Ertegun of Atlantic Records signed Midler after seeing crowds dancing on tables. But tensions followed. Midler’s chosen producer sidelined Manilow, until he marched into Ertegun’s office with a live performance tape and insisted on a do-over. The result was The Divine Miss M, a double-platinum triumph that launched her career.
But success strained their partnership. When Manilow landed his own record deal, Midler panicked. “You can’t sing!” she told him. The fear was simple: she didn’t want to lose the person who helped shape her.
Their compromise gave Manilow space to grow. And although his first album didn’t take off, everything changed when Clive Davis entered the picture. Davis pushed him to record outside material—initially to Manilow’s horror—and suggested he try a U.K. song called “Brandy.” Renamed “Mandy” and re-arranged in Manilow’s dramatic style, it became his first No. 1 hit in 1975.
Dozens of classics followed: “Copacabana,” “Could It Be Magic,” “Even Now,” and “Weekend in New England,” along with covers that became definitive versions. In time, he sold over 85 million records and entered the Songwriters Hall of Fame.
Today, in his stage show, he duets with a projected image of his younger self. Watching that footage, he smiles. “I didn’t think I was cute back then. Now I look and think, ‘He wasn’t so bad.’”
For decades, he kept his private life hidden, fearing it would damage his career. He came out publicly in 2017, long after meeting Kief in 1978 and realizing, instantly, that he had found his partner for life.
Now, as he continues breaking records and selling out shows, Bette Midler reflects on their early years with tenderness. “We had so much fun,” she says, emotional. “I was mad when he left—I loved him, and I didn’t want to lose him. But I’m older now, and so is he. And I want him to know how proud I am of him. He never stopped. He never stopped giving.”