My oldest friend is in the grips of Fanilow Fever. As she approaches her 50th birthday, her obsession with Barry Manilow keeps growing and growing. As her friend, I try to listen without screaming as she tells me about what a wonderful showman he is, what a terrific performer he is, the good works his Foundation (which, I suspect, is aka "tax write-off") does, how much he loves his fans, etc.
What makes this bearable is that she's going through a rough patch. As if menopause and turning 50 aren't enough, her exhusband is engaged with a wedding date set, while my friend is involved with a nice man but one she believes wouldn't notice if she was dead for three days, her grade school aged daughter has attention deficit disorder, her high school aged son is dealing with a car and a job and plummeting grades, she has money problems and no real plan for getting out of them ... If she takes refuge in sappy music made by a completely non-threatening man who reminds her of a simpler time, then what the hell. The fever will break and she'll be fine again. And it's not like I haven't put her through some changes since we became friends in 1964. Previous entries to this very blog reveal that I can travel to some pretty dark places, too, and she's there for me.
But it's the other fanilows that I've been exposed to who make my teeth hurt because they indulge in reality only infrequently. They actually think he's the greatest artist ever. No, really. They think that his cover versions of ballads are better than the originals, by such lightweights as Sinatra, Elvis and the Beatles.
They also insist Stephen Colbert hasn't been making fun of their hero since the Emmys. They don't understand Colbert and the right wing commentators he's parodying because they don't feel entertainers should use their "God given talent to foist their political beliefs on us," so they aren't regular viewers. My friend isn't, either. I keep trying to tell her she doesn't want to watch Manilow's appearance on the Colbert Report, even if she can get a tape. She tells me I must be wrong, that all the Fanilows believe he was funny and held his own. Okeedokee.
These same Fanilows maintain that Barry Manilow is "the epitome of class." Why would I question their judgement? Not only does he perform old Bobby Vinton songs while wearing a velour (or is it velvet) jacket, his website is also the Tiffany's of memorabilia. In addition to the bobblehead shown, there are Manilow nightshirts and jockey shorts. No, really. And this stuff is pretty pricey, considering it's akin to what you would expect to pick up at the Wisconsin Dells.
To help you with your Christmas shopping: http://www.starz.bz/barrymanilow/index.cfm
