I blame my Aunty Mary.
It’s all her bloody fault.
When I was a kid – a wee, corruptible, EASY TO INFLUENCE kid – my Aunty Mary lent me an album which, I’ve come to realise, is to blame for the fact that I have absolutely no musical street cred whatsoever. I may be 35, but the legacy of that unfortunate album lingers on.
Yes. Thanks to my Aunty Mary, there are now 20 Barry Manilow songs on my iPod.
Alright, so maybe Take That made him a little bit cool when they released “Could It Be Magic”. And hopefully most people reading this already know that David Boreanaz’s Angel loved a bit of Barry during karaoke night. But he’s still BARRY MANILOW, and he’s still really sad, and I can’t believe I’m a fan. Not a big, must-have-every-album fan… just enough of a fan to know all his classics off by heart. Which is bad enough.
Then again, poor Barry does get a lot of stick when he’s actually quite a cool guy. Somewhere in my possession is a creaky old cassette tape containing one of his live shows, during which he tells the crowd, “How y’all doin’ up there at the back? You’re all so far away – I must look like a little singing, dancing nose!”
When I added the Manilow songs to my iPod I sent my Aunty Mary an accusatory text message.
“I still love him!” she replied. “Although his face has gone a bit funny nowadays.”
I have to say, she’s got a point…
… but I still love him. He writes the songs, you see.