I am not embarrassed to admit that Carol and I recently joined thousands of other Fanilows at Radio City Music Hall. The line moved slowly. If there had been an AARP discount, 90% of us could have used it.
I found myself imagining a supergroup of singers over 80 — Willie Nelson, Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger — named Geezer.
We wondered why the concert was at 8:00. We could have started at 4:30.
Carol and Brett Younger
The senior citizen in front of me asked, “How is this better than a paper ticket?”
He seemed to believe the ticket taker invented bar codes.
His wife explained, “We’ve never had a ticket on our phone.”
Another music lover asked, “Where are the defibrillators?”
The line at the elevator was long. There were not enough rows for wheelchairs.
The ushers handed out glow sticks. They explained that we had to break the sticks to make them glow. Then they broke the sticks for us. A few grandchildren who had been lied to about how much they were going to like it were encouraged by the glow sticks. We hope that Somewhere in the Night they recognized a song they have heard in the grocery store.
Elderly women wore yellow feathers in their hair and a dress cut down to there. One carried a sign explaining, My name is Lola. (She was a showgirl. We wish we had seen someone with My name is Rico wearing a diamond.)
Security guards lined up across the front to stop grandmothers planning to rush the stage. They should have kept an eye on the man wearing the “Free Hugs” T-shirt unironically.
We were tryin’ to get the feelin’ again. Could it be magic? Would Mandy show up? You know he sent her away.
When Barry began by almost hitting the first notes of It’s a Miracle, we were concerned. Barry started out sounding like the 81-year-old he is. Out of mercy and affection, the crowd became a choir, and then, it was a miracle. Barry started sounding just like Barry Manilow. He dances like an octogenarian, but his voice sounds the same.
We clapped, cheered and waved our glow sticks. The bravest among us danced in the aisles. We could name every tune in one note. I knew the words to Weekend in New England before I had ever been to New England. When Barry sang This One’s for You, it was for us. The memories were thick. Even now we still remember and the feeling’s still the same.
Barry’s backup singers could be the granddaughters of Barry’s original backup singers. He made multiple costume changes, including a Nehru jacket that made him feel the need to say, “The only drug I take is Lipitor.” Neither Barry nor the people seated around me hit every note, but we loved singing together.
We know Barry Manilow is not cool, but neither are we. If you set your teenager’s ring tone to play I Write the Songs, the teenager will not be amused. Like his old fans, Barry made it through the rain. He survived mean-spirited reviews. Sometimes our sophisticated friends feel the need to poke fun at our musical taste.
Barry has kept singing the songs the whole world sings. He has gone from 8-tracks to the earbuds our children taught us how to use. As a teenager in the 1970s, I was cool enough to be an early fan of Bruce Springsteen, but I also was indiscriminating enough to hum Can’t Smile Without You while brushing my teeth.
Barry is a guilty pleasure that reminds us cool is overrated. We need to enjoy things that are not cool. Wear sandals over socks. Play Parcheesi. Play the accordion. Play the radio. Read the local newspaper. Watch the local news. Watch Everybody Loves Raymond. Eat pizza with a fork. Knit. Coupon. Do puzzles. Duolingo.
Vacation in flyover states. Compliment strangers. Learn a magic trick. Juggle. Write letters. Write poetry that only you like. Go bird watching. Clap when the plane lands.
For some, not much is less cool than going to church, so show up early for worship. Talk to visitors. Sing loud. Put a check in the offering plate. Listen to the sermon. Say Amen.
We feel old some days, but it could be daybreak if we want to believe.
Brett Younger serves as senior minister at Plymouth Church in Brooklyn, N.Y.