Barry Manilow was at the top of his game when I began assisting chief engineer Michael DeLugg at Media on what would become numerous Manilow records. Prior to each session, I’d ride my bicycle (my main means of transportation) straight into studio A where I’d park it in the microphone closet. One day, proud to have finally afforded the Kryptonite bike lock, I showed it to Manilow. “Let me see that,” he said swiping it from my hand. Before I could say anything, he promptly bent the thing out of shape and then casually handed it back to me. I stood there in total disbelief and silence knowing that if I complained, I might be kicked off the project. As it turned out, working with Manilow and his producer Ron Dante (the voice of all the Archie’s cartoon characters) was a great learning experience.

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There were no sessions more ‘professional’ in approach than those of Barry Manilow’s. Both Manilow and Dante were trained musicians with successful backgrounds in the jingle business. This team worked closely together collaborating and discussing everything from choice of songs to instrumentation and they always hired the most experienced arrangers who in turn employed the best of Rock’s Invisible Elite.  Indisputably, Manilow and Dante were top hit makers of the seventies.

 

As with all ‘professional’ recordings, after basic tracks were cut and ‘sweetened’ with horns, strings and percussion, background vocals were added. Sometimes a group of female singers called Lady Flash would execute the parts.  More often, though, Manilow and Dante would team up and record multiple layers of their own harmonies.

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When it was time for Manilow’s lead voice to be recorded, I’d set-up a music stand and a Neumann U87 microphone, headphones, and a stool, and then I’d turn the lights to black and leave for home. Manilow didn’t like anyone around when he was recording his lead vocals. However, on rare occasions I got to witness the ‘magic’ of Manilow’s lead performances. He would do about four passes of one song from which Dante would compile a single vocal.

 

From time to time, the president of Arista Records, Clive Davis, appeared to offer his opinion. One night, right after Dante got the perfect piano vocal performance out of Manilow, Davis came by and told them to do it again only one notch faster. Both takes were superb and practically indistinguishable from each other, but Davis insisted on using the faster one.  

 

It was all part of the Manilow blueprint for the snare drum to become more and more explosive by the end of a song and for most of his songs to modulate up a key. One time, Davis wanted the entire modulation section redone. This meant all the musicians including the harpist had to come back into the studio at double pay just to recut their parts a step up. It was an expense that only an artist like Manilow could afford. And then, of course, Delugg had to edit it all together, which he did seamlessly.

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When Dante and Manilow decided to produce a cabaret singer named Helen Schneider, I was chosen to assist. They used the exact same formula to record Schneider complete with well-crafted songs charted by professional arrangers and played by elite musicians. One night with Schneider out of ear shot, Manilow leaned over and in all seriousness asked Dante if he thought there was any chance that Schneider might marry him. Dante seemed bemused by the question but answered affirmatively. It appeared Manilow had a genuine crush on Schneider and it made perfect sense that he’d want to marry another singer, especially a cabaret singer. He hid his homosexuality well. Perhaps the marriage would have only been a ploy to keep the truth from his mostly female fan base.  

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When it came time to decide which Barry Manilow song JanTuran would re-imagine, I contacted a former personal assistant of Dante’s and asked, “What’s your favorite Manilow song?” She said, ‘All The Time’.