In 1978, Barry Manilow stood at the top of the music world. With chart-topping singles like Mandy, Weekend in New England, and Can’t Smile Without You, he had become a household name — beloved for his heartfelt melodies and romantic lyrics. His albums flew off the shelves at record pace: over 10 million copies sold in just 18 months. He filled stadiums, headlined television specials, and received standing ovations night after night.
But just as quickly as the applause rang out, the critics sharpened their knives.
Nowhere was the backlash more brutal than in Rolling Stone magazine, which labeled Manilow as “the man who turned sentimentality into an industry.” The phrase stuck — not because it was fair, but because it captured the growing tension between critical snobbery and commercial adoration. While millions found comfort in his lyrics, some saw his music as saccharine, overly polished, and devoid of “edge.”
“They made it sound like caring was a weakness,” Manilow later said in an interview.
“But that’s who I was. I wrote what I felt — and people connected with it.”
Indeed, connection was always the heart of Manilow’s music. He wasn’t chasing trends or trying to out-cool the rock elite. Instead, he leaned unapologetically into emotion — a move that made him vulnerable in the public eye but deeply resonant with fans around the world. He once famously said:
“I write the songs that make the whole world sing — and I’m not embarrassed by that.”
Yet in 1978, with disco exploding and punk on the rise, sentiment was suddenly out of style. In this climate, Manilow’s sincerity was interpreted not as artistic bravery but as commercial calculation. The music elite dismissed him as formulaic, even manipulative — using soft piano chords and swelling strings to trigger easy tears.
What many critics missed, however, was that Barry Manilow was also a brilliant composer, arranger, and producer. He had formal training in music and an instinct for melody that few could match. He didn’t just perform — he built songs from the ground up, often blending elements of Broadway, jazz, and pop in innovative ways. Despite the criticism, he maintained creative control over his work, even as the hits piled up.
The backlash hurt, but it never derailed him. In fact, it may have fueled him.
“I stopped reading reviews,” he once said.
“I started listening more to the people in the front row — because they were singing along.”
Today, decades later, Barry Manilow’s legacy is far from defined by a single line in a magazine. He’s sold over 85 million records, earned a Grammy, a Tony, and an Emmy, and been inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame. His influence spans generations, and his songs remain staples of love, loss, and longing.
If sentimentality truly became an industry, it’s because Barry Manilow proved that millions of people were craving sincerity — and he had the courage to give it to them.