▶ Watch the full video at the end of the article.
For millions of people, Barbra Streisand walking onto a stage has always looked effortless. The lights rise, the orchestra begins, and that unmistakable voice seems to take control of the room before anyone has time to wonder what might be happening behind the curtain. But before one of the most unforgettable performances of her career, the reality was dramatically different. When Streisand prepared to return to formal concert performing at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve 1993, she was confronting a fear that had followed her for decades — the terrifying possibility that once she stepped into the spotlight, her mind might suddenly go blank.
The concert was monumental because Streisand had largely stayed away from formal live performances for 22 years. It was not because audiences had stopped wanting her. Quite the opposite. By then, she had conquered Broadway, records and Hollywood, accumulating the kind of achievements most entertainers could only imagine. The problem was that live performance offered something the perfectionist in Barbra could never control completely. A movie scene could be filmed again. A recording could be corrected. Onstage, there was nowhere to hide if something went wrong.
Years later, Streisand explained that the fear had roots going all the way back to Funny Girl. As her fame exploded in her early twenties, expectations became overwhelming. She remembered becoming physically sick before performances and entering therapy as anxiety grew around forgetting lyrics and disappointing audiences. Eventually, performing became associated not simply with excitement, but with dread.
That history was reportedly very much alive as she prepared for the enormous Las Vegas comeback. More than 13,000 people would be waiting inside the MGM Grand Garden Arena, backed by a 64-piece orchestra conducted by her longtime friend Marvin Hamlisch. The production had been designed not merely as a parade of hits but as something personal, using songs and stories to explore childhood dreams, relationships, family and the life behind the public image.
Before returning to the concert stage, Streisand had acknowledged something that once would have been almost impossible for her to accept.
“I cannot be perfect.”
That realization became crucial when the performance finally began. Streisand opened with “As If We Never Said Goodbye,” a song whose lyrics about fear, familiarity and returning to a place once abandoned seemed almost autobiographical. After two decades away, she was not simply singing about coming back. She was living it.
Then came the moment that could have confirmed every fear she had carried for years.
While performing “Evergreen,” Streisand forgot part of the lyrics to her own Oscar-winning song. Her startled expression was visible across the enormous arena screens. Decades earlier, such a mistake might have sent her deeper into panic. Instead, she smiled and joked with the audience.
“And it’s my own song.”
The audience laughed with her, not at her. Then Barbra continued.
In retrospect, that small mistake may have been one of the most important moments of the entire evening. The perfectionist discovered that imperfection did not destroy the connection between performer and audience. If anything, it made the moment warmer and more human. The woman people had placed on an almost impossible pedestal could forget a lyric, smile about it and still deliver a triumphant performance.
The concerts became an enormous success, and Streisand subsequently embarked on a 1994 tour. She later admitted that the anxiety had not magically disappeared. Before some performances, including in London, she listened to meditation tapes to keep herself from slipping into what she described as an “abyss of fear.” Eventually, however, she realized she could give audiences a great performance without being terrified every second she was onstage.
That revelation gives those performances a different meaning today. Audiences heard the legendary voice, but behind every note was a woman choosing to walk directly toward something that frightened her.
Barbra Streisand’s greatness was never simply that she could sound perfect. Perhaps one of her greatest victories was discovering that she did not have to be perfect at all — she only had to step through the curtain, face the fear, and sing.
