The old man is back.
No, not Wilford Brimley. Neil Diamond. And with him comes his 29th studio recording, "Home Before Dark." Twenty-nine records is quite a feat considering the vast odds of succeeding in an industry evermore glutted with songwriters and musicians.
The possession of talent need not enter conversation about the Brooklyn native who after four decades in the music industry has sold more than 115 million records worldwide. However, from this writer's perspective, you either love Neil Diamond or you hate Neil Diamond. There is no middle ground.
I tend to fall in the latter category, as does my wife to the nth degree. But there is a caveat: I have to acknowledge the catchiness of his songs. His are the songs that stay in your head all day and which, hard as you may try, are unable to shake - like a cold. If someone in your office starts whistling, "Sweet Caroline," "Heartlight," "I Am...I Said," "Forever in Blue Jeans," "America," "Hello Again" or God forbid, "You Don't Bring Me Flowers," rest assured, you'll be brushing your teeth to its beat as you get ready for bed. The songs are that invasive, that intrusive.
They're corny, too. They're perfect grist for parody. For example, if on a given weekend my wife decides to sleep in a bit, I may come into the bedroom and burst into a rendition of "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" only I might sing: "You Won't Make Me Waffles." I might come home from a day's work, throwing open the front door singing, "Hello again, hello!" And if I think my wife is being a little too harsh by hanging up on a telemarketer, I might look at her with all seriousness and say, "Dear," then erupt into "Turn on your heartlight...." It's really fun, you should try it.
But you have to try it with older material. The new stuff has only fragments of the sparkle that adorn his hits from the 1960s, '70s and '80s. Even Midas-touch producer Rick Rubin, who successfully applied the defib paddles to Diamond's career with 2005's duet-packed "12 Songs," can't elevate the pathos on this CD. The only bright spot is hearing Dixie Chick Natalie Maines' signature voice soar and weave through an otherwise humdrum melody on "Another Day [That Time Forgot]." The rest of it is spare banality soaked in desperation.
Diamond's prime was maybe 30 years ago when he was shoehorned into the Brill Building with other writers (Carol King, Neil Sedaka) who cranked out hits for other people. And just like The Who, Paul McCartney and others, he continues to write music and tour. The pessimistic may say, "it's just for the bucks." But music is the lifeblood of these icons, though they're several pints short these days. Can you imagine Pete Townsend bagging groceries at Safeway? Managing, maybe. But not bagging. Same with Diamond. Music is what he has done for more than 40 years. It's his job. It's just that eventually, all that genuine glory does become nostalgia and nothing else.
Yet the man has legions of fans. Legions of them. And they'll surely be thrilled that he's coming to Seattle, possibly sporting that ludicrous sequin jacket, to say, "Hello again."
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