I discovered Neil Diamond when I was 13. Walking from class to class, I turned on my Walkman and listened to a variety of music from the ’60s. And I know that somewhere in that mix were my first Diamond songs such as “Cracklin’ Rosie,” “Sweet Caroline,” “Cherry, Cherry” and “Solitary Man.”
But I wasn’t fully aware of his genius and his marvelous interpretation — even of songs he didn’t write — until I heard “September Morn.” The honesty and pleading in the lyrics were powerful, and the chorus soared in my mind with emotion. I knew it would be one of those songs that I could hear over and over again and not get tired of.
Diamond’s songs are like a catalog of human emotion, which you can pick and choose from at random. You can hear every emotion in Diamond’s music — inner turmoil, lost love, mourning, disdain and the joy of being alive or being in love. It’s all in his music and it’s all an amazing listening experience.
Perhaps the most notable thing in Diamond’s songs is his voice — scratchy and spirited. It sounds like a real voice, not one that’s been through a million synthesizers, but one that feels every word it sings. He can go high and make the song soar, or he can go low and touch the bottom of his emotions, bringing you along for the ride.
And that’s because that’s exactly what Diamond does in his music — he tells you how he’s feeling and he does so without shame. His songs are so honest that it’s almost as if he’s talking and not singing.
Take “I Am . . . I said.” The lyrics go, “I am I said / to no one there / and no one heard at all / not even the chair.” Knowing who you are is great, but it’s not worth anything if you’re lonely, and if you don’t know where you belong. In “Beautiful Noise,” he sings about the rhythms around us — the clack of a train, the sounds of kids in a park and the “fury” in the sounds of the cars and the “romance / in the way that they dance / to the beat of the lights.”
“Love on the Rocks” is the cry of a man who’s in misery because the person he gave his heart to left him. Listening to them, you feel instinctively that no one can sing these songs like Diamond. He has his own brand of emotion in lyrics.
Diamond’s music isn’t limited to those who knew his music in the ’60s and ’70s. After Eddie Murphy sang “I’m a Believer” in “Shrek,” children across the country were singing along to Diamond’s catchy tune, which he wrote, but was originally recorded by The Monkees in 1966. It proves Diamond’s universal appeal. No matter how old you are or what you are feeling, there is a Diamond song for you.
Listening to Diamond, you’re listening to a great musician. Wherever you are — at a party, alone in your room or taking a long drive — his music feels right.
