We Have Become Our Parents!
They said it would eventually happen, but I didn't believe them. Then again, perhaps it was inevitable after all. I've been living with this Neil Diamond CD for a while now, and it forces me to recognize the truth; I have officially turned into my parents. I can remember the seventies fairly well. While I was listening to Alice Cooper records in my room, my mom and dad would occasionally play their music on the living room stereo. This usually consisted of Jerry Vale, Andy Williams, Engelbert Humperdinck, and Neil Diamond albums. They played them so often that I grew to memorize some of the songs, against my own will. I particularly remember his live album, "Hot August Night," a bombastic thing that was simultaneously ridiculous and undeniable. I can easily envision my parents hanging out with the neighbors, drinking martinis and eating cheese and crackers while Neil Diamond exhorted them to "Play Me." I didn't necessarily want to hear it, but I liked it anyway.
For the thirty some-odd years since then, I had no good reason to look back. In my mind, Diamond's music grew cornier and much less bearable. I loved his old hits, like "I Am, I Said" and "Solitary Man," but his `newer' stuff said nothing to me. "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" and "Heartlight" struck me as ridiculously mopey, overwrought concoctions that offered nothing to the generations coming of age on Led Zeppelin and the Clash. His appearance on `The Last Waltz' was something of an anomaly, because in reality, his appeal laid squarely with my parent's generation. My mom's friend owned a copy of "The Jazz Singer," but I hated it. For obvious reasons, I figured my days as a Neil Diamond fan were officially over.
Then, out of the blue, thirty years after I dismissed Neil Diamond as irrelevant, he launched a musical relationship with producer Rick Rubin. It seems that Rubin must have had a charismatic pull on Diamond's creativity, because everything seemed to change. Suddenly, Diamond was writing good material again that spoke to me, and the production was sparse enough to let the songs speak for themselves. "Home After Dark" is Diamond's second album with Rick Rubin holding the reins, and it is flat-out brilliant. "If I Don't See You Again" opens the collection, and it literally gives me chills. Diamond rambles for seven full minutes through at least five verses that stun me with the power of his straightforward presentation and blatant honesty.
Honesty is a key word when describing "Home Before Dark." For the first time in decades, Diamond sounds grounded and believable, as if he is finally singing about things that matter to him. "Pretty Amazing Grace" is a gorgeously wrought love song, while "Don't Go There" is essentially the opposite, offering a warning to a friend embarking on a usurious relationship. In either case, Diamond is full of emotion, utilizing clever wordplay instead of bombast to make his point. "Another Day" features Natalie Maines as his duet partner, and is the saddest of love songs, about a couple grown apart by time. The supple piano line weaves underneath Maines and Diamond as they lament the confusion of feeling attached yet alone. It's a truly beautiful construction, and it makes me realize that I love every single track on this album. Neil Diamond has come full circle, and is once again writing songs that really matter. In fact, I guess that we have all come full circle. I think I'm gonna invite my friends over for a few drinks and turn them on to "Home Before Dark"... and with that, the transformation is complete. I'm downstairs listening to Neil Diamond records with my friends, while my kids sit behind their bedroom doors, texting friends and talking on their laptops. I am no longer in denial. I am my parents. A Tom Ryan
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