Sweet Fenway night with Diamond
Neil Diamond, the old-fashioned showman, and Neil Diamond, the contemplative songwriter, teamed up over the weekend at Fenway Park for a concert that split the difference between the two.
Backed by his longtime band - a 15-piece behemoth brimming with horns and harmony singers, congas and keyboards - Diamond's concert was brassy, schmaltzy, and dated. It was also searching and rootsy and deep, and while the juxtapositions were sometimes striking, Diamond sold the whole package with a sense of real purpose and palpable joy.
Heart-sinking squareness ("Song Sung Blue") went toe-to-toe with pop perfection ("I'm a Believer"). Easy-listening oompah ("Beautiful Noise") sidled up to scrappy rock 'n' roll ("Thank the Lord for the Night Time"). Stripped-down meditations from Diamond's last two acoustic albums were fleshed out and plumped up, not necessarily to flattering effect, so that they would fit more neatly alongside the spirited, strident selections. Considering the sharp contrasts built into Diamond's vast repertoire, and the fact that some 40 years in he has circled back to his acoustic roots, it's a shame he didn't risk an unplugged mini-set, just a man and his guitar, which would have been a poignant window on his creative arc.
It's not a question of fitness. At 67, Diamond's voice is still supple and strong, and the passage of time has tempered his penchant for bombast. He delivered a powerfully restrained performance, pacing the stage in measured strides, and emphasizing story lines with a sweep of his hand or a fist in the air. Bells and whistles were minimal: A collage of vintage photographs accompanied the rousing immigrant anthem "America," and a bottle of wine and a red rose languished on an empty table for two during "You Don't Bring Me Flowers."
Whether they make you swoon or cringe, every one of Diamond's songs is as well-built as the next. If corniness wasn't considered a crime, it would have been simpler to marvel at the stunning economy of language in "Play Me" and "Love on the Rocks." Were melodrama not an obstacle for some, the lost, poetic soul who sings "I Am, I Said" might be easier to identify with. Happily, a handful of songs required no aesthetic concessions: the retro-gem "Cherry Cherry," the penetrating folk-rocker "Solitary Man," and - for 37,000 fans at Fenway Park - "Sweet Caroline."
Here in Boston, "Sweet Caroline" isn't a Neil Diamond song anymore; it's a Red Sox song, part and parcel of this crowd's beloved ballpark and team spirit. T-shirts reading "So Good So Good" and "Ba Ba Ba" were everywhere on Saturday, and the moment was loaded with currency. But Diamond squandered it by opening the show with the song (he should have built anticipation by making us wait for it) and then performing it twice in a row later in the set.
But programming missteps aside, the concert was a gratifying reminder that coolness is far too often confused with quality, and that good songwriting stands the test of time - even while barreling headlong down the middle of the road. 