Diamond sparkles as he leads a nostalgia trip
When the number of Hawaiian-print shirts and intoxicated singalongs began to reach an alarming level on Tuesday night, there was a brief moment when it looked as if Neil Diamond's reputation had drifted from mutton-chopped pop maestro to Jimmy Buffet-style mayor of positive vibes. The crowd sang at top volume during ''Sweet Caroline," drowning out Diamond and his 14-piece band; it seemed inevitable that beach balls and tipsy group hugs would soon follow, especially as Diamond cheered ''Go Sox."
But these moments were not the norm, and also easily forgivable. Diamond's knack for penning hummable melodies that stick like peanut butter can turn a space as enormous as the Garden into a rumpus room singalong. The pure genius of ''Desiree" and ''Shiloh" was enough to move middle-age men to stand and raise their hands above their heads, as if worshiping at the nondenominational tent of Diamond's fictional Brother Love.
To his credit, Diamond, clad in black accented with red sequins, made no attempt to present the evening as anything other than a nostalgia trip -- for which the mixed crowd of glittery hausfraus and collegians seemed grateful. He built his set slowly, teasing with ''Beautiful Noise" before finally hitting stride with ''Longfellow Serenade." When Diamond picked up his guitar for 1966's ''Cherry Cherry," the air was electric, and his band, which could probably perform the song in REM-stage sleep, was fully immersed and joyful.
While he's displaying less chest hair and the flare of his trousers is far more restrained than it was 30 years ago, Diamond's voice is virtually unchanged, still as warm and world-weary as ever. He can only be faulted for occasionally punctuating rhythmic breaks by shouting lyrics instead of singing.
There were times when the schmaltz factor reached uncomfortable levels. He nearly lost the audience during a lengthy medley of songs from ''Jonathan Livingston Seagull," complete with new age-y video of birds and sunsets. However, after the last of the seagulls faded from the video screens, he rewarded his audience for their patience with ''I Am . . . I Said" and ''Cracklin' Rosie." 