Even the old ‘uns have managed to squeeze their way towards the front of the packed Pyramid arena for Neil Diamond. Glittering ‘Neil’ banners held aloft, the crowd are in a playful mood as the display screens show a lone policeman walking through the photo pit. A mischievous boo turns into a rousing cheer as he smiles and waves at the camera, then alternate booing and cheering ensues as we flick back and forth from the images of a reveller dressed as Osama Bin Laden to one dressed as Elvis, until the cameraman finds more interesting costumes to focus on.
Blimey, that’s a big band. I think it might technically be an orchestra, but no matter. First positions everybody, make way for the King, and judging by the beaming smile on his face His Royal Neilness is in a righteously happy and considerate mood as he meets his subjects and enquires with concern as to whether they have sufficient sunscreen, gawd bless ‘im.
No, happy isn’t enough – he’s got a smile so big that his face must hurt. In fact, has anyone else noticed the likeness between a beaming Neil Diamond and Bob Monkhouse? No? Just me, then. But it’s THAT silky-tonsilled molasses-rich voice that matters right now: that and the “hey now” hook of ‘Cracklin’ Rosie’ echoing with the power of a hundred thousand lungs behind it. The subsequent ‘Beautiful Noise’ seems that much more poignant as a result, like a holler of joy from the very marrow of his being, reminding you of all those reasons why you might love music in the first place.
At 67, Neil looks remarkably well-preserved and is slicker than two eels having sex in a bucket of olive oil, yet that isn’t to say that his showmanship is over-rehearsed cabaret. Sure, he’s got a catalogue with more gems in it than the De Beers warehouse, but 40 years of showmanship has given him the ability to instinctively sense the subtle needs of his audience and adapt to them on the fly, such as suddenly ditching a mood-mellowing ballad in favour of the upbeat ‘Cherry Cherry’ to keep the spirits as consistently high as possible.
As the clouds move over though and the rain starts to spit down, the band playfully extend it into a jam, switching to the effervescent brass section at the precise moment that the sun peeks through the clouds again in defiance at the rain’s impudence. It’s as if God himself was chilling out watching the show with a few cold cans and a freshly rolled fattie, not wanting the moment to be tarnished, so there are certain hippies present who no doubt consider it ironically significant that it’s followed by ‘Thank The Lord For The Night Time’.
‘Red Red Wine’ reverberates through the crowd like a huge chanted hymn, and no doubt some youngsters are confused, but it’s easy to overlook just how many classic songs he’s written that have been successful for others, from The Monkees to Urge Overkill, and there’s still life in the old New Yorker yet. New album Home Before Dark, his second to be produced with Rick Rubin, is not only the most commercially successful but the strongest and most thought-provoking album that Diamond has made for the last two decades, Rubin having teased out an edgy and unsettling power reminiscent of what he achieved on Johnny Cash’s American Recordings.
Moving from such upbeat positivity to the brooding sensual menace of the title track adds a dark shadow to the set, but the sole other new offering ‘Pretty Amazing Grace’ tastes all the sweeter as a result, lifting the mood to one of optimism, love and swaying sweaty hands.
However, ‘Done Too Soon’, from his classic 1970 album Tap Root Manuscript is very nearly a disaster. Though not as widely known as the usual hits, its message of peace, equality and the realisation that we’re all human, all feel pain and are all subject to the whim and sweet embrace of death, is pure distilled Glastonbury spirit. Temporarily interrupted by the PA cutting out, Neil leads both band and audience alike in an improvised clap, dancing us all to the rhythm he conducts until the frantic techies re-establish the sound just at the point where he concludes that “each one there, has one thing shared: they have sweated beneath the same sun, looked up in wonder at the same moon, and wept when it was all done” resulting in a spine-tingling roar of poignant tearful appreciation..
‘Forever In Blue Jeans’ and ‘I’m a Believer’ though, turn the field into a huge, dancing hug-fest; it’s the love that Diamond generates which is his most extraordinary gift of all, not just between him and his audience, but among members of the audience. There’s a special shared effect that these glorious songs have on the human spirit which few other artists can comprehend, let alone match, because they seem to make the soul swell with emotion, and the happiness that he directs towards us is so instantly infectious that one reacts instinctively to positive stimulus.
Everywhere you look, people are hugging each other, whether they're lovers, friends or strangers and, as ‘Sweet Caroline’ is roared to the heavens, Neil Diamond doesn’t even need to sing anymore, just grin like he’s bursting with pride, raise his hands to sway with us and let the voices scream back at him.
Quite possibly, one of the finest performances that Glastonbury has ever seen. Honest.
Paul Mills
Dedicated to the memory of David Fleetham (“David Something”), glastonburyfestivals.co.uk journalist, Neil Diamond fanatic, singer, songwriter, poet and friend. 1973 – 2002.