Hot October Nights
It is a coming out of sorts - a public admission that I am a Neil Diamond fan. Some of you who have known me since back in the day will be like, "Uh, yeah," but I have hid behind a modicum of cool for over a dozen years. I was the alternative; my mohawk spiked high, casual references to Caroliner-add-your-own-cool-ass-ending, actually listening to Trout Mask Replica, and discussing Marzette Watts and the Borbetomagus "Bells Together" performances. Yet underneath my cool exterior was a love of flash, tin pan alley showmanship - complete with sequins and chains.
It would be easy to blame my mom, with her soundtracks to Jonathan Livingstone Seagull and The Jazz Singer, with Heartlight and His 12 Greatest Hits rounding out the set. It could have been my junior high chorus classes, singing "On The Robert E. Lee".
College changed this; I became cool. The freaks and weirdos attained an unheard of popularity in the wake of Nirvana - we were the cool new thing, and Neil couldn't be a part of that. So my life lost it's Diamond edge. Along with Liz Phair and Pavement, I spiraled to mediocrity after Kurt Cobain's death. As the years passed, I shifted uncomfortably in my skin, looking for a center. Things from the past resurfaced, and Neil raised his sequined and be-fringed arm in defiance. I remember in a letter I wrote to my then girlfriend (now wife), I rephrased "You are the sun/I am the moon. You are the words/I am the tune. Play Me" into something involving orbits and celestial objects and maybe an oobie-doobie-do at the end (though don't quote me on that!). My Diamond edge began to glisten.
So what is prompting this revelation? The perfection that is "Walk On Water." From the masterful Moods, "Walk On Water" is a kitschy masterpiece, a hidden gem of a tune. It begins with a slow fifties doo-wop sound, complete with "ooh, ooh, ooh" male backing. Neil sings with an Irish American street lilt - "Ain't it right. Ain't it right. Ain't it right." It morphs into an amalgam of singer-songwriter and gospel, with strummed guitar and full choir, faux congas and da-da-da-da piano stabs completing the effect (not to mention chain gang "Huh! Hah!" exclamations!). From gospel to pre-Meat Loaf bombast for twenty seconds of fist-pumping: "She. Walks. On. Water." (YES!) Then a gospel "Dear Lord ain't it right" and da-da-du-da piano to fade. In three minutes we have at least three song styles, all cribbed from African-American culture, sung by a Jewish Brooklyn boy in a inconsistent faux-Irish accent. What's not to love?
I'm a Neil Diamond fan. And "Dear Lord ain't it right."
It would be easy to blame my mom, with her soundtracks to Jonathan Livingstone Seagull and The Jazz Singer, with Heartlight and His 12 Greatest Hits rounding out the set. It could have been my junior high chorus classes, singing "On The Robert E. Lee".
Proud and strong and made to be freeIt could have been any of these things; or it could be the opening organ notes that introduce "Song Sung Blue". This was the song, let me tell you. In high school, I used to make tapes for the drama club set construction days (as mentioned before), and by senior year there was always a chance that "Song Sung Blue" would rear it's head. Back in the day I did a mean Neil Diamond, let me tell you. I also did Morris Day and Gordon Gano, but that's another story. In short, Neil was present for the first 18 years.
Can't go wrong on the Robert E. Lee
Got the sun in my eyes and the wind in my face
And it's good just to be alive
Gonna set out tonight for New Orleans
I won't sleep till I arrive
College changed this; I became cool. The freaks and weirdos attained an unheard of popularity in the wake of Nirvana - we were the cool new thing, and Neil couldn't be a part of that. So my life lost it's Diamond edge. Along with Liz Phair and Pavement, I spiraled to mediocrity after Kurt Cobain's death. As the years passed, I shifted uncomfortably in my skin, looking for a center. Things from the past resurfaced, and Neil raised his sequined and be-fringed arm in defiance. I remember in a letter I wrote to my then girlfriend (now wife), I rephrased "You are the sun/I am the moon. You are the words/I am the tune. Play Me" into something involving orbits and celestial objects and maybe an oobie-doobie-do at the end (though don't quote me on that!). My Diamond edge began to glisten.
So what is prompting this revelation? The perfection that is "Walk On Water." From the masterful Moods, "Walk On Water" is a kitschy masterpiece, a hidden gem of a tune. It begins with a slow fifties doo-wop sound, complete with "ooh, ooh, ooh" male backing. Neil sings with an Irish American street lilt - "Ain't it right. Ain't it right. Ain't it right." It morphs into an amalgam of singer-songwriter and gospel, with strummed guitar and full choir, faux congas and da-da-da-da piano stabs completing the effect (not to mention chain gang "Huh! Hah!" exclamations!). From gospel to pre-Meat Loaf bombast for twenty seconds of fist-pumping: "She. Walks. On. Water." (YES!) Then a gospel "Dear Lord ain't it right" and da-da-du-da piano to fade. In three minutes we have at least three song styles, all cribbed from African-American culture, sung by a Jewish Brooklyn boy in a inconsistent faux-Irish accent. What's not to love?
I'm a Neil Diamond fan. And "Dear Lord ain't it right."
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