Neil Diamond - Moods

Wed 27th Jul, 2005 in Music Reviews

Indie rock elitism can be a cruel thing. For all the supposedly open-minded discourse that gets bandied about by those ‘in the know’ – rock writers, record store clerks and talking-over-beers hipster nerds – there remains a refusal to acknowledge the extraordinary talents of those who’ve suffered from grotesquely ubiquitous marketing campaigns or terrible image problems.

Bruce Springsteen suffers from the elitism; his early ‘80s days as a blue-collar man with ripped jeans, huge choruses and a big snare sound have forced many to discount him, ignoring his sublime early work like The Wild, The Innocent And The E Street Shuffle and his recent downtrodden masterpieces like The Ghost Of Tom Joad and Devils & Dust.

Phil Collins gets a big, fat serve of elitism too; his quality solo work, like 1981’s simultaneously bitter and hopeful, divorce-inspired Face Value, is ignored, hordes of punters put off by his pretty ugly mug and the fact they’ve heard his lesser songs too often in elevators. In the minds of millions of music fans, Collins is linked to earnest, mawkish tracks like Another Day In Paradise or bombastic, nonsensical pop extravaganzas like Sussudio, not beautiful depictions of everyday working-class tragedy like The Roof Is Leaking.

But no other artist is so unfortunately neglected by the indie rock, cooler-than-thou set than Neil Diamond, the writer of some of the few examples of pop perfection that exist in the modern music canon. For many, his early work lives only in the occasional cover by contemporary acts, whether good (Urge Overkill’s Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon, Chris Isaak’s Solitary Man), bad (UB40’s Red Red Wine) or totally ugly (Smashmouth’s I’m A Believer).

Moods, released in 1972 – the year of the Stones’ Exile On Main Street, Nick Drake’s Pink Moon and Stevie Wonder’s Talking Book – is a fine introduction to Diamond’s work. It was a huge year for music, as every year in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s was, but Moods wouldn’t be a part of it, if the critics – and the more supposedly discerning punters – had any say in it.

Admittedly, it’s not as oeuvre-defining as Exile or as intensely personal as Pink Moon, but the consistency and dedication to song construction on Moods is stunning. All the more so because of Diamond’s status as one of the premier songwriters in America, arguably the Bob Dylan of pop. After a cavalcade of hits from 1966 onwards – including Solitary Man, Oh No No, Cherry Cherry, Red Red Wine and Sweet Caroline – Diamond would be within his rights to phone in songs, delivering occasional gold only to impress his record company, resting on his not insignificant laurels and swimming in his pools of money.

But he didn’t do that. Instead, he remained steadfastly dedicated to cementing his position as the American man who could do the most with a couple of chords and a catchy melody. With Moods, he delivered yet another album absolutely packed with classics, many of which would go on to greater things on 1974’s Hot August Night, the official soundtrack to thousands of parties for middle-aged folk looking for a fun, possibly drunk night in.

Moods opener Song Sung Blue seems like one big chorus, with a melody designed to be remembered, sung with Diamond’s almost flamboyantly masculine tenor. Canta Libre is half-kitsch, all beautiful, with Diamond delivering some Spanish-in-an-American accent with the sincerity of a man completely assured of his own abilities. Play Me is the stand-out, the stunning centrepiece of an album created with melody in mind. Its opening lines – ‘She was morning / and I was night time’ – perfect for the Vegas spectaculars Diamond would later become famous for, only a hint of the pop glory that the chorus would deliver:

‘You are the sun
I am the moon
You are the words
I am the tune
Play me.’

There’s no denying that Neil Diamond is a dork, his lyrics often self-consciously crafted to appeal to radio. But it’s the divine perfection with which so many of his songs are crafted that should put his work on the playlist of anyone who really loves music. His early work – before he concentrated on touring and raking in the cash – stands as the high water mark of popular music, beautiful testament to the pleasures of a good tune.

Moods isn’t the best Neil Diamond album – for once, a Best Of is – but it’s a fine introduction to a man too often written off as a dealer of pure kitsch. Neil is one of the finest songwriters the world has seen – one day, hopefully, that will be acknowledged.