94. Neil Diamond

The O2 Arena

16 July 2015

Neil Diamond occupies a rather odd corner of our family’s collective psyche. This is largely due to The Jazz Singer, a film that was a favourite of both Mum and Dad. The soundtrack, naturally, nestled itself comfortably between Dad’s Acker Bilk LPs and Mum’s worn-out copies of ABBA’s Arrival and Breakfast in America by Supertramp, creating what can only be described as a sonic Bermuda Triangle of easy-listening.

Our house, growing up, was frequently filled with the sound of “Love on the Rocks” being belted out through the crackling plywood speaker cabinets of our Akai combo hi-fi, graphic equaliser lights flickering away like the bridge of a spaceship, whilst Mum howled along, valiantly attempting to hit those minor-key crescendos. To put it mildly, Neil Diamond wasn’t just a singer in our household; he was an emotional support animal.

So, when the man himself announced his farewell tour, it wasn’t just a gig, it was a pilgrimage. I snapped up tickets faster than you could say “Song Sung Blue” and took Mum out for pre-show cocktails and dinner at Gaucho, because if you’re going to say goodbye to a cultural icon, you might as well do it on a full stomach and a Negroni.

We hadn’t even reached the fourth song before the unmistakable opening strains of “Love on the Rocks” filled the arena, and I looked over to see tears welling in Mum’s eyes, those quietly devastating tears that come from memory and music colliding at speed. “Hello Again” followed like an emotional uppercut. This wasn’t just a concert; it was a time machine.

The show itself was a full-fat, unashamed greatest hits affair. By the time we hit the encore trifecta of “Sweet Caroline,” “Cracklin’ Rose,” and “America,” the entire crowd was on its feet, air-punching and belting out every lyric like it might cure us of whatever modern malaise we’d walked in with.

As we spilled out into the cool summer night, a little hoarse and a lot emotional, it was clear we’d ticked something important off the list. Neil Diamond may have been signing off, but Mum, at long last, had seen her hero. And somewhere in the twinkling lights of the O2, it felt like Dad might’ve been singing along too.