Towards the end of July, I got an invite to see a production of A Beautiful Noise. The musical had been on my radar for many years, and yet I knew so little that I had assumed it was a revival of some 20-year-old show. Maybe I had gotten it mixed up with Deaf West and thought it was about a school of hearing-impaired teenagers. To say that I even knew it was about Neil Diamond would be a farce. In fairness, I had seen them promote the show on The Tony Awards, but it always felt like a gimmick. The actor would come out as Diamond and sing “Sweet Caroline” like this was the seventh-inning stretch. Was this to sell theater or cheap nostalgia?
But an invite’s an invite. I slowly accepted that this would be my one shot to really familiarize myself with the man and what he designed his myth to be. After all, I had come out of Jersey Boys, The Cher Show, and Beautiful with newfound appreciation for those respective artists. A Beautiful Noise would be no different. Even if Diamond’s larger persona struck me as being a has-been who mostly sang vapid Top 40 material, there was a part of me that wanted to believe that only a certain brand of musician got the biopic treatment. Even something like Tina: The Tina Turner Musical at least captured the essence of why she has remained mythic in pop culture.
That may be why our first steps weren’t exactly fortuitous. Flipping through YouTube, I had typed in “Neil Diamond songs” and went through a mix of the familiar hits. I enjoyed stuff like “Holly Holy” and “A Beautiful Noise,” but there was one listen that stuck with me. As part of his live album “Hot Summer Night II,” he recorded his own rendition of “I Dreamed A Dream” from the recent Broadway phenomenon Les Misérables. I love that show. I was less a fan of his take, which altered the words so that Fantine’s low point of the show became this hopeful anthem of overcoming strife. I still laugh at the image of Diamond being so insecure with one of the most depressing moments in theater history, that he had to smile through the pain.
That is where the divide began, and frankly didn’t make me appreciate the lyrics of “I Am I Said” as a chaser. His earnestness didn’t translate, and I read him as disingenuous. Maybe there was a reason the only song we ever heard anymore was part of MLB’s regularly scheduled programming, where nobody under 70 has heard that song without the words “So good! So good!” echoing through the chorus. Sure, I’m enough of a Monkees fan to also hear “I’m A Believer” regularly, but my mind always transplants it with Mickey Dolenz’s voice.
I previously wrote a review where I suggested that A Beautiful Noise was a good show… if you were a fan of Diamond’s work. If there’s one objective issue with turning his music into a Broadway show, it’s how lacking in a cohesive narrative the majority of selected tunes are. They are almost exclusively driven by emotion, and with a sound mix that slurred many lines, it’s hard to appreciate a lot of the show as anything but fitting a very specific tempo for two hours. It’s not the worst execution for a '60s crooner, but as someone who is a bit too hung up on lyrics forwarding story, A Beautiful Noise is not a great musical. It’s enjoyable as performance, but at no point would I say that the show used the music provocatively. The fact that Act I's closer reminded me of Jersey Boys also made me think that maybe, just maybe, there’s not a whole lot to this story other than ego stroking.
Without exploring the plot in further detail, I will say that Act II is where everything began to get under my skin. Not in the loathsome way that phrase suggests, but more in the ways it uncovered a greater truth about Diamond. Following an opening number that served as a fun misdirect, the show became largely deconstructionist, focusing more on legacy and taking the theme of loneliness through artistic expression. The minimalist, downright Brechtian use of “I Am I Said” caused me to become obsessed with the song. Suddenly, there was this new context. It wasn’t some silly song about a senile guy talking to a chair. There was incredible pathos in the metaphors he interwove. Adding the lens of hindsight only made it more revelatory. Suddenly, I understood that the show’s sense of artificiality had been intentional. This was all Diamond’s memory, itself imperfect, presenting an image of dazzling spectacle without a whole lot of substance and even less memorable supporting roles.
The hat trick is the saving grace of the entire experience, even if I tend to side with Reddit commenters who suggested that A Beautiful Noise isn’t an essential show to casual crowds. As a writer, I live for moments like “I Am I Said” where new context enhances everything that came before and presents a figure who appears shallow on the surface, but carries a depth that gets lost in the shuffle. Sure, he has a ton of love songs that aren’t saying much of anything, but somewhere in the catalog is an individual with a lot more to say.
Ironically, August was also the month that I became obsessed with the more recent Bobby Darin show Just In Time. A lot of that is due to Jonathan Groff’s phenomenal vocal work, but I found myself amazed at how this perceived teenybopper of “Splish Splash” fame had these yearning numbers about heartache and pain. I wouldn’t say they hurt as much as A Beautiful Noise’s most searing moments, but it made me realize why these shows resonate. Outside of the performative qualities, it’s the reality that pop music’s most lasting artists tend to carry a pain somewhere inside, tapping into something richer. So far, I’d argue Diamond was more successful at this than Darin, but given that they each drew large audiences only reflects my ignorance. There’s always been a quest to capture human emotion in a three-minute structure. It just gets lost alongside the vapid nonsense the radio digs.
To reiterate, A Beautiful Noise isn’t winning my favorite theater of 2025. Even if I loved the feeling of singing “Sweet Caroline” in a packed room of like-minded individuals, there was little there to mull over. And yet, the “concept” of Diamond refused to leave my imagination. Here was a man clever enough to see himself as both a commodity and a human. They were both forms fighting for airtime, and they sometimes intersected in the most unassuming of times. It almost didn’t matter that I still considered him a has-been or someone reduced to oldies radio. Unlike other 60s artists, I wasn’t sure that he spoke to me other than as shorthand for a period decades before my lifespan. Still, I wanted to know… WHO IS NEIL DIAMOND?
If there’s one hook for most biopic musicals, it’s that it inspires you to pick up the records and delve into the richer history with new appreciation. However, I think there’s the daunting reality that, outside of Carole King, there isn’t “the album” that can serve as a cornerstone to the narrative. Beautiful works because we want to see how she built to “Tapestry.” Meanwhile, The Cher Show lacks the same grounded touch because she was a singles artist. I’m unsure that listening to her b-sides on the 60s and 70s records would have the same profundity. The same could go for Jersey Boys and Tina, who, from my recollection, don’t hold the production of one iconic album as a formative plot twist.
What I learned almost immediately was how inappropriate this read should be for Diamond. Yes, he’s mostly known for a handful of big songs. If you’re going to want immediate appreciation, you probably should go with a greatest hits collection. However, I’ve always been more of a fan of the album experience, where I hear what drove a person during a given period. In this case, I was especially drawn to the era when almost every song from A Beautiful Noise originated.
The journey started on the 1972 album “Stones,” which opened with the song most front and center in my mind: “I Am I Said.” If everything were to go down, it might as well have at least one pleasant moment.
I’m not going to dissect every album that I have listened to over the past four weeks, but it’s safe to say that “Stones” had the desired effect on me. With access to lyrics sheets, I was able to indulge in Diamond’s sound in the fullest manner possible. Through headphones, I heard a level of orchestration that had been lost in the theater sound systems.
At first, it’s easy to dismiss Diamond as yet another crooner who has a very sentimental sound. I listen to “Crunchy Granola Suite” and think it’s very dated while relying on harmonics that I heard done better elsewhere. I’ll admit that his pop tracks are often his least investing, but that is to ignore how much better they sound when placed alongside “Stones” or “I Think It’s Gonna Rain Today.” When you’re able to notice the lyricism and control of his patient voice, you begin to see these layers of emotion breaking through. Suddenly, he sounds sincere. Everything builds the image of a man who is as much tortured as he is a fan of playfulness.
The first b-side that really jumped out at me was “Chelsea Morning.” As the fourth song, it captures this jaunty melody as Diamond recounts observations of walking around town. You believe that he’s in love, and the request to have breakfast together sounds so appetizing. You almost want to blush at how carefree he is. For a man who opened with a torturous song about feeling alone, it’s amazing to know how well he lands the other end of the spectrum. Not only that, but it has one of my favorite final lines to any song when he suggests to his beloved that they meet up and talk in the present tense. It’s corny, yes, but the suddenness reveals a switch from nostalgic thought to something hopeful.
From there, I jumped around to “Sweet Caroline,” “Tap Root Manuscript,” and “Moods.” Whereas I had assumed that by 1972 he had gained a candidness that explained the humorous tone I was reading into “Stones,” I was surprised to notice that it had been there all along. What’s odd is that it feels largely absent in A Beautiful Noise, but informs a reason that he quickly rose from a “pretty good singer” into someone that I was falling in love with. Even as someone familiar with Jim Stafford’s “My Girl Bill,” I hadn’t expected Diamond to write a comedic country song called, I’m not kidding, “You’re So Sweet, Horseflies Keep Hangin’ Round Your Face.” For someone with a strong appeal to a female demographic, it’s amazing to see him poke fun at dating culture in such a vulgar way without losing one ounce of dignity.
Diamond’s greatest gift was the self-awareness to not be completely serious or a total joke. He was always somewhere in the middle. “Soggy Pretzels” recounts someone depressed at the bar looking for someone to love. The image within itself is as silly as a “Porcupine Pie” or “Gitchy Goomy” number that doesn’t revel in completely obvious material. There is a creative exploration that especially shines on “Tap Root Manuscript,” where he dedicates the back half of the album to a conceptual study of nature with backing vocals by children. I’m not sure it totally clicks with Side A, but it’s the album that most speaks to his versatility.
In theory, I was expecting this curiosity to stop after one or two albums. Had I reduced myself to A Beautiful Noise’s track list, that may very well have been the case. However, I think his brilliance is that even in his conventionality, there was a weird side that was constantly breaking out. Even his sincere songs have elements that catch you off guard. I’m still unsure if he was beloved for the complete package, but I have to believe that people similar to me, who spend a good amount of time thinking dark thoughts, find something meaningful in his diversity. You want to express every feeling that ever entered your head. They may not all make sense, but they are needed for full comprehension.
That may be why I grew so addicted to Diamond’s catalog that I finally took a run at “Hot Summer Night,” which he recorded live at The Greek Theater. Having read that it’s one of his most essential records, I wanted to believe that something would appear that would make me understand the missing pieces of his image. After all, the playlist was predominantly tracks that I had been mulling over.
Over the course of two hours, I found the weak spots improving as I noticed a performer who really knew how to connect with his audience. The actual performances aren’t that much different from the studio versions. They may have the rawness of a live event, but it’s only in moments where he sticks out the microphone that you get the unity breaking through. It’s when he cracks jokes about the people watching him from the trees or spends way too much time breaking down the wardrobe of his back-up band and complimenting them on coming into their own. There’s this clear appreciation for music that Diamond holds for the entire night, and it’s those few instances of respite where you get a greater sense of how he presented himself.
I forgot to mention, but another thing I love about Diamond that wasn’t at first evident was the orchestral touches. While his earlier work favored traditional rock instrumentation, by the 70s, he was playing with strings and building dramatic touches that allowed his voice to play with tempo and tone. The way he quivers carries a surprising amount of introspection, allowing for a direct gut punch. The lyrics sting as they capture the complexities of what it means to be alive, where even a mythic story of a man who died without anyone attending his funeral resonates with people my age or, I assume, in the 1970s, much younger. There is a consciousness of a greater world that goes beyond any shallow love song or goofy ode to drinking. What Diamond has is much more special.
The accessibility caught me off guard. Whereas I heard “I Dreamed A Dream” a month ago and scoffed at how out of touch it sounded, I find myself now aware that it’s just a detail lost in translation. He’s someone who somehow became successful in pop while still being a fairly mopey dude. He wasn’t defined by his sadness but instead had it as a side quest for listeners willing to dig into his catalog and find it. He wrote anthems for the heart that expressed the entire condition.
I’m unsure how he got reduced to the “Sweet Caroline” singer, but it feels unfortunate. Not because it’s bad, but because it doesn’t reflect what I’ve come to love most about him. Then again, maybe it did. The bridge mentions “reaching out” and “touching me, touching you.” A man is trying to reach past his own insecurity and find someone to sing along with him. The fact that they’ve only made his music have richer textures shows someone grateful to be making art. I would never call it my favorite song – especially after the month I just had – but I encourage you to stop and consider how much deeper his music is. It may not change your life, but it may make you appreciate the small moments more.
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