Neil Diamond is a tremendous songwriter, with a string of undeniable hits, but he does have a tendency to over-sell it just a wee bit. There are only so many flags you can hang above a stage before they start looking like buzzards circling a man dying of thirst. Even Kid Rock probably draws the line at one giant flag.
You can bet this concert wasn't in Canada.
I mean, you either drape yourself in the flag, or you sit on the flag in a fringe jacket and smoke a cigarette. Most people choose just one. I happen to like the David Crosby thing he's got going here, but again there's just too much going on: the thoughtful hand on the face, the sitting sideways in the Spanish chair, the chest hair, the high-water bell-bottoms exposing the embroidered scrollwork on the boots. All that's missing is a cocktail, an astronaut's helmet, a sword and a python.
That's not the proper way to display the flag.
|Get 'em up there!|
And WHAT is going on here? This is perhaps his greatest record, a true classic, but what imaginary penis is he cradling in his hands? Who chose this picture, his sadomasochistic hypnotist hairstylist? Were the 70's such a different time that a man could choose a cover picture of himself somnambulantly fellating his own giant invisible member and still sell millions of records to screaming moms? I suppose so. Food for thought, actually. I might try the satin pants.
Hands, touching hands, reaching out, touching me, touching you!
All kidding aside, he's one of the greats. Truly.