Johnny Cash. Loretta Lynn. Neil Diamond?

Even given the late-’90s, early-2000s parade of classic singer-songwriter rebirths, I will be the first to admit that I didn’t see this one coming. Maybe you didn’t either. You might ask yourself – as I did – whether Neil Diamond really needs another look in this day and age. He is, after all, clearly not the icon Cash was and is; nor do his songs seem to require a sympathetic, reverent producer as urgently as did Lynn’s. To me, Diamond always seemed somehow content with his reputation as a kitsch merchant – his records were overproduced schmaltz because that was him, the very essence of his being. It’s worth remembering that this is a man who donned a sequinned jumpsuit, not at the nadir of his career like Elvis, but at its peak. A man whose most notable contribution to popular culture in the last five years was not an album or song, but a running-gag cameo in 2001′s Jack Black vehicle Saving Silverman. Sure, I secretly love “Cherry, Cherry” as much as the next ironic hipster, and far be it from me to refute the status of “A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You” as the best song the Monkees ever recorded…but seriously, Neil Fucking Diamond?

Well folks, I stand corrected, because Rick Rubin has done it. With 12 Songs, the veteran producer (like, Cash’s American Recordings veteran) has plucked Diamond from the darkest reaches of the “guilty pleasure” zone and cast him in a stunning new light: not necessarily revelatory – there’s nothing here the songwriter hasn’t really done before – but sublimely tasteful, a seminal confirmation of the Neil Diamond who’s always existed beneath the jumpsuits and chest hair. It’s reputation-salvaging stuff.

But it isn’t perfect. Occasionally, Diamond seems to be trying too hard to fit Rubin’s pedigree, getting all Man in Black grim on us with “What’s It Gonna Be” and “Man of God”; even working the lyric “he walked the line” into “Hell Yeah” like it’s some kind of coincidence. His lyrics, too, are as trite as ever. “Captain of a Shipwreck”‘s embarrassing nautical metaphors recall those vows from Wedding Crashers, only not played for laughs; most laughably, every meaningless bromide the man utters is delivered with that beyond-emphatic growl of his, no doubt giving leverage to scores of future parodies.

So it might be something of a paradox to say that the most successful moments on 12 Songs are those which adhere most closely to Diamond’s road more traveled, but it’s true. “Save Me a Saturday Night” revisits the Brill Building chamber pop on which Diamond built his early reputation, aged to an elegant midlife grey which suits him well. Then “Delirious Love” comes along, oozing so much pop majesty it doesn’t even matter that he’s rhyming “serious” with “mysterious” and “hangin’ on” with “bangin’ on”…and when some rootsy slide guitar snakes into the mix, it’s the first authentic (and welcome) jolt of surprise on the album. Even the pastoral, gospel-tinged numbers serve to remind us that there’s always been more than a hint of the sacred in Neil Diamond’s well-meaning bombast – a very warped, patently insincere hint, but a hint nonetheless.

To me, though, it’s closing track “We” which embodies 12 Songs best. Diamond comes in strumming a simple, lilting rhythm on acoustic guitar, recalling the understated sunshine folk of Cat Stevens’ Harold and Maude score. Then the tuba comes in. And just like that, you remember that this is Neil Diamond: love him or leave him, he remains a peerlessly positive, unwaveringly cheerful force in pop music. The things he does might put a smile on your face, or they might make you wince – that’s the same today as it’s always been, as it was with “Sweet Caroline” and “Red, Red Wine” and pretty much everything else on Neil’s twelve dozen or so Greatest Hits comps. But more so than any other Neil Diamond album, 12 Songs will make you lean toward the smile…or at least want to wince a little less.

Reviewed by Zach Hoskins