The Jazz Singer

One of my lickle secrets is my admiration for Neil Diamond. Don't get too carried away, it's not an all-encompassing admiration; I've never seen him live, and am not too bothered whether I do or not.

There was a Labour Party party about three years ago when Dave admitted to being an Andy Williams fan. Slightly tiddly, I mentioned my Neil Diamond thing. Dave contended that Andy Williams was cool; Neil Diamond wasn't. I demurred.

Did you know that, inter alia, Neil Diamond wrote Red Red Wine and some song or other from a Quentin Tarantino film that my brother was well into in Sixth Form...until I pointed out that Neil Diamond wrote it. Ruined his whole Christmas Day... :-)

But Greatest Hits we get onto a lot later. I am specifically blogging the OST from The Jazz Singer. One of the first - no, the first, film I went to without parents. Saturday afternoon matinee, coupled with Kramer vs Kramer, probably eighteen months after release - they could do that in those days, because few people had videos. I went with Poison Kathy, just a few weeks before Sale Odeon closed down. And for Christmas I requested the album, along with a Barry Manilow album and a United scarf. Fortunately, stick-in-the-mud parents objected to two whole albums, and got me Neil Diamond and the United scarf. Wise decision.

Even as I listen to it on home tape, I can feel and smell the Vinyl. Second only to Shellac; yet with far more flexibility than Shellac. Even as recently as 1981, Vinyl was Sophistication. With its sensual ritual of removing plain paper envelope from artistic cardboard sleeve; removing twelve inches of glory from the white envelope. Blowing off the speckles; often using the cloth to wipe off the particles attracted by static. Placing it on the multi-changer, checking that the speed was right - oh what riotous times we had playing 33s at 45, or vice versa. You had trouble if you realised it was playing at 78 - that also meant you had the wrong stylus.

I happened to be 331/3 on the Eve of the 2001 General Election. As we partook, unenthusiastically, of the traditional pre-Election drink, as England beat Greece, to all but qualify for 2002 World Cup, I mentioned my 331/3 birthday. Many toasts were raised, and drunk in respect of significance.

Neil Diamond's Jazz Singer? Just a really cool album. Don't ask for intellectual comment - a fine selection of fine songs. And what more can you ask at 13 going on 14, or at 36 going on old?

Love on the Rocks; On the Robert E. Lee; summer Love; Hello Again; Hey Louise; and Jerusalem.

Like 'em, don't like 'em -I don't care. I like Neil Diamond.