The Minister yields to no man in his admiration for the music of Neil Diamond.

Is this too dressy for the Pyramid Stage?

This Christmas will represent the 30th anniversary of my conscious introduction to his music and this time next year will bring the 25th anniversary of my first ever live concert, Neil Diamond at the Birmingham NEC.

But this week has been strange because it’s felt – for almost the first time in those three decades (never mind the 12 years of his career that preceded them) – as though it is socially acceptable to admit to the fact.

First came the news that Home Before Dark, his new album, had entered the Billboard album chart at number one – his first chart-topping album in America.

Then came yesterday’s news that the same album had entered the UK album chart at number one – his first UK chart-topper of original material; his only previous number one album, The Greatest Hits 1966-1992 was, er, a greatest hits compilation.

As I drove home from work this evening, Radio 4′s PM programme – of all places – broadcast an adulatory piece about Diamond’s career by pop anorak supreme Paul Gambaccini.

Confusion reigns over whether or not Diamond is actually playing Glastonbury, but he has been a “mentor” on the current series of Simon Cowell Is An American Cunt Idol and there was last week’s heavily-promoted Radio 2 concert and its availability all this week on BBCi.

(If I were a gambling man I’d suggest that the BBC DG must be a fan.  In which case, I await Mr. Diamond’s Newsnight interview with anticipation…)

Don’t get me wrong – I’m delighted.  This recognition is long overdue and richly deserved.  I hope and trust it finally heralds Diamond’s rightful election to the Rock’n'Roll Hall Of Fame next year and I hope that it causes some people to rediscover the very real pop brilliance and musical innovation that represents a large chunk of Diamond’s early output.

And Home Before Dark is a very good album indeed.  It is not, the Minister avers, perhaps quite as good as its predecessor 12 Songs (which died a commercial death in the States as it was the last CD to be released with Sony’s despised copy control protection).  But it still beats the crap out of 2008′s efforts from – among others – R.E.M. and Madonna.

(The popular comeback and critical acclamation actually began with 12 Songs.  I remember alighting a train at Manchester Piccadilly station in January 2006 to the delicious sight of juxtaposed posters promoting the debut album of Arctic Monkeys alongside – ahem – Neil Diamond’s 12 Songs.  I’ve always regretted not taking a picture of that…)

Yet I also, oddly, feel a little disappointed in that one of my secret pleasures has crossed over into the mainstream.  And yes, I know how risible it is to write that of a man who has sold more than 120,000,000 albums and almost as many concert tickets over the course of a 42-year career.

It is just that Diamond’s utter (and unashamed) lack of cool has meant that many of the owners of the other 119,999,950 albums have tended to keep quiet about the fact for fear of people throwing things at them.

If this commercial and critical re-evaluation of Diamond’s standing becomes permanent, it will have deprived me of one of my guaranteed argument-starters in the pub: that the music written and recorded by Neil Diamond between 1966 (from his debut single Solitary Man) and 1973 (to the release of the Hot August Night live album) is as good as, if not better than, the music written and recorded by John Lennon over the same period.

Annoyingly and coincidentally, this outbreak of unprecedented Diamondmania has also ruined the half-written SMIP #10 which – as drafted – is a lengthy exposition of why the music written and recorded by Neil Diamond between 1966 (from his debut single Solitary Man) and 1973 (to the release of the Hot August Night live album) is as good as, if not better than, the music written and recorded by John Lennon over the same period.

Cock it.