Diamond’s Shining Moments

“Do you have the nerve?”

Neil Diamond posed that question twice Tuesday night to a packed house at the Pond of Anaheim.

Putting on a tone of mock sternness, Diamond wanted to know if his 19,322 enraptured admirers (his own announced tally) had the nerve to stand up and dance to a couple of his brighter, sway-along numbers. He didn’t really need to ask.

But--and this is a nice surprise--it’s a question Diamond should be asking seriously of himself these days. After nearly 20 years mired in schmaltz, he has come up with a new album, “Tennessee Moon,” that gives him the traction to break free of the middle of the road.

It’s a warm, country-tinged mainstream pop album in which the songs, written mainly with veteran, Nashville-based collaborators, put the focus on the feelings and dramas inherent in the material, rather than serving as mere platforms for star-turn dramatics.

Does Diamond have the nerve, at 55, to invest fully in that new direction, swear off the treacle and the grandstanding, and get back to being what he was in his 20s--a writer and performer of enduring, indelibly melodic pop songs with a firm, earthy rootedness in folk, R&B; and rock ‘n’ roll?

The answer at the Pond (where he was scheduled to play a second sold-out show on Wednesday) was that Diamond has not taken a daring leap, but at least he is moving in the right direction.

While everything dislikable in his style was on display, including bloated, histrionic ballads delivered with a grating, baritone bellow and semi-operatic posing, it was distinctly outweighed by everything that was worthwhile.

Give Diamond a strong, roots-based rhythmic pulse, and some alchemy occurs by which those bloated histrionics are turned into persuasive, large-scale drama. A peak example was “Holly Holy,” in which ringing, inexorable gospel piano chords pushed him to a crest of fervor so convincing that, had he issued an altar call, he might have converted thousands to any creed he wished.

Toss out a couple of glossy, gaseous ballads, “Hello Again” and “September Morn’,” and Diamond’s 2-hour, 10-minute show had a very strong opening half.

He got rolling with fully engaged versions of such prime and diverse ‘60s songs as the embattled “Solitary Man,” the sultry, still-embattled “Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon” and the lusty celebration, “Cherry, Cherry.”

Diversity and solid songwriting also highlighted a five-tune sequence from “Tennessee Moon.” Diamond cannily introduced the new material with a rousing, call-and-response anthem, “Can Anybody Hear Me,” that turned the crowd into an engaged participant in new material, rather than a passive vessel for the unfamiliar.

The warm ballad “One Good Love” was highlighted by the rich, soulful organ sound that Alan Lindgren improbably coaxed out of one of those dubious-looking, hand-held plastic synthesizers.

Diamond then pulled the focus in tightly with intimate staging that found him closely surrounded by a trio of acoustic guitar, bass and snare drum, akin to Elvis Presley in his 1968 comeback TV special.

He performed a blues boogie, “No Limit,” and a graceful, acoustic ballad, “Everybody,” then expanded the size of the arrangement for a romantic song, “Marry Me,” that proved Diamond’s music can be lush without having to gush.

The segment featured a relaxed and chatty singer who directed fond barbs at his son, Jesse, and at Waylon Jennings, both of them collaborators on “Tennessee Moon.”

He also alluded wryly and obliquely to the end of his longtime marriage as he introduced “Marry Me.” (Diamond quipped that married songwriters tend to write about being divorced, while the divorced ones write about being married.)

In this sequence, you could almost forget the sequins woven through Diamond’s faux-flannel shirt, and take him for a straightforward, down-home songsmith with no grandiose persona to sell.

The second half was bumpier. While Diamond’s accomplished and versatile nine-member band deserved much credit, a sequence of introductions followed by solos went on far too long.

The spell Diamond had woven on his rotating, in-the-round stage was broken, and the set wobbled for a while before righting itself near the end with “Cracklin’ Rosie” and “Sweet Caroline,” both clap-along crowd favorites, and the gospel rouser, “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show,” in which Diamond made a point of including “black, white . . . gay and straight” under his big revivalist’s tent.

The show’s most troubling moment was “America,” which led off the big-crescendo home stretch. Diamond wrote it for his role in the 1980 film remake of “The Jazz Singer,” as a celebration of the immigrant experience.

In today’s California, it is simply not acceptable to sing the bright, swelling chorus, “Got a dream they’ve come to share / They’re coming to America” without acknowledging harsher present realities. If Diamond had introduced the song by saying he believes a wide, welcoming embrace for immigrants is still the right vision for America, the song would have been a brave avowal of his convictions (assuming that is his position).

Lacking any introduction at all, a song intended as a shining patriotic monument was tarnished with anachronism at best, sour irony at worst and flimsy irrelevance most of all.

The concert’s low point was “Love On the Rocks,” which embodied all that’s wrong with Diamond’s harsh, declamatory way with an MOR ballad. Backup singer Linda Press’ passionate and soaring duet turn pinch-hitting for Barbra Streisand helped save the next number, “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers,” from a similar fate.

But Diamond’s inflated ballads were crowd-pleasers, and it would indeed take a lot of nerve for him not to play them for his fans. Can he, or can he not, challenge them by singing a refrain that goes, “I’ll be what I am . . . no more schmaltzy, dreary man?”

For now, it may be achievement enough that a songwriter who had been creatively insignificant for so long has made it worth asking.