DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH

At least half a dozen framed works of needlepoint cover the office and bathroom walls of Neil Diamond's Los Angeles studio. Some are portraits of the singer sewn by fans, others are their homespun renditions of album covers; above the sink are the lyrics to "I Am, I Said," painstakingly stitched in black yarn above a frog who's perched atop a bar stool, guitar on knee, crooning into a microphone. Cute--and the absolute antithesis of the man himself, who rarely smiles and has probably never uttered the word "cute." But in his four-decade career, Diamond has been many things to many people: for his fans, a deep, reflective songwriter and powerhouse performer; for hipsters, a kitsch icon. So why not a happy guitar-playing frog--except that he thinks his guitar playing sucks?

Diamond's newest role, at 64, is that of comeback kid. A new, yet-to-be-titled album, produced by Rick Rubin--who did the "American Recordings" that revitalized Johnny Cash's career late in life--is due out in November, and judging by eight finished tracks, this is the best work Diamond has done in 30 years. "I feel as though I've been given a second chance," he says, "even though I've had so many chances before." He is slouched in a chair in the studio's lounge, with his black baseball cap pulled down low, and he talks in that deep, brooding voice you've known all your life. "I get to come back with a different sound. In a sense, it's another chance to make your mark, to show the audience and the people in the business that you're still functioning and you're still doing something worthwhile after all these years."

Diamond landed his first record contract in 1958, while attending New York University on--of all things--a fencing scholarship. Eight years later, his "Cherry, Cherry" hit the top 10 and the Monkees had a megahit with their version of his "I'm a Believer." Through the early 1970s, Diamond released a string of indelible songs--"Sweet Caroline," "Cracklin' Rosie"--and gained a reputation as a charismatic live performer; in 1972 he became the first rock star to headline on Broadway. As the years went on, his sound got bigger and his shows got showier--like the 1980 spectacle "The Jazz Singer"--and the hits stayed alive, thanks to his top-grossing tours and to covers by such certifiably hip acts as UB40 and Urge Overkill. "He's one of the few universal forces in music that anybody on the planet can sing along to," says Rubin. "Somehow his songwriting's been lost, but beneath all those glittery shirts is a rock-solid foundation of music. No matter how much frosting is on it, that cake underneath is substantial."

The new album sounds far more like the rough-hewn "Kentucky Woman" (1967) than his later, commercial productions (such as 1982's "Heartlight"). But all these songs, recorded over a two-year period, are newly written, and Rubin's stripped-down approach puts Diamond's bitter-sweet voice and unparalleled songwriting front and center. And yes, for the first time in 35 years, Diamond (like Cash in his Rubin recordings) plays his own guitar parts. "I haven't played on an album since 1967," says Diamond. "I always figured there were people who played way better. I fought pretty hard against it, but Rick wanted me to play like I did back on 'Solitary Man.' He was ultimately right. But it was scary." The rest of the accompaniment is minimal: a little piano, a few bells, a few bongo beats, a touch of tuba. What you mostly hear, on tracks ranging from the quasi-spiritual love song "Oh, Mary" to the infectious pop number "Save Me a Saturday Night," is the heart and mind of Neil Diamond--sometimes simple and upbeat ("It's not about you/It's not about me/Love is all about We"), sometimes dark and intense ( "This crazy life around me confuses and confounds me/But it's all the life I've got left before I die"). "Anyone I've played this music to, young or old," says Rubin, "it hits them emotionally in a core way. It's personal, pure and honest, and there's a craftsmanship to it we don't hear in music anymore. It's a little bit of a lost art, what he does."

Such accolades are lost on Diamond. He still seems to view himself as a struggling artist who hasn't quite hit his stride. When he talks about the new tour he's kicking off, he sounds more like a wanna-be driving his own van around to small-club gigs than the headliner of one of this summer's highest-grossing concert attractions. (Diamond's box-office sales are expected to top even those of Eminem's "Anger Management" tour.) "I think my new show's good, but I can never be sure," he says. "Well, I just hope they like it." Now that we've heard Neil Diamond unadorned, we're believers.