Happily, [Rick] Rubin reins in Diamond’s floridity more than any other producer he has worked with since the sixties, highlighting the weird mixture of guilelessness and gravitas at the center of his work.
Of his canon the magazine writes winningly:
The best ones sound like the pleas of a love-struck man from another place—perhaps a small Eastern European city—who has an unusual gift for melody but who grew up not speaking English.
But which city? Sofia? Prague? Novi Sad? Budapest?
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