“And the Singer Sings His Song” is Neil Diamond’s gentle self-portrait—an artist choosing the quiet discipline of truth, singing on even when certainty is out of reach.
In the late 1960s, when pop music was getting louder, faster, and more crowded with declarations, Neil Diamond slipped a different kind of statement into the world: “And The Singer Sings His Song.” It isn’t a song that tries to win you over with clever twists or a chorus designed to dominate the room. Instead, it feels like a small lamp switched on in the corner—steady, modest, and strangely comforting. The title says it all: when the night gets complicated, when applause fades, when love and luck refuse to cooperate… the singer still sings. Not because the world is easy, but because the song is the one honest thing left to hold.
The recording first belongs to 1969, appearing on Diamond’s Uni-era album Touching You, Touching Me—released November 14, 1969. That date matters, because it places the song at an early-but-crucial point in his rise: a time when his identity as a writer-performer was solidifying, and when his music often carried a reflective, almost diary-like intimacy beneath its polished surfaces. Importantly, the song is credited as written by Neil Diamond himself. There’s a particular weight to that fact—because “And The Singer Sings His Song” feels less like a character sketch and more like a confession. He isn’t borrowing another person’s voice; he’s offering his own.
Although it wasn’t the headline A-side, the song did have a public “moment” in the charts as the B-side to Diamond’s 1970 single “Until It’s Time for You to Go.” In the official discography listings, that single reached No. 53 on the US chart and No. 11 on US Adult Contemporary, with additional peaks including No. 48 in Canada and No. 14 in Canada Adult Contemporary—and it is explicitly listed with “And the Singer Sings His Song” as the B-side. Those numbers are not just trivia; they quietly explain the song’s place in the world. This is not a track that burst through the door demanding attention. It traveled instead the way many meaningful songs do—by staying close to the main story, waiting patiently for the right ears to turn it over and listen.
And what do you hear when you do?
You hear a philosophy disguised as a lullaby for grown-ups. The song’s emotional center isn’t romance in the conventional sense; it’s the endurance of expression. There’s something both humble and brave about that idea. The singer doesn’t claim to be a hero. He doesn’t insist that the song will change anything. He simply keeps singing—because singing is how he makes sense of longing, of distance, of the unanswered questions life keeps placing on the table.
That theme would echo through Diamond’s career again and again: the tension between the public figure and the private man, between the bright stage lights and the quieter truths that live behind them. In “And The Singer Sings His Song,” you can almost feel him choosing the quieter truth. The song holds its emotion without squeezing it too hard. It suggests that art is sometimes less about performance than about persistence—showing up, telling the truth, and letting the song be what it is.
There’s also a tenderness in the way the title frames the singer: not as a star, but as a person doing a necessary thing. That distinction is the secret strength of the song. It invites the listener to see the artist not as a distant icon, but as someone who carries worries, doubts, hopes—then turns them into melody so they can be survived.
So if you’re looking for the meaning of “And The Singer Sings His Song”, it’s right there in its quiet insistence: even when life becomes uncertain, even when love shifts shape, even when the world stops promising anything—there remains the simple, human act of singing. And sometimes, that is enough.