The Defiant Pulse of Youth and Determination in Motion
When Neil Diamond released “Do It” in 1966, it marked one of his earliest steps toward defining the voice that would later echo through arenas and radio waves alike. Issued as a single on the Bang Records label and included on his debut album The Feel of Neil Diamond, the song didn’t storm the top of the charts—peaking modestly in the lower reaches of Billboard’s Hot 100—but its impact lies not in commercial glory, rather in what it foretold. Here was a young songwriter, freshly cut from the Brill Building’s disciplined craft, beginning to flex beyond formula, fusing rhythm, rebellion, and reflection into something distinctly his own.
At first listen, “Do It” might seem like a straightforward call to action—a kinetic slice of mid-’60s pop urging movement, decision, and momentum. Yet beneath that propulsive beat lies an early articulation of Diamond’s lifelong preoccupation: the human struggle between hesitation and commitment, between thinking and feeling, between standing still and taking that first uncertain step forward. The command in its title isn’t just directed outward; it’s inward too—a young man convincing himself to seize life before doubt cements into inertia.
Musically, the track bears the imprint of its time while already hinting at Diamond’s future grandeur. The arrangement is taut and urgent, driven by a brisk guitar rhythm and buoyed by handclaps that pulse like a heartbeat trying to break free from the cage of conformity. His voice—still raw compared to the burnished baritone that would define later classics—carries an unmistakable sense of striving. There’s grit under its polish, a restless energy that betrays both ambition and uncertainty. Each note feels like a negotiation between youth’s impatience and the yearning for authenticity.
What makes “Do It” so compelling within Diamond’s early catalog is how it captures him mid-transformation: no longer just a songwriter-for-hire crafting hits for others (as he had done for The Monkees and Jay and the Americans), but an artist stepping into his own narrative skin. The song encapsulates that moment when artistic identity begins to coalesce—when one decides to stop waiting for permission and simply do it. In that sense, it’s autobiographical in spirit if not in direct confession: a reflection of Diamond’s decision to take his craft into his own hands, to risk vulnerability onstage instead of remaining behind the scenes.
Half a century later, “Do It” resonates less as a period artifact than as an eternal reminder of creative courage. It’s a compact anthem of self-determination—an early spark from an artist who would go on to explore every shade of human yearning. Listening now, you can almost hear destiny knocking in rhythm with each beat: not yet majestic or mythic, but utterly alive with possibility.