I’ve Been This Way Before

A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI

Years ago, I was listening in my car to a Neil Diamond album. One song I had hear before was playing. It grabbed me anew. I played it again at a higher volume. Then again. And again. At least six times.

I thought to myself: I want this song played at my funeral. Today, I am saying it publicly. This is my song that might (or might not) accompany a hymn or two.
Linda and I have seen Neil Diamond live at least three times. He is mesmerizing. There is no single artist like him. Enough about me. Let’s go meet Neil.

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Most pop stars ascend quickly and fade just as fast. Neil Diamond didn’t follow that arc. Born in 1941 in Brooklyn to hardworking, culturally rich immigrant parents, he absorbed the grit and poetic tension of city life early on. The Brooklyn streets were not just home but a classroom in rhythm and blues, showmanship, and storytelling. That background—humble, restless, and full of voices—became part of his voice. Unlike many of his peers, Diamond never just chased trends. He mined emotion and reflection, building songs that felt like someone speaking directly into your memory.

Diamond’s early years were tough in the way that teaches craft and persistence. After attending Erasmus Hall High School—where he crossed paths with another future legend, Barbra Streisand—he briefly studied at NYU on a fencing scholarship. Fencing teaches precision and restraint; songwriting taught him phrase economy and melodic durability. He found his way into the famed Brill Building in Manhattan, where songwriters churned out hits for others while often remaining anonymous. There, Diamond honed his songs like a sculptor shaping marble, learning not just how to write, but how to feel music from the inside out.

By the late 1960s and 1970s, Diamond was no longer just a writer—he was a voice of a generation. Arena tours, platinum albums, and iconic hits like “Sweet Caroline” and “Cracklin’ Rosie” made his catalog a backdrop to countless life moments.

Yet as acclaim deepened, so did critical scrutiny. Critics often dismissed his earnestness as “schmaltzy,” while audiences embraced the sincerity he refused to hide behind irony.

That tension—between popularity and critical cool, between spectacle and introspection—is the soil from which I’ve Been This Way Before grows.

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“I’ve Been This Way Before” — A Song as Personal Philosophy

The song appears on the soundtrack to The Jazz Singer (1980), a film about a singer wrestling with identity, tradition, and expectation. That thematic context is vital because the song isn’t a love ballad in the usual sense—it’s an existential declaration.

At first listen, the title—even the phrase itself—sounds like a shrug. But within Diamond’s voice it becomes a statement of gravity: one who recognizes the terrain of joy and sorrow, of acclaim and criticism, of life’s unpredictable loops. The narrative here isn’t newness but recurrence with understanding.

A youthful voice might plead, persuade, or beg for one more chance. Diamond’s voice in this song simply recognizes the pattern and moves through it with calm assurance. The lyrics, textured with experience rather than with doubt, function less as persuasion and more as self-remembrance.

This is someone who has walked through seasons of doubt, eclipse, acclaim, reinvention, and doubt again. To say “I’ve been this way before” is to assert: I recognize this moment; it does not define me nor sway me.

That is wisdom, not resignation. It’s the voice of someone who has learned that storms pass, trends shift, critics change, but a grounded self persists.

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The Later Years: Triumph and a Debilitating Health Shift

Diamond’s story didn’t end with reflection; it faced a new trial. In 2018, as he was wrapping up his 50 Year Anniversary World Tour, he announced a diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease, a progressive neurological disorder that affects movement, coordination, and balance. That diagnosis forced him to retire from touring and scaled back the life of public performance that had defined him for decades.

Parkinson’s is not just a label—it’s a condition that gradually diminishes motor function and, in many cases, affects voice, movement, and daily activity in profound ways. Symptoms like tremors, muscle rigidity, and slow movement are hallmarks of a disease that attacks the very systems a performer depends on.

Yet Diamond did not vanish. He continued writing and remained engaged with his creative world, at times appearing publicly in rare, emotional moments—like surprise performances tied to A Beautiful Noise: The Neil Diamond Musical, the Broadway and touring show based on his life and songs. In 2025, at age 84, he made a moving appearance during the curtain call of a performance in Los Angeles, singing “Sweet Caroline” from his seat and connecting with fans one more time.

His health battle is ongoing, and Parkinson’s remains without a cure. But Diamond’s continued presence—especially his embrace of life beyond touring—mirrors the very essence of “I’ve Been This Way Before.” He has walked through the fear, the change, and now the physical limitations, yet his voice endures through memory, community, and art. That endurance is not denial of his condition, but rather a reorientation of purpose: finding new meaning and expression even when the stage has changed.

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Conclusion: The Song as Life’s Metaphor

When viewed through the arc of his life, I’ve Been This Way Before isn’t just a lyric—it’s a life stance. It is a way of looking at setbacks, acclaim, doubt, and even illness from a place anchored by self-awareness.

Neil Diamond’s journey—from Brooklyn kid to global star, from the relentless road to confronting a neurological disease—traces a path where recurring challenges aren’t stops but milestones. The song captures not just where he’s been, but how he’s learned to stand still while the world spins.

His current health situation may limit the physical body, but it has deepened the resonance of a song about having been there before—and still finding oneself standing. That’s the kind of insight only a lifetime of music, struggle, and self-reflection can give.

I’m going to add a rendition of the song at the end. Add an introduction with an encouragement to listen to the rise in his voice, holding the notes as his emphasis about some people struggling to see the light, some only when they die.

Here is an introductory section you can place just before the embedded rendition of the song. It’s written to prepare the listener’s ear, not explain the music away.

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Listening for the Weight of a Lived Voice

Before you listen, listen how Neil Diamond sings—not just what he sings.

Pay attention to the rise in his voice, the way he climbs deliberately into certain phrases and then holds the note longer than comfort requires. That holding is not a flourish. It is emphasis. It is a man insisting that some truths cannot be rushed.

When he sustains those notes, he is doing more than showcasing control. He is pressing meaning into time, forcing the listener to sit with an idea a moment longer than expected. The song is full of that restraint: a voice that knows when to wait, when to linger, when to let the thought land.

This matters because the song is quietly wrestling with a hard reality—that some people struggle their entire lives to see the light, to understand themselves, to recognize meaning or peace. Others, as the song suggests with gentle gravity, only see it at the very end, sometimes only when life itself is slipping away. There is no judgment in that observation, only recognition.

Diamond doesn’t sing this like a warning or a sermon. He sings it like someone who has watched it happen—who has lived long enough to know that clarity is unevenly distributed, and often painfully delayed.

So listen for the patience in his phrasing.
Listen for the steadiness rather than the drama.
Listen for the voice of someone who has been here before—and knows that insight often arrives late, but still arrives.

Then let the song speak for itself.

I’ve Been This Way Before

I’ve seen the light
And I’ve seen the flame
And I’ve been this way before
And I’m sure to be this way again
For I’ve been refused
And I’ve been regained
And I’ve seen your eyes before
And I’m sure to see your eyes again

Once again
For I’ve been released
And I’ve been regained
And I’ve sung my song before
And I’m sure to sing my song again
Once again

Some people got to laugh
Some people got to cry
Some people got to make it through
By never wondering why

Some people got to sing
Some people got to sigh
Some people never see the light
Until the day they die

But I’ve been released
And I’ve been regained
And I’ve been this way before
And I’m sure to be this way again
Once again
One more time again
Just one more time

Songwriter: Neil Diamond.

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Psst: Listen. Lean in closer. Don’t tell anybody I said this. But go see the movie Song Sung Blue.