A former touring crew member has revealed a surprisingly personal detail about Neil Diamond’s long career on the road: the singer reportedly brought the same plain wooden chair with him on every major tour, regardless of venue, era, or travel complications. According to the crew member, the chair became an unspoken staple of the backstage setup — as essential as the microphones, guitars, or lighting rigs.
The crew member, who worked on multiple tours through the 1980s and 1990s, said the chair wasn’t decorative or custom-made. It wasn’t engraved, reinforced, or theatrically designed. In fact, it looked ordinary to the point of being forgettable — a simple, medium-brown wooden chair with a slightly worn seat and faint scratches running along its legs.
“Anyone could mistake it for a piece of furniture from a school classroom,” the crew member said. “But it was non-negotiable. That chair went everywhere Neil went.”
The chair was reportedly transported in its own padded case, labeled only with the initials N.D. Crew members were instructed to keep it accessible during load-in and never place heavy equipment on top of its case. While other artists requested elaborate stage props or luxury backstage lounges, Diamond’s consistent request was far simpler: make sure the wooden chair was placed in his dressing area before soundcheck.
According to the crew member, the chair was not used for interviews, rehearsals, or socializing. Diamond didn’t sit in it while tuning guitars or reading setlists. Instead, he used it for a private pre-show moment that few saw and even fewer understood.
“He’d sit for just a minute or two,” the crew member explained. “Not long. But always before stepping onstage. We didn’t interrupt him. We didn’t ask questions. It felt symbolic — like a ritual.”
The crew member described seeing Diamond enter his dressing room, nod to the assistant on duty, sit in the chair with his hands loosely clasped, take a deep breath, and then stand up again. The entire ritual was quiet, deliberate, and remarkably consistent. There were no vocal warmups, no spoken affirmations, no dramatic gestures — just a silent pause.
Over the years, different crew members grew curious and whispered theories. Some believed the chair came from Diamond’s early songwriting days. Others guessed it belonged to a family member or had been present during a milestone early performance. But Diamond never offered an explanation, and the crew learned not to ask.
“It wasn’t sentimental in an obvious way,” the crew member said. “He didn’t fuss over it or treat it like a museum piece. It was just part of his preparation. Almost like muscle memory.”
The ritual continued even when touring logistics became complicated. Even on international runs with strict cargo limits, the chair was shipped ahead of the team. Venues from Tokyo to Toronto saw it appear in backstage rooms — sometimes looking out of place among modern furniture and high-end hospitality setups.
As Diamond’s touring schedule slowed in later years, the chair retired from the road. The crew member doesn’t know where it ended up, but believes it’s still in Diamond’s personal storage.
“I doubt he ever threw it away,” the crew member said. “It meant something to him — even if he kept the meaning to himself.”
The wooden chair may never appear in documentaries or memorabilia collections, but for those who spent decades behind the scenes, it remains one of the most honest symbols of Diamond’s quiet routines: a small, private anchor carried through a lifetime of performances.