Sometimes, a song is more than melody—it’s a memory, a mourning, a monument. That was the case in 1976, when Neil Diamond and Robbie Robertson co-wrote “Dry Your Eyes,” a soaring elegy inspired by the loss of one of America’s greatest voices: Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Their collaboration, unexpected yet profound, lives on not just as a track on Beautiful Noise, but as a musical tribute to grief, hope, and the resilience of the human spirit.
Their partnership began when Bob Dylan introduced Diamond to Robertson sometime around 1975 or early 1976. Soon after, the two artists, from seemingly different worlds—Diamond, the chart-topping pop balladeer, and Robertson, the poetic architect behind The Band—found common ground in songwriting with soul. That soul was never more present than in “Dry Your Eyes,” the only track they ever wrote together.
Produced by Robertson, Beautiful Noise became a love letter to New York City and the struggles of an artist trying to find his place in a loud, unforgiving world. It was the sound of ambition, fatigue, and faith—echoes of a time when Diamond himself was coming to terms with his journey as a performer. But “Dry Your Eyes” stood apart. It wasn’t just about the city. It was about a nation grieving, about a man whose voice had moved mountains and whose assassination in 1968 had left deep scars across America.
Robertson later recalled how Diamond sang the song at The Last Waltz—The Band’s farewell concert, immortalized by Martin Scorsese’s 1978 film. Dressed in a sharp blue suit and red shirt, Diamond stood on stage and boldly declared: “I’m only going to sing one song, but I’m going to sing it good.” And he did. With reverence, he delivered the words like a sermon, with Robertson by his side on guitar. The room fell quiet. The moment became sacred.
“He turned the words into a prayer, like a sermon out of Elmer Gantry,” Robertson wrote in his memoir Testimony. And indeed, “Dry Your Eyes” became more than just a performance—it became a eulogy.
It’s fitting that the song ends with a plea: “And come dry your eyes.” It’s not a demand. It’s an invitation—to remember, to heal, and to keep singing, even in sorrow. And in that moment—on that stage, in that song—Neil Diamond and Robbie Robertson didn’t just make music. They made history.