Having fallen a bit short of my goal to find “something . . . ANYTHING far removed from war, culture wars and geopolitics” in my review of A Wizard, A True Star, I scoured my old spreadsheet for alternatives. I was further motivated to do so after reading an article in The Guardian by George Monbiot titled “The question no one dares ask: what if Britain has to defend itself from the US?” that confirmed suspicions I had held for some time.

All the talk now is of how we might defend ourselves without the U.S. But almost everyone with a voice in public life appears to be avoiding a much bigger and more troubling question: how we might defend ourselves against the U.S. . . .

Putin has long sought to break up the EU, using the European far right as his proxies: this is why he invested so heavily in Brexit. Now Trump, in turn, could use Putin as his proxy, to attack a rival centre of power. If Trump helps Russia sweep through Ukraine, Putin could then issue an ultimatum to other frontline and eastern European states: leave the EU, leave NATO and become a client state like Belarus, or you’re next. In Hungary, Viktor Orbán might agree to this.

Monbiot also mentions the extensive integration of weapons systems and digital technology within NATO, closing that thread with a chilling thought: “In other words, if the US is now our enemy, the enemy is inside the gate.”

Gee, thanks, George! That did wonders for my mental health!

I thought I might have better luck finding apolitical material on compilation albums, so I sorted the spreadsheet accordingly and narrowed it down to three:

• Ray Charles: I had to pass on Ray because I would have to cover both his Atlantic and ABC-Paramount years and I don’t have the time to do another two-part review right now.
• Mary Wells: Mary was a great soul/R&B singer, but her story is rather sad, and given our current situation, I can’t deal with sad.
• Badfinger: Love the power pop, admire the songwriting and musicianship, but if I can’t handle sad, I sure can’t handle tragic.

Failing there, I sorted the columns by album title, and lo and behold, there was Aerial Ballet at the top. I hesitated for a moment, laughed and said aloud, “Oh, what the fuck.” I hadn’t reviewed a 60s album in quite a while, so I used that excuse to overcome my hesitation.

I was reluctant to engage with this particular album because I was worried about potential bias: I thought Aerial Ballet was the greatest album ever made . . . when I was eight years old.

That was my age when I began formal training in piano and flute, but I had already received some instruction from my mother on both instruments, starting at the age of six. My hands were too small to do much on either instrument, so Maman taught me to pick out simple melodies on the piano and bought me a soprano recorder to get a feel for breath-finger coordination. She also had me practice blowing on the head joint of a student flute every day (what we called “pooh practice”) to teach me the correct positioning of the lips.

Prior to formal training, my interaction with music was largely limited to singing or humming along, focusing on melodies and lyrics while paying little attention to the instrumentation or the arrangements. Even when my parents played classical music, I ignored the instruments and hunted for melodies I could turn into my own little songs (hence my love of Schubert). I don’t know if this is true for most people, but once I started playing an instrument, I became much more sensitive to instrumentation and the sonic possibilities in music.

Some time during that period, my dad slapped Aerial Ballet on the turntable. In addition to the strong, vertical melodies, I found myself thoroughly enchanted by all the different sounds on the album. I asked Dad to play it again and each time I heard a new sound I cried, “What’s that?” Dad couldn’t identify all the instruments, so we asked Maman to join the party. We must have played the album a half-dozen times trying to identify all the sounds but I think we fell a little bit short (FYI: guitar, piano, harpsichord, organ, bass, drums, bells, mallets, triangle, tambourine, shaker, tabla, timpani, trumpet, flugelhorn, baritone home, trombone, bass trombone, French horn, tuba, flute, clarinet, oboe, bassoon, violin and cello). After that mega-session I became something of a pest, asking questions like, “How do they know which instruments to play and when?” and “Why did they lower the volume there?” and “When do they figure out that enough is enough?” My mother delighted in my curiosity but explained that it takes years of study and practice to find the answers to those questions.

In addition to the arrangements, I was equally fond of Harry Nilsson’s three-octave, falsetto-aided lead and background vocals, his ability to vary his timbre to express a variety of emotions and his scat-inspired impressions of various instruments. I didn’t have the words for it then, but today I would describe his vocal stylings as diverse, creative and always in sync with the musical mood (play “Mr. Tinker” and “Coconut” back to back and you’ll understand). Though some of the songs on the album were sad, Harry always conveyed his love for music and the joy he felt in its creation and realization.

Yes, yes, yes, I know Harry had a more-than-difficult childhood and that the end of his story is quite depressing, but I also think the producers of the documentary Who Is Harry Nilsson (And Why Is Everybody Talkin’ About Him?) spent far too much time covering his path to self-destruction instead of taking a deeper dive into his musical accomplishments. By the time he began recording, he had already made waves as a songwriter; during his creative peak beginning with 1967’s Pandemonium Shadow Show and ending with 1971’s Nilsson Schmilsson (his most commercially successful album), this tortured artist wrote and recorded some of the finest songs of the era and established himself as a singer of the highest rank. In those five years he accomplished more than most musicians have achieved in a lifetime.

And with Aerial Ballet, he made a eight-year-old girl a very happy camper, strengthening what would become a lifelong fascination with music that will survive whatever the fuck Trump fucks up.

*****

I was lucky that my father asked us to spend the weekend in Cork to assess his progress in turning our wee cottage into something resembling a house, allowing me to listen to the same piece of vinyl I heard back in 1989. Many versions sold today open with “Daddy’s Song,” which was not included on the original release because The Monkees held exclusive rights to the song for use in their film Head. Ergo, I will review the album as I experienced it.

Side One

“Good Old Desk”: When I heard this song for the first time, it was like my brain had been a dormant Christmas tree and suddenly all the lights came on at once. As the song progressed, I felt warm waves of delight filling my heart and a heightened sense of wonder. When I re-engaged with the song last week, I felt echoes of that childhood experience and couldn’t stop smiling. I had to play it again . . . then I had to play it on my piano . . . and I was about to play it again when Alicia reminded me I had a review to write and limited free time at my disposal.

Yes, dear. Harrumph!

While it is true that Nilsson had an intuitive gift for songwriting and a capable voice, talent alone is no guarantee for success. Budding musicians need to connect with someone who believes in them and is willing to invest time, energy and money to secure the attention they deserve. We may have never heard of the Beatles if it weren’t for Brian Epstein and George Martin. In Nilsson’s case, several people were interested in his music, but the guy who had the greatest impact was George Tipton, who served as Nilsson’s arranger during his creative peak. Tipton heard some of his songs and immediately invested his entire life savings ($2500) to make four demos that they sold to Capitol subsidiary Tower Records . . . which in turn led to a longer-term contract with RCA.

Both the composition and arrangement of “Good Old Desk” qualify as exquisite. The song opens with Nilsson scatting to an alternative melody over an inventive chord pattern that moves from a brief E/Esus4 pairing to a declining Em-Em7-Em6-Em(b6) sequence, closing with a quick shift to C7, B and back to the root chord. The arrangement is set to a relaxed pace with piano, bells and counterpoint horns providing the background. The verse maintains the pace, with Nilsson singing the lovely main melody to another creative chord pattern with some surprising juxtapositions: E-Gm#7-D-C#-A-G#7-C#m-E . . . A-C-E-C#-A-C-E. As the song proceeds, we hear plenty of Nilsson’s overdubbed harmonies and background vocals, and in the closing verse, a string section complements the horns with a smoother texture. Absolute perfection!

The lyrics seem pretty straightforward to me . . . but maybe not to people who can’t believe someone would bother to write an ode to a desk:

My old desk does an arabesque,
In the morning when I first arrive.
It’s a pleasure to see it’s waiting there for me
to keep my hopes alive.
Such a comfort to know it’s got no place to go,
it’s always there.
It’s the one thing I’ve got, a huge success,
my Good Old Desk.

I doubt that Nilsson’s desk welcomed him by standing on one leg like a ballerina . . . and his real working hours were 5 pm to 1 a.m. . . . but he was entitled to use artistic license, even anthropomorphist artistic license. Developing attachments to inanimate objects is a very human thing, and Nilsson had good reason to love his desk. Forced to quit school and fend for himself after his mother was sent to the hoosegow for writing bad checks, he pumped gas for his uncle (a mechanic who taught him how to sing harmonies) and served as an assistant manager at Paramount Theatres in Los Angeles and San Francisco. Called back to L.A. to help close that Paramount, he noticed that several of the ex-theatre-employees found jobs in the banking industry. He quickly applied for a job at a bank (lying about having a high school diploma) and eventually wound up running the data processing department. Harry now had an office (with a desk, of course) and a steady job, and it doesn’t take a genius to assume that his desk served as a symbol of blessed stability. Even when he started to earn attention from the music industry, he continued to work at his bank desk. When he signed with RCA, the only perk he requested was an office with . . . a desk.

I can so relate to this. I loved the desk I had when I was a kid and I’ve loved every desk I’ve owned since. When I sit or stand at my desk, I get an ‘aaah’ feeling like I’m entering my safe place, my private world where I can reconnect with myself.

But wait! There’s more! I’m sure that introverts everywhere can relate to the closing verse:

My old desk never needs a rest,
and I’ve never once heard it cry.
I’ve never seen it tease, it’s always there to please me
from nine to five . . .
Such a comfort to know, it’s dependable and slow,
but it’s always there.
It’s the one friend I’ve got, a giant of all times,
my Good Old Desk.

Introverts despise the unplanned interactions, interruptions and small talk common to the workplace—and Nilsson was certainly an introvert. His need for plenty of alone time turned out to be a good news/bad news kind of thing: it allowed him to nurture his imagination and develop his originality; but his refusal to perform live negatively impacted record sales. Many extroverts see introverts as loners and losers, a stance that only reinforces the introvert need to minimize interactions. Having married an introvert, I can guarantee that if you give an introvert ample time for introspection, you will be rewarded in kind with plenty of love and gratitude. Alicia loves it when I spend hours sitting at my desk!

Strangely enough, my research on the song revealed some confusion regarding its meaning. I had a hard time believing that anyone who understands English could experience befuddlement; however, it turns out that Nilsson was responsible for sowing the confusion.

One of the best summaries of Nilsson’s life and career can be found in an article by Dawn Eden for Goldmine titled “One Last Touch of Nilsson,” republished on NilssonSchmilsson.com. The segment on “Good Old Desk” finds Harry engaging in a bit of legerdemain with a gullible, self-styled bon vivant:

Aerial Ballet began with “Good Old Desk,” a song which, like “Cuddly Toy,” was much misinterpreted. Once again, the source for the misinterpretation was Nilsson himself. “After I wrote the song,” he told Goldmine, “somebody asked me what it was about and I said, ‘I don’t know.’ Then I realized what the initials were.” Viewers of the television show “Playboy After Dark” witnessed Nilsson tell Hugh Hefner, with a straight face, that the song’s meaning was in its initials . . . “God.” Nilsson admitted to Goldmine, “I bullshitted him. I thought it was funny. Nobody else thought it was funny!”

Well, I think it’s funny (but hardly surprising) that Hefner was stupid enough to believe him.

“Don’t Leave Me”: This song finds Harry dealing with the loss of his love interest, the first of five songs on the album dealing with unsuccessful relationships (and the first of two songs where the willow tree serves as a symbol of loneliness). I love the arrangement accompanying the first verse with light acoustic guitar, bass and shaker complemented by a faint held note in the left channel that resembles a moan. Harry varies that background vocal in the second verse, echoing the core melody while strings enter the soundscape to intensify the emotions expressed in the lyrics. As he starts to panic about being alone, the music gets louder and more brassy (a bit too loud and brassy in my humble opinion) and Harry’s scatting feels somewhat inappropriate. Not my favorite, but Harry will do much better in the remaining lost love pieces.

“Mr. Richland’s Favorite Song”: According to a contributor on Genius, this song was “Named after song promoter Tony Richland, who had hyped Nilsson’s debut album, Pandemonium Shadow Show, and who later was the one who informed Nilsson that he’d been publicly cited by the Beatles as both their favorite artist and their favorite band.“

Big fucking deal. Though much is made of the endorsement, it certainly didn’t improve Nilsson’s fortunes. None of his albums or singles appeared in the Billboard Top 100 during the period immediately following the Beatles’ embrace. We can classify that little tidbit as useless information unlikely to fire anyone’s imagination and move on.

The song has nothing to do with Mr. Richland; it’s a brilliantly structured tale that follows the classic trajectory of pop stars and their fans:

• Step One: Find a sound/gimmick/approach that attracts an adoring fan base and stick with it.
• Step Two: Continue playing the same old shit on the casino/bar circuit for fans who want to recapture their salad days.
• Step Three: Repeat step two (but call it a “reunion tour”) and play for a dwindling audience of grandparents.

We saw this cycle dramatized on Schitt’s Creek when Gen Xer Jocelyn (who had just given birth in her 40s) talks the Jazzagals into attending a Poison concert (at a casino, of course) and learns just before they climb into the bus that the concert had been cancelled. She compensates for the loss by using her casino winnings to have her hair done in a classic 1980s jeez-that’s-a-lot-of-hair style in a vain attempt to recapture her youth. I experienced the phenomenon first-hand when I visited Graceland and found the gift shop packed with silver-haired ladies stocking up on Elvis memorabilia.

The first verse presents the initial period of stardom and its predictable impact on the teenyboppers.

When he was young he sang in the band
And the fans all looked the same
And the fans he had were younger than he
And they loved to scream his name
They’d leave at the end of the third show
Go home to talk of the fun
Well, isn’t it nice the parents would say
Well, isn’t it nice you’ve got someone
Someone to idolize
He must look twice his size
I think it’s great, you’re going through a phase
And I’m awfully glad it will all be over in a couple of days

No, it won’t. We all have a little bit of Peter Pan inside us and wish we never had to grow up. Many people remember their youth as the best and brightest part of their lives and they don’t want to forget who they were way back when, before the drudgery of having to land a job to pay the bills dampened their spirits and drained life of excitement.

As the story proceeds, we find that never-ending nostalgia is only part of the theme. The real tragedy involves the stuck-in-the-rut musician who still craves attention but lacks the ambition to improve his craft:

Well, the calendar changed and the pages fell off
But the singer remained the same
And he never grew tired of singin’ his song
And his fans still called his name . . .

“The time has come” the Walrus said
“To speak of other things”
Like a fallen star who works in a bar
Where ‘Yesterday’ is king
The fans will stay for an hour or so
They still remember his fame
“But the time has come” the Walrus said
“To call your fans by name”

Commentators have struggled to decide whether the mention of a walrus was inspired by John Lennon or Lewis Carroll. The correct answer is “both.” Lennon had sort of remembered the poem “The Walrus and the Carpenter” sometime during his acid-head period and chose the walrus to represent him in his famous song. Oops! As he told Playboy, “Later, I went back and looked at it and realized that the walrus was the bad guy in the story and the carpenter was the good guy. I thought, Oh, shit, I picked the wrong guy. I should have said, ‘I am the carpenter.’ But that wouldn’t have been the same, would it?” Given that “If I Were a Carpenter” had reached classic status, he was better off with the walrus (also a better choice for the song’s delightful weirdness).

Lennon’s confusion aside, the true meaning of the verse has more to do with the Beatles. For four years they played the same old shit to crowds of manic fans who couldn’t hear the music above the screaming—an impersonal experience par excellence. Unlike the hero on our story, they tired of the mindless adoration and chose to engage in a deeper exploration of the possibilities in music. The mention of “Yesterday,” a song that has been recorded and covered by countless musicians, punctuates the danger of sticking with the same-o, same-o. The closing couplet is quite tantalizing. Wouldn’t it be nice to break the fourth wall, get to know your fans a little and relate on a more personal level? Safety is always a concern, but when you’re reduced to playing in dives, your fans have likely lost any strains of psychotic obsession.

The music is fairly straightforward, dominated by a repeated pattern of an Am/Am7/F/E broken only by a musical Easter egg in the form of G#. The arrangement features a prominent bass guitar and trombone with additional horn splashes. Harry’s closing scat passage strengthens the jazziness of the arrangement, placing the song in the unlikely genre I’ll call “Baroque Jazz.” Like Mr. Richman, this is one of my favorites.

“Little Cowboy”: The “song my mother sang to me” was written by his mother Bette. Nilsson talked about her in “One Last Touch of Nilsson”:

One of his earliest musical influences was his own mother, Bette Nilsson, who wrote two songs which Nilsson later recorded. “She wrote ‘”Marchin’ Down Broadway”,'” Nilsson said, “which Irving Berlin offered her a thousand bucks for, I found out. She thought he wanted the whole song, so she said no. He may really have wanted it; I’ve heard stories about him. Then she wrote ‘”Little Cowboy”.’ That was about the extent of her songwriting. I think she wrote poetry at night, you know, and things like that. She once wrote something which she sent to a publisher, called ‘I Think I’m Going Mad,’ and they sent it back and said, ‘So do we!'”

Though Nilsson appears to sing his mother’s song to his son, he had no offspring at the time (Zak wouldn’t pop out of the womb for another year or so). It seems to me that the song is about a tender moment with his mother, and though it’s a bit too cute for my tastes, I can’t fault a guy for choosing to remember a pleasant memory from a very messy childhood.

“Together”: Here we find Nilsson exploring the jigsaw puzzle of romantic compatibility, one of the most difficult puzzles human beings will ever tackle. “He’s a great fuck but has the brain of a peanut.” “I love our deep conversations but she’s kind of a nothingburger in the sack.” “Babe, you’ve got a great rack but you voted for who?” “I love you, honey, but your family is fucking weird.” The complications seem endless.

Nilsson gives us no hints about how to solve the puzzle and the song is stronger because he refuses to play the role of advice-dispenser. The experiences he describes are universal and he leaves it up to the listener to find their way out of the conundrums:

Life isn’t easy
When two are divided
And one has decided to bring down the curtain
And one thing’s for certain
There’s nothing to keep them together

How does it happen
That two can be tender
And one be the lender
Of love and emotion
That covered the ocean
Of sadness that kept them together . . .

Love when it’s growing
Is full of surprises
Its temperature rises
From higher to higher
Then turns into fire
That has to be shared together

Then came the sadness
Which follows the laughter
Which, shortly thereafter
The dream had exploded
The promise was broken
Now few words are spoken together

Sexual compatibility often cloaks underlying differences that will eventually sink the relationship, and memories of those temperature-rising experiences often lead to half-assed breakups that drag on for months due to the faulty belief that if we keep fucking it will solve all our problems. Though Nilsson refused to go Dear Abby on us, I will give you some advice: it’s always great to get laid, but you can’t fuck your way out of a mismatch.

In addition to the superb lyrics, “Together” is a marvelous composition set to an exceptionally strong arrangement. The balance between piano and horns is spot-on, and the matched descending chords (F variants in the verses and Bb variants in the bridge) imbue the song with compositional unity. Nilsson’s vocals are equally impressive as he sings the high-speed melody with admirable restraint while subtly expressing anxiety, frustration, and (alas) acceptance that the puzzle defies solution.

Side Two

“Everybody’s Talkin'” (Fred Neil): Nilsson was a first-rate songsmith and a connoisseur of songwriting who covered tunes from many different composers in multiple genres and eras. Harry and Randy Newman formed a mutual admiration society, resulting in the albums Nilsson Sings Newman and the posthumous For the Love of Harry: Everybody Sings Nilsson. He treated covers as if they were his own, showing great respect for the composer’s intent. His two biggest hits were covers—the Pete Ham/Tom Evans tune “Without You” and this wonderful piece of songwriting from Fred Neil.

The song was originally released as a single in 1968 to promote Aerial Ballet and failed to chart, further evidence that a Lennon-McCartney endorsement wasn’t worth dick. Its appearance in Midnight Cowboy rescued the song from oblivion, earning Nilsson a Grammy for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance.

The website Song Meanings features a thorough and thoughtful interpretation of Fred Neil’s lyrics. The opening summary captures the essence:

“Everybody’s Talkin’” by Fred Neil is a timeless song that resonates with anyone who feels the urge to break free from societal expectations and find solace in their own path. This song, made famous by Harry Nilsson in the 1969 film “Midnight Cowboy,” encapsulates the longing for escape and introspection. The lyrics express a yearning to leave behind the noise and judgment of the world, seeking instead the tranquility of a more personal and authentic existence. With its haunting melody and poignant words, “Everybody’s Talkin’” invites listeners to reflect on their own lives and the pressures they face, encouraging them to seek out the peace and freedom they truly desire.

We all have unique experiences involving societal expectations and encounter plenty of people who want to tell us how to live our lives. We rarely experience true dialogue where both parties join together in the search for mutual understanding; most of the time it feels like “everybody’s talking at me,” people telling us what we should do without considering what we might want or need. It’s difficult to shut out all the noise, the guilt trips thrown our way and the superficial judgments of people with conventional, conformist beliefs. We rarely experience empathy and understanding; meaningful relationships are hard to come by. At some point in our lives we long to find freedom from all those pressures and a place where we feel free to be ourselves:

I’m goin’ where the sun keeps shinin’
Through the pourin’ rain
Goin’ where the weather suits my clothes
Bankin’ off of the northeast winds
Sailin’ on summer breeze
And skippin’ over the ocean like a stone

I’d always found the closing verse (“I won’t let you leave my love behind”) out of sync with the rest of the song, but Song Meanings cleared the air for me:

The song concludes with a heartfelt outro, introducing a new element of love and commitment. The line “and I won’t let you leave my love behind” suggests a promise to hold onto love despite the challenges and distractions of life. This declaration of unwavering love adds a layer of emotional depth to the song, highlighting the importance of love and connection in the face of adversity . . . By repeating “no, I won’t let you leave my love behind,” the protagonist reaffirms his commitment to love and connection. This repetition serves as a powerful conclusion, emphasizing the enduring significance of love as a source of strength and solace.

The arrangement is sheer perfection, a beautiful blend of acoustic arpeggiated chords and orchestral strings. Nilsson’s tone and delivery combine the weariness of disconnection and the determination to find that place “where the weather suits my clothes.” I’ve played the song hundreds of times and always find it a source of comfort and regeneration.

“I Said Goodbye to Me”: There are two possible interpretations of this song. One commentator described it as “an interesting suicide song that (amazingly) doesn’t get melodramatic until the laughable spoken chorus.” The opposing view is based on Nilsson’s status as an introvert: he’s saying goodbye to the fake persona he felt he had to adopt to maintain an intimate relationship.

I’m going with the latter. The lyrics contain no evidence of self-inflicted foul play and the line “I’ll pack up my memories then I’ll walk away” confirms he intended to continue his existence. Why bother to pack up your memories if you plan to off yourself? It’s just like an introvert to leave without saying goodbye and avoid what would be a very unpleasant interaction.

He also tells us why he chose to bail: “Ending the game is like changing the name of your favorite song/Step out of rhyme for the very first time and the song is gone.” Apparently, he committed a faux pas (stepping out of rhyme) that resulted in a serious disruption in the relationship. Our poor soul is suffering from a severe case of embarrassment and self-blame, but not suffering enough to end it all.

Though I also find the spoken chorus laughable, the melody is quite memorable and I love the rhythmic arrangement combining waltz time with a few “hiccups” in 2/4.

“Little Cowboy (Reprise): Nuf ced (aficionados of baseball history will get the connection).

“Mr. Tinker”: My favorite song on Aerial Ballet is a masterpiece of composition, arrangement and production—and one of the best character sketches I’ve ever encountered in popular music. Though Nilsson was so unhappy with Rick Jarrard’s production on his first two albums that he remixed songs from both Pandemonium Shadow Show and Aerial Ballet to create Aerial Pandemonium Ballet, he was smart enough not to mess around with “Mr. Tinker.”

The song opens with a nimble and marvelously melodic piano intro, followed by the unique sound of a bassoon sweetened with light flute and clarinet on the left channel and subtle horns on the right. I get the chills when the woodwinds combine to form a magical crescendo after the third line of the opening verse and remain captivated by the arrangement’s sonic diversity throughout the song. The interest is further enhanced by “chords that shouldn’t be there” (D# in an A-minor composition?), Nilsson’s sensitive vocal and his compelling switch to falsetto in the chorus. GodDAMN I love that arrangement and find myself wishing I had been a session player back in 1968 and had the opportunity to play my flute with these marvelous musicians. I would have done it for free!

The character sketch is both moving and prophetic. Those who encounter Mr. Tinker likely view him as a misanthrope who does fine work but is not someone you would like to know better or even engage in small talk. No one seems to have an interest in finding out why he comes across as a grumpy old man; he exists to provide a service and nothing more:

Mr. Tinker was a tailor
And he had a neon sign above his door
And he cooked his meals and he tried to sleep
In the one-room shack directly behind the store
Above his dresser was a picture of a wife who passed away
And next to that there was a picture of a boy who couldn’t stay

Mr. Tinker was a jealous man
And he never smiled at the people who came to the store
And he envied them for the lives they lived and the fun they had
And the colorful things they wore
It isn’t easy for a tailor when there’s nothin’ left to sew
He wishes he could mend his life but then there’s no one left to show

Life has dealt the man a poor hand and he is understandably resentful about it. He has never heard of the seven stages of grief and finds himself stuck in the anger phase with no idea of how to move on. We can assume that his barely concealed anger is what drove his son away, a turn of events that further fueled his resentment. Unfortunately, things are only likely to get worse, as prophesied by Mr. Nilsson:

Mr. Tinker was a tailor
And the tailor has a well-respected trade
But who needs Mr. Tinker
When all the suits you buy are ready-made

I didn’t know much about economics when I was a kid, but when I first heard this verse I felt a sadness that I couldn’t explain. Later I figured out that Mr. Tinker was a victim of mass production techniques and consumer preferences that rendered his craft virtually obsolete. Why bother to go to a tailor and spend gobs of money to get the perfect fit when you can grab a suit off the rack? With a few alterations it will be “good enough.” Only the well-to-do patronize tailor shops, and they are more likely to have their clothes made by “name” tailors and not some guy forced by circumstances to live in a shack. It’s bad enough that Mr. Tinker lost his wife and was abandoned by his son, but I’ll bet the realization that his life work had little value hit him just as hard.

Poor, poor Mr. Tinker.

“One”: It’s one thing to write an ode to your desk but quite another thing to compose a song while you’re listening to busy signal. During his peak period, Nilsson must have had a direct hook-up to the goddess of creativity’s hotline.

The best-selling version of this song was the Three Dog Night hit, a travesty of enormous proportions. I watched a video of their performance on some TV show (the YouTuber failed to identify the source) and was shocked that most of the band were smiling and dancing throughout the overpowered performance. Oh, for fuck’s sake, this is SAD song, not Jeremiah was a fucking bullfrog! Thanks for reminding me to put you on my no-fly list!

The songwriter imagined a more nuanced and imaginative approach. Nilsson thankfully substituted the inspirational busy signal with a patched-and-echoed series of declining organ notes in the song’s minor key, conveying concern rather than alarm. For the most part, he sings in a dampened, introspective voice as he ponders the math of separation, raising his voice towards the end to form something akin to a revelation. George Tipton’s arrangement syncs perfectly with the morose vocal delivery, making excellent use of cellos and flute to strengthen the melancholy. To my ears, Nilsson’s rendition is sheer perfection, but of course, it failed to chart anywhere on earth. Infuckingcredible.

“The Wailing of the Willow” (Harry Nilsson, Ian Freebairn Smith): Our final exploration of love-gone-sour is unique in three respects. First, Nilsson plumbs the depths of his three-octave range and consistently remains at the near-bottom of his register while losing none of his essential warmth. Second, the arrangement feels more Easy Listening than pop, which makes sense when you consider that Ian Freebairn Smith would eventually become an in-demand arranger who worked with artists such as The Four Freshmen, Liza Minelli, Andy Williams and Barbra Streisand (on the flip side, he also worked with Jeff Beck and handled the arrangements for Phil Ochs’ Pleasures of the Harbor). I doubt that Ian would have come up with an arrangement that was not to Nilsson’s liking, and some of Nilsson’s songs do approach the more layered and smooth approach of Easy Listening. The rhythm and arrangement are marked by faint Brazilian influences, reflecting the era when (according to my father), Easy Listening stations like KSFO San Francisco played “The Girl from Ipanema” every hour upon the hour.

The third surprise is that “The Wailing of the Willow” contains a smidgen of optimism—and I’ll take it!

Love must lack a sense of humor
It laughs when other people cry
Love would love to hear the rumor
That you and I have finally said goodbye

I know that every heart was made for breaking
And my love was ready for the taking
Still I won’t complain for someday love will call again

There you go, Nilsson! Plenty of fish in the sea, yada, yada, yada.

“Bath”: Though the person I am today would easily earn a Ph.D. in Fucking if there was such a designation, eight-year-old me could not have imagined penises entering vaginas or why anyone would want to do such a silly thing. Hence, I completely misinterpreted the line, “And I’m awfully glad/She let me come inside,” believing “she” was a nice lady who provided shelter to a homeless person on a typically chilly San Francisco night.

After I started fucking like a rabbit in my teens, I finally put six and nine together and had to conclude Nilsson had been visiting a house of ill repute . . . and having one helluva good time!

I’m leaving here this morning
But I don’t know where I’ve been
There’s a lot of talk about the place
But I’ll be back again . . .

Yeah, I’m leaving here this morning
With my eyes all open wide
And I’m awfully glad
She let me come inside

The music is jazzy, loose and loaded with fun. It sounds like everyone in the studio was having a great time and no one had a better time than Nilsson, who exits the scene filled with optimism about a brighter future:

Yeah, I’m leaving here this morning
With a smile upon my face
I’m beginning to think
There’s hope for the human race

A great lay will do that to ya . . . hmm. Maybe I’ve been going about this save-the-world stuff all wrong. Perhaps the reason why people are so jumpy, grumpy and down-in-the-dumpy is they’re not getting enough sex! We need a campaign! “Every Night Is Fuck Night!” Okay, we’re just brainstorming here, and we’ll need a more acceptable slogan for the squeamish and G-rated families . . . and we’ll have to round up the sex offenders and triple the penalties for non-consexual sex . . . but I think this could work! Better still, if every adult spends the night fucking by candlelight instead of watching TV, we could have a tremendous, positive impact on climate change! Hooray for me! Hooray for Harry Nilsson! We’ve saved the world!

*****

In a part-epitaph, part fan experience piece on Nilsson for The Art Music Lounge, Lynn René Bayley wrote about the music of Nilsson’s peak period—and his artistic decline.

It seemed as if Nilsson was a quiet, sensitive man who had tapped into what it was like to be quiet and sensitive and misunderstood in American society. Certainly, that was part of his charm. His Nilsson Schmilsson album, though yielding the hit song Without You, was to me less effective than his earlier recordings (by this time he had a falling out with George Tipton, and I personally think Tipton’s replacements never quite achieved the tasteful quietude of his earlier recordings) . . .

Yet I still have his early albums on CD, and I play them every so often. There’s just something indefinably beautiful about them; they have a certain timeless quality . . . When Nilsson died of heart failure in 1994, not quite aged 53, it came as a bit of a shock to me, but by this time he had become much more identified with the songs Without You and Coconut in the eyes of the public. I miss that early part of you, Harry, and I wish you hadn’t deserted your principles and style. It was what made you unique.

I wholeheartedly agree with Lynn. Though they didn’t fare all that well with the masses, Nilsson’s early works will be remembered for their timeless artistry. Perhaps someday in the hopefully immediate future when people tire of today’s pathetic formulaic pop, they will discover those albums, experience the enchantment a young girl felt and wonder, “What the hell was the matter with people back then? This guy is amazing!”

*****

Postscript: I met with my Director last week and she offered to extend my contract for another two years. I explained to her that I was committed to moving to Ireland and would only be interested in EU openings there. She countered by telling me that I could work remotely from anywhere in the EU with travel to the continent limited to quarterly meetings and important developments. I explained I would need a month-long break to set up the house and she said that would not be a problem. I also expressed my concern that human rights have been pushed to the sidelines by Trump’s antics and the heavy investment in defense; she expressed her belief that our human rights initiatives are more important than ever and that they form an important part of our defense against anti-democratic authoritarians. Because human rights are under attack in several EU countries (and I need the income), I’m inclined to accept the offer.

Of course, that assumes that I choose not to expend every bit of my boundless energy on “Every Night Is Fuck Night.”