I wrote the following and posted it exclusively to Facebook on 4 November, 2023. I was reminded of it over the last few weeks. I recently acquired a 17-disc box set covering the bulk of the artist's work. I guess you could say I've been binging his music. This has caused me to have an even greater admiration for him as a singer and a songwriter than I already had. And evern after hearing all of these wonderful albums that I had never heard before, this one particular one still remains my favourite. Enjoy.
"I kinda just wanted to be a songwriter, you know? I think that's the hardest thing, to write a song... a song that, you know, when people hear it, they go, 'Oooohhh. I know what that guy was feeling when he wrote that.'"
--Adam Sandler as Robbie Hart in The Wedding Singer, 1998
I've
always admired songwriters. The ability to encapsulate human emotions
and experiences into a three minute (give or take) musical expression is
an impressive feat. I dabbled in it myself in college. My magnum
opus, "Arctic Bitch (Colder Than You)," notwithstanding, I wasn't very
successful at it... although I did get a lot of love for "Calamari (The
Squid Song)." As I learned, it's a lot harder than just writing a
decent poem and setting it to music... although if I do try to write a
song these days, that's still kind of how I do it (I've actually
partially written two songs for fictitious Broadway musicals based on
classic films... long story).
I
think we've all had those experiences when we hear a song and wish we
had written something that profound, that clever, that moving.
Personally, I've always wanted to write rhymes like Tom Lehrer (check
out "The Vatican Rag" if you're not familiar with his work), or at the
very least Paul "Rhymin'" Simon ("Getting Ready For Christmas Day" is
quite phenomenal--especially the second verse). I've always wanted to
be able to write a sappy piano ballad (and I mean that as a compliment)
like Billy Joel, something as cryptic as Dylan, as thought provoking as
Leonard Cohen, as beautiful as Tom Waits, as biting as Randy Newman, as
broken as Warren Zevon, and/or as spiritual as Bruce Springsteen. But
when I do come up with something it usually feels like a pale imitation
of any or all of them. Which is why I turn to writing things like this
instead--it at least satisfies the creative urge in me.
The
thing I find kind of sad is that aside from country music and novelty
songs, there's not a lot of humour in your standard, everyday pop/rock
song. And it's not that the songwriters don't have a sense of humour or
can't appreciate a good laugh, but if you're trying to pour your heart
and soul out in a song, you typically want to be taken seriously.
According to legend, Paul McCartney woke up one morning with the tune of
what would become "Yesterday" in his head. He was convinced someone
else had written it and it took the other three Beatles to convince him
otherwise. Eventually, he sat down and wrote one of the most beloved
ballads of the 1960s, possibly of all time. But until he got serious,
the original lyrics were, "Scrambled eggs... Oh, my baby how I love your
legs..." I kind of wish he'd finished that. I think I would have
really enjoyed it just for the silliness of it.
In
spite of my love of the works of "serious" songwriters, I do tend to
gravitate toward those who aren't afraid to place their tongues firmly
in their cheeks. As much as I love a song that can break my heart, make
me cry, think, and marvel at the artistry behind it, I also like
something that can make me smile, even laugh. And there's nothing that
says I can't be moved by something that makes me laugh. Few people did
that better than this week's artist.
Harry
Nilsson came along in the late 1960s. While working as a computer
programmer in a bank, he became fascinated by musical composition and
started writing songs that were initially recorded by other artists,
most notably Three Dog Night who had a hit with his song "One." He
became well known for his own recording of Fred Neil's "Everybody's
Talkin'" which was used in the movie Midnight Cowboy, for which
he won a Grammy. Like me, Nilsson clearly admired songwriters and
wasn't afraid to shine a light on them--such as with his 1970 album Nilsson Sings Newman
in which he celebrated the works of a then relatively unknown Randy
Newman. In 1971, he released his most commercially successful album, Nilsson Schmilsson,
which featured the hits "Without You" (which he didn't write) and the
classic (and admittedly silly) "Coconut." In 1973, he tackled the Great
American songbook with his album A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night--long
before it became fashionable for "pop" artists (or artists of any other
genre, for that matter) to record whole albums of standards. For the
rest of his too short life, he not only wrote some downright amazing
songs, but explored the works of other great composers.
This week's album was his follow up to Nilsson Schmilsson
and I have to be honest--I like this one better. It runs the gamut
between heartbreak ("Remember") and humour ("Joy"). There are songs I
wish I had written (admittedly most of the songs on this album). I
think "Turn On Your Radio" is so beautiful, I want it played at my
funeral/memorial service. "You're Breakin' My Heart" is, perhaps, the
greatest expression of the dichotomy of love. And, if nothing else,
you've got to give the man serious props for having the balls to sing a
song about aging and dying with a choir of senior citizens ("I'd Rather
Be Dead"). So this week, from 1972, please enjoy Harry Nilsson with Son of Schmilsson.
Until next week stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that
if you haven't got an answer, then you haven't got a question. And if you never had a question, then you'd never have a problem. But if you never had a problem, well everyone would be happy. But if everyone was happy, there'd never be a love song.
Yours in peace love and rock and roll!
The Reverend Will the Thrill
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