Review Summary: Harry, you sure look beat.
It’s his antipathy that’s so frustrating. Nilsson Schmilsson is a love letter to the mundane, from moonbeams to late night diners to stoned car rides. It celebrates with a shy smile and then assures us that we’ll “never [be left] alone in the garden where nothing grows.” But this…
I mean, I get it. Son of Schmilsson was written and recorded under great studio pressure, in the middle of Nilsson’s second divorce, and just as his drinking was moving from “fun” to “destructive”. For Harry Nilsson, early 1972 was a dark time, and the soul of the artist must be true (though the inner Nilsson in me is scoffing at that characterization). So he lets it show, which would be fine if it didn’t get so tiresome.
He belts lines like, “I sang my balls off for you baby” in opener “Take 54”, and it becomes clear that this is Harry’s big, crass middle finger to his label, his wife, and everyone else. I sort of have to respect his honesty, but that honesty mostly comes off feeling far more like strident bitterness instead of anything instructive or moving. Moments of isolation and anger are all over the record, most notably in hit single “Spaceman” and the painfully honest (and really sort of great) “You’re Breaking my Heart”, a song known for its refrain of “so *** you!” Perhaps the most representative moment occurs in the honky-tonk jape “Joy”, when Nilsson mockingly sings, “Things went good... things went bad. Good, bad, good, bad, good, bad”, trailing off into a sneer that leaves me feeling scorned for even having heard it.
This is typical of Son of Schmilsson: bitterness couched in wan attempts at humor and apathy, an approach which weakens both the jokes and the rage behind them. As the album continues, that rage becomes exhausting, culminating in “At My Front Door” and “Ambush”, two big rockers with themes of adultery and loss that feel like mostly forgettable attempts to craft a dark version of the ebullient “Jump Into the Fire” from Nilsson Schmilsson.
The thing is though, the bastard won’t even let me hate the album. Because peppered among the tiring and sometimes forgettable misanthropy are moments that remind me why I loved old Harry in the first place. “Spaceman” is lavishly produced and totally enthralling, “Remember (Christmas)” is a lovely ballad that transports and soothes, and “Turn on your Radio” feels like a heartfelt love letter to Randy Newman. Even the spite resonates in “You’re Breaking my Heart”. And I can’t forget to mention his voice, which is close to Nilsson Schmilsson’s top form. Harry exits with a smile, albeit a weak one, in “The Most Beautiful World in the World”: “But no matter what happens, I bet it's OK.” See? Frustrating.
Perhaps I’m just not listening to the album with the right mind. I’m sure if I were in a similar mood of bitterness and recrimination, it could be a great record. But I’m almost never in such a mood, and if I am, I want to shed it quickly and return to the sweet mundane of the previous album.
