Nilsson 9: Son Of Schmilsson

With Nilsson Schmilsson, Harry Nilsson had pretty much become the big star he’d always seemed to want to be. And with that, he proceeded to buck trends and his own producer’s desire to repeat the formula. With its horror movie-inspired cover art and lettering, Son Of Schmilsson thumbed its nose at the very idea of a sequel, even with all-star help from two pseudonymed Beatles, Peter Frampton, Nicky Hopkins, Jim Price, Bobby Keys, and Klaus Voormann.

“Take 54” provides a peek at the increasingly difficult task of making records, particularly when distracted by a young lovely for whom the singer “sang [his] balls off”. Following a trailer-style announcement for the album, “Remember (Christmas)” is a lovely little ballad that has nothing to do whatsoever with the word in the subtitle, yet is exactly what everybody wanted. “Joy” is a country music parody, on which he doubles down the satire. Near the end he asks her to listen for him on the radio, and sure enough “Turn On Your Radio” presents another lovelorn lament but in a more pensive tone. Then there’s the wonderfully nasty “You’re Breakin’ My Heart”, with its opening line that guaranteed zero airplay, paving the way for Cee-Lo some 38 years later.

Speaking of odd connections, “Spaceman” is something of the flip-side to Elton John’s “Rocket Man”, in that the protagonist is tired of begin stuck in space; the strings were arranged by Elton (and Nilsson) regular Paul Buckmaster. With its sweet sentiment and lingering hopefulness, “The Lottery Song” hearkens back to his earlier songs. But his disdain for playing nice is epitomized by the opening of “At My Front Door”, wherein he begins to croon “Remember (Christmas)”, then belches and the track switches to an upbeat piano-driven cover of an old doo-wop tune. “Ambush” is a sneaky one, loping along with a tale of a platoon of soldiers singing to keep their spirits up, only to be wiped out by enemy gunfire. If you think that’s morbid, consider “I’d Rather Be Dead”, sung to the accompaniment of a jaunty accordion with the help of a choir comprised of pensioners happily crooning along with “I’d rather be dead/Than wet my bed.” Richard Perry’s hope for a big Disney finale with “The Most Beautiful World In The World” is compromised by the first half, sung in a faux-reggae voice with a gargled solo.

As long as people can handle the humor and chauvinism, Son Of Schmilsson actually is a worthy follow-up, especially when taken in the context of his catalog. Connoisseurs would very much appreciate the most recent reissue of the album, which added several bonus tracks: an early version of “What’s Your Sign”; an alternate “Take 54”; a comical busk of “It Had To Be You” that leads into “I’d Rather Be Dead”; an unused recording of Jimmy Webb’s “Campo De Encino”; and “Daybreak”, the one new song included on the soundtrack to 1974’s cinematic debacle Son Of Dracula, which otherwise recycled selections from this album and Nilsson Schmilsson.

Nilsson Son Of Schmilsson (1972)—3
2006 CD reissue: same as 1972, plus 5 extra tracks

Todd Rundgren 1: Nazz

Countless American bands were influenced by the British Invasion, and most of them were never heard from past their first hit single, if at all. When Nazz comes up these days, it’s almost always because they included a songwriter and guitarist named Todd Rundgren.

They took their name from an obscure Yardbirds B-side, and that was just one of their touchstones. Somehow they got signed to a Monkees-adjacent label distributed by Atlantic, and were immediately hyped in magazines like Tiger Beat before they’d even finished their first album. If any of those teenyboppers bought their eponymous debut unheard, did they like it? The cover of Nazz is a direct cop from the Beatles, while the back depicts them in fringe, corduroy, and kerchiefs with mod haircuts. Only the inner gatefold said who was who, the singer named merely as “Stewkey”. A few paragraphs from Jon Landau, about five years before he met Bruce Springsteen, add hype.

The music sits on two sides of the spectrum: Who-stained, acid-inspired rock and Bacharach-tinged pop not dissimilar to the Association. In the first category, the single “Open My Eyes” turns the “I Can’t Explain” chords into the Ventures’ “Walk Don’t Run” for a psychedelic classic. “Back Of Your Mind” is nice and trashy, and “Wildwood Blues” descends into some very out-there tape effects. On the softer side there’s “Hello It’s Me”, its first incarnation dreamily crooned by Stewkey, and “If That’s The Way You Feel” is remarkably similar. “Crowded” shows that Todd wasn’t the only one who knew how to craft AM radio ear candy.

If anything, Nazz suffers from a muddy mix, which led Todd to become even more dominant in the studio for the follow-up. He was writing and even singing more, and had to be talked out of releasing a two-record set. What did come out as Nazz Nazz begins like the first album, with “Forget All About It” something of a retread, and Todd taking over the keyboards and vocals for the driving “Not Wrong Long”. “Under The Ice” and “Hang On Paul” are cool extended guitar workouts, and “Kiddie Boy” is R&B with a horn section. “Gonna Cry Today” fills the “Hello It’s Me” slot in more ways than one, with only “Letters Don’t Count”, bookended by a glass harmonica effect as the only other ballad. The album’s ambition is crystalized by “A Beautiful Song”, the multipart symphony that takes up almost twelve minutes at the end of side two, comprised of layered guitars and keyboards, as well as horns and strings. The vocal-and-piano section is lovely, and overtaken by the instruments that came before. But there’s simply no explaining “Meridian Leeward”, which can’t decide if it wants to be a twisted fairy tale or an allegory about police brutality; either way, it misses.

By the time Nazz Nazz came out, Todd had quit the band with the intention to make his fortune in engineering and producing. (Bass player Carson Van Osten followed; he’d end up working for Disney as a respected animator.) That was that for a couple of years, until Todd had started getting notice on his own. So the label strongarmed Stewkey and drummer Thom Mooney into compiling Nazz III from everything that was rejected from the second album. (The two also hooked up with a couple of guys in Illinois who had a band called Fuse that would one day evolve into Cheap Trick, but that’s another story.)

These aren’t necessarily cast-offs; the biggest difference is that Stewkey is singing most of the tracks, and there are more slow tunes. There are a couple of oddball tracks, like the cover of Paul Revere & The Raiders’ “Kicks” that wasn’t supposed to be on any album, and “Loosen Up”, a brief send-up of Archie Bell and the Drells that’s funny the first time you hear it. Carson contributed the meandering “Plenty Of Lovin’” and “Christopher Columbus”, both mostly notable for the guitar work, which also comes through on the more rocking “Magic Me” and “How Can You Call That Beautiful?” Mostly we can hear Todd’s infatuation with Laura Nyro on several tracks, like “Only One Winner” and “Resolution”, culminating with the lush, yearning “You Are My Window”.

The albums aren’t masterpieces, but they do fit into the bigger picture, and start the Todd trajectory. Because of his connection, Nazz would become somewhat beloved as cult heroes and early power pop icons. Rhino even reissued their albums in the ‘80s, a few years before doing the same with Todd’s solo catalog. Eventually, 2002’s Open Your Eyes anthology crammed all three albums onto two discs, but shuffled the order completely, and added their unreleased cover of “Train Kept A-Rollin’”. Seven years later, all three albums were reissued with bonus tracks, like outtakes and demo versions with Todd singing what Stewkey would emulate, and in a set called The Complete Nazz, which was exactly that. But some people wanted more, so the oddly named Lost Masters & Demos presented the complete proposed Nazz Nazz double album sequence and a collection of alternate mixes from preserved acetates. While interesting—especially if you’re used to hearing the tunes in other contexts—it’s no White Album. Sometimes the label is right.

Nazz Nazz (1968)—3
Nazz Nazz Nazz (1969)—3
Nazz Nazz III (1971)—3
Nazz Open Your Eyes: The Anthology (2002)—3
Nazz The Complete Nazz (2009)—3½
Nazz Lost Masters & Demos (2022)—2½

Graham Nash 9: Live

Graham Nash clearly has no qualms about revisiting his catalog to any extent, and in 2019 he undertook a tour wherein his excellent band performed his first two solo albums track by track, in order. Four years later, Live: Songs For Beginners/Wild Tales was culled from four shows, and delivers exactly what the title promises. Outside of a brief greeting before each section, we just hear them play the songs.

The band clearly did their homework, as many of the songs are in much lower keys than they were on the original records, but he’s still in good voice. “Sleep Song” hasn’t aged well, but “There’s Only One” gets a good response for the sax solos and choir. The second half drags a bit, mostly because Wild Tales wasn’t as good as Songs For Beginners, and even the band can’t save it, though Shane Fontayne does a nice job of copping David Lindley’s original licks. The Nixon soundbites in “Grave Concern” have been replaced by Trump rants, and that five-letter word makes it into some of the other songs where the opportunity rises.

Overall the performances are warm and cozy, but as an album they only underscore that the real excitement was likely best experienced in person. Yet we’re always happy to be reminded how good some of his stuff was, and still is.

Graham Nash Live: Songs For Beginners/Wild Tales (2022)—3

David Crosby 10: For Free

Only the Covid pandemic could slow David Crosby’s determination to keep performing. Not able to tour, he recorded another album as fast as he could—his fifth since 2014. But rather than the experimentalism of his work with the so-called Lighthouse Band, For Free is more relaxed adult contemporary, typical of his collaboration with James Raymond. That means there’s also lots of piano, which is fine.

“River Rise” sets the tone immediately, being a co-write with Michael McDonald, who harmonizes on the choruses. We keep thinking we hear Stephen Stills singing on “I Think I”, but it turns out to be one Steve Postell, who’s been busy lately in the Immediate Family Band with such Croz veterans as Danny Kortchmar, Lee Sklar, and Russ Kunkel. “The Other Side Of Midnight” is one of three songs contributed solely by Raymond, with layered voices interwoven between the programmed guitar sounds. “Rodriguez For A Night” is a collaboration with Donald Fagen that basically sounds like Crosby singing on a Steely Dan record. That makes the mystery of “Secret Dancer” all the more alluring.

“Ships In The Night” is kinda generic, and we can’t get past how he pronounces “irrevocably”, but the title track is his second cover of this particular Joni Mitchell perennial, sung here as a lovely, intricate duet with Sarah Jarosz. From there it’s a leap to the present with “Boxes”, in which he seems to acknowledge his mortality as well as the choices that drove people away from him. That sets the tone continued on “Shot At Me”, a conversation with a young combat veteran. The finest moments come in “I Won’t Stay For Long”, a moving benediction set up by a count-in by Brian Wilson, who doesn’t seem to have anything else to do with the album.

Coming after such a strong run, especially for someone of his age and legacy, For Free isn’t as immediately surprising, or frankly as satisfying, as the four albums he’d made in the past decade. Unless there’s a pile of recordings waiting to be unleashed, this will have to stand as his final statement, as it was the last album he would complete in his amazingly long life.

David Crosby For Free (2021)—3

Kinks 30: Think Visual

1986 wasn’t the best year for bands like the Kinks, and whatever commercial clout they had built up thus far in the decade was scuppered once they signed to MCA (in the U.S.; London got them in the U.K.), a label that simply didn’t know how to promote artists, new or vintage. Which was too bad, since Think Visual, their first album under the new deals, wasn’t awful.

Of course, Ray Davies was still Ray Davies, and he opens the album with “Working At The Factory”, a blatant complaint about what the music biz has done to him. Subject matter aside, it’s still a decent track. So is “Lost And Found”, which is literally about getting through a hurricane, but works on metaphorical levels as well. (Even if it does evoke both “It’s The Same Old Song” and “The Boy With The Thorn In His Side”.) Too much of “Repetition” lives up to its title, but there are some clever inversions of the three-chord pattern, and a killer bridge. Similarly, “Welcome To Sleazy Town” has an arrangement to match, a slow bluesy stroll with a canned-sounding harmonica, while “The Video Shop” is left over from when Ray wanted to write a concept album about the guy from the “Come Dancing” video selling pirated tapes.

Dave Davies gets to bookend side two, and not very well. “Rock ‘N Roll Cities” is a not very original idea, shouting out names of places in a very pandering way looking for easy applause when they’d get around to playing it on stage. While it tends to drag over the same two chords, Ray redeems himself with “How Are You”, something of a sadder follow-up to “Do You Remember Walter”. The title track is more commentary on marketing, spouting what we now call buzzwords over an edgy backing, whereas “Natural Gift” takes a more human approach to the idea of substance over style. “Killing Time” is another one of those songs he could write in his sleep, and it’s a shame this wasn’t a single. But Dave leaves us with the synth-heavy “When You Were A Child”; there’s nothing wrong with it, except that it doesn’t belong on this album.

We said Think Visual wasn’t awful, mostly because it could have been a lot worse. There are enough decent songs throughout the album, but we get the feeling they were going through the motions.

The Kinks Think Visual (1986)—2½