Nilsson 12: Duit On Mon Dei

At this point Harry Nilsson’s career had pretty much spiraled away from him. He was still writing songs, and his record deal meant he could still record with his famous friends, but he’d lost the momentum that had carried him to the middle of the decade. The title of Duit On Mon Dei—which had already appeared on the cover of the Ringo album—not only illustrated the level of humor at hand, but the general attitude.

This already short album begins with an unfinished idea called “Jesus Christ You’re Tall”. Once that’s out of the way, steel drums kick in and don’t let up for the rest of the album. He still sounds raspy on “It’s A Jungle Out There”, which pushes a Tarzan metaphor into social commentary, which was slightly more successful when Randy Newman ripped it off three decades later for the theme song to the TV show Monk, and shame on him. The accompaniment makes more sense for “Down By The Sea”, a sardonic look at retirement. “Kojak Columbo” uses television as an escape, but again, the jokes fall flat. We get a break with another touch of Schmilsson on the lovely “Easier For Me”, but Ringo had already done it the year before in an similar arrangement with the same pathos. Unfortunately the steel drums return on “Turn Out The Light”, and it’s hard to imagine anyone falling asleep to such a lullaby.

Co-written with Klaus Voormann, “Salmon Falls” is another big production, the highlight of the album, and one of the best songs of his career, as long as you can ignore the steel drums over the first minute and a half. “Puget Sound” is another excursion into island music that seems to exist only to set up a reference to “Paper Moon”; this time Van Dyke Parks doodles on a synthesizer to offset the percussion. “What’s Your Sign” is another attempt at a pick-up song, with an overblown arrangement and a wasted guest appearance by Gloria Jones. “Home” might have been a profound statement on the subject if not for the unsympathetic arrangement; the same can be said for “Good For God”, but for his own yowling and the equally drunken-sounding revellers singing along.

As with his other albums, the gatefold of Duit On Mon Dei sported photos of all the people involved with making the album. But as we’ve seen time and again, corralling talent doesn’t automatically guarantee they’ll create fine art. Unless you really, really like steel drums.

Nilsson Duit On Mon Dei (1975)—2