Harry Nilsson
Pussy Cats

3.5 without excesses.

Harry Nilsson was a New York City singer-songwriter, who died relatively early, had a lively life but didn't make history. That's why I'm writing about him, as well as to lay some asphalt over this Debaser pothole.

Harry was quite busy throughout his artistic life from a compositional perspective, producing over twenty albums in less than thirty years. The problem is that he became known thanks to other people’s songs and a fortuitous—but wonderful—event by which he shone with reflected light. When John Lennon and Yoko Ono separated in September 1973, the English shaman went to Los Angeles for eighteen months, spending time with Ringo Starr, Keith Moon, and Nilsson himself. The wild period, later downplayed by Lennon with the nickname wild weekend, was a fervent and fun creative moment, enriched by other stimulating presences besides those already mentioned. John released the album "Mind Games" and, above all, got very close to the prolific Nilsson, deciding to produce the album released the following year titled "Pussy Cats". Quite a program. Certainly, not an entirely exciting program, but absolutely worth mentioning, evidently the result of wild and crumpled days on the printed paper that reported their bivouacking episodes.

The album is a well-packaged collection of singer-songwriter songs with a somewhat snobbish overall appearance but with the aura of a performer who knows his stuff. The sixties were just surpassed, but the influences of a certain kind of ballad are clear and prematurely served on a retro platter. A good example of what I am saying is the introductory "Many Rivers To Cross", a song covered multiple times since its original release in 1969 by Jimmy Cliff. This version grabs me more than the original or any other rendition, finding within it the main characteristics of the entire release. It really seems like music with little desire to stay within the bounds of a grounded song. It tends to soar, to be an outgrowth of the soul, and it also seems to me an unintended and embryonic premonition of the way Mercury Rev made music with Deserter’s Song. The gravely but graceful voice, rasped by excesses (many times Harry will beautifully lose the air while singing) sounds magnificent with the defect of "as one would say in these cases". An excellent interpretation, thus, tainted by a bit of sonic deja-vu, which also roam between Joplin, Dylan, and Bowie. To get a full idea of how the cards are shuffled at the level of good old five-card draw poker, the tracklist climbs and descends emotional stairs, alternatively dealing blows to the heart and bursts of textbook life. Here, the album’s structure is its best asset, along with the vintage afflictions of music that, while never reaching stellar levels, aims to give Nilsson the opportunity to make a qualitative leap. Which will not happen anyway due to this grave originality deficiency. Such a pity.

The album proceeds among covers and pieces of questionable authorship, still mixing good moments of rock n’ roll and blues irritations that flow between more memorable moments and a panta rei that sometimes you couldn't care less about. The brief appearances of the other two from the weekend company, in spite of Ono, are not exploited to their full potential. Special mentions to "Subterranean Homesick Blues", "Don't Forget Me", "Old Forgotten Soldier", "Save the Last Dance For Me", "Rock Around the Clock" all deserve a listen particularly.

And thus a final reflection. It might have been the groovy period flavored with certain nonchalance towards work, but Lennon's contribution to this album comes across as a seasoning of pure expert craftsmanship. There are no significant creative peaks, and the good qualities Nilsson showed in previous albums are often missing. Was he perhaps held back by Lennon? I don't think so; I think they just had fun for eighteen months in a row, staying in a state of intoxication and dedicating themselves to music in a playful, amused, and yet somewhat painful way. That is why "Pussy Cats" is an album I like and occasionally listen to with a smile under my mustache and above my beard. Especially for that wonderful opener, which is really worth it.