Former part-time composer Harrry Nilsson left behind seven years as a bank clerk “when I heard the Monkees singing my ‘Cuddly Toy’ on the radio.” In the eight years since then, he’s recorded 12 eclectic albums. His first commercial success was Fred Neil’s “Everyboay’s Talkin’ ” (from Midnight Cowboy) in 1968, but since then he’s composed for other films (Skidoo, Son of Dracula), done a TV theme (Courtship of Eddie’s Father), written TV scripts (The Ghost and Mrs. Muir), recorded a fine LP of Randy Newman songs, cut an album of 40’s songs with Gordon Jenkins and big band (A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night), and scripted and scored a witty, charming and award winning cartoon for television (The Point). Plans for the immediate future include a disc of Allen Toussaint songs with Doctor John (Van Dyke Parks to produce) and a recording in England of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado.

On his first album he’d fashioned a Beatles medley, and in 1968 John Lennon had named Nilsson his “favorite American band. ” Since then he’s recorded with all former Beatles except Paul. He co-starred with Ringo in the little-seen feature Son of Dracula, and John Lennon produced Nilsson’s last LP, Pussycats. While hanging out with Lennon, the two had been involved in a drunken punch-out at the Troubador in L.A.

Nilsson never performs and seldom grants interviews. He is a big bear of a fellow, his face a touch puffy with a pasty tint which may well be the product of the estimated 70 hours a week he spends in bed, watching up to five shows at a time on his remote control color TV. Warm, gruff and garrulous, he chatted enthusiastically, shifting into dialects and avidly playing the various characters of his tales. — Ed.

When did you first meet the Beaties?

It was back in ’68, they were just starting the white album. In fact, you know when it was, in the studio at the time John walked in and said, “Wanna see our new cover?” and he whips out the picture of him, and his cock, and Yoko and everything. I didn’t know if he was joking or not— I said “What’s it called?” He said “Two Virgins." I said, “Of what?”

How did the film you did with Ringo, Son off Dracula, come about? It's a film, by the way, that's had so littie distribution I've never seen it playing anywhere.

Tell me about it. I’ll tell you though, where it has played, in the Midwest, it’s made $400,000. It’s one of the only films Apple made that made money. It isn’t a good movie, so it’s never shown in cities. Anywhere near a city over a million it’s in trouble.

"Someone showed Ringo the cover. We became asshole buddies."

The way it came about, Ringo worked on the Son of Schmilsson album and I dressed up like Dracula for the cover, but Ringo didn’t know about the cover. So, I was off in Hawaii after the disc, and one day I got a call from Ringo and he said “You wanna be a movie star?” I said, “Sure, what’ve you got.” He said “Dracula,” so I said, “Sure, send the script over.” I read the script on the plane and it was abysmal, terrible. I figr ured, what the hell. The association with Ringo was more important to me, that’d be fun, and I thought it was a good way to break into acting. No one can really stone you playing Dracula.

Well, three days after the phone call someone walked in with the album and showed Ringo the cover, which I’d assumed he’d seen, gotten the idea from. He almost dropped dead, and Maureen, who’s sort of into mysticism says, “I told you he was the one.” After that coincidence we couldn’t say no, and it turned out to be the best experience in my life, because we became asshole buddies, you know, closest buddies, ever since.

How did the Pussycats album that Lennon produced come about?

Early ’74, John was working with Spector on the Rock ‘n’ Roll album, we were sitting around drunk and he said “Let’s do an album,” and I said “Sure, man.” So he announced it to the room. Joni Mitchell was there, Phil Spector, Barry Mann — “I’m gonna produce Harry Nilsson.” So I just thought, “Oh he’s drunk he’ll forget about it.” Then about six months later we were sitting around in Ringo’s room talking, and we were both sort of at loose ends. He’d split up with Yoko a little bit. I was coming off the Gordon Jenkins album. So we decided to do it — started that night pickCONTINUED FROM PAGE 41

TURN TO PAGE 78.

in’ tunes. We called up the boys in the band, rented a big place at the beach and it was like a commune for a month: Klaus Voorman, Ringo and myself, John, and Keith Moon — that was the nucleus. No one ever went out to the ocean — except Klaus.

Was the Troubador incident during this period? -I think just after we decided to do the album, I said “Tommy Srnothers is making a comeback, and it’d be nice if we showed up, wished him well.” Meanwhile we got a little loaded, and by the time we ^ot there we were blank. Before they came on we were singin’ “I Can’t Stand The Rain,” got the whole place jumpin’. Behind us was Peter Lawford, and this producer, Jack Haley, shushing us. So meanwhile,, Tommy and Dicky come on and there’s all this shushing — this guy still arguing about “I Can’t Stand The Rain.” This other guy was making more noise than us. Next thing you know a glass was broken; it wasn’t thrown, and six bouncers were all over us. Augh, there were photographers, parking-lot attendants — it became an incident.

As a result, we did the album, and the opinion about us was down, and I think that’s why the album didn’t get played too much [chuckles]. That’s one reason we called the album Pussycats, to show we were nice guys, but everyone thinks we’re roughhouse-assholes that go out breaking up shows. We like Tommy and Dicky, in, fact Tommy and I are very good friends.

Were you working on Lennon's Rock 'ti* Roll album at all?

I was wprking a little on it, and one night I sang a song because John went home, he wasn’t feeling well. Cher showed up so she sang that with me, “A Love Like Yours,” and Phil Spector was producing. John and Phil got in a split, so Phil took that track and John got the others.. That’s out as a single now, but it was originally John’s track.

There were articles appearing last fall suggesting that the Beaties might reform, with you replacing Paul. You've probably worked more extensively with the ex-Beatles than any other musician ...

That’s just been a matter of circumstance, no't at all pre-arranged like, “OK, this year you work with John, this year you work with George.” It’s just been like, if I was working with Ringo, and George came down for a session, pretty soon I’d be working with George, I’ve never really worked with Paul, though we did have a jam session one night at my apartment that’s on tape. He played four new songs he’d just written that ended up on three albums: “She Came in Through the Bathroom Window,” “Teddy Boy,” “Blackbird,” and one other. We were drunk, harmonizing. I’d love to work with Paul someday; working with John was great but the best fun of all is working with Ringo, cause he’s the pal — I love him. As for reforming, well, I don’t play bass, I don’t do gigs for most other people — [chuckles] . ... I just play a little piano.

Are you working with any exBeatles now?

Yeah; with Ringo — there’s Harry and Ringo’s Night Out. That’s a half-animated thing; we’d be live and the rest would be animated. And then we’re talking to Sam Peckinpah — you know, bloodshed — about doing a remake of Gunga Din with Keith Moon playing Victor McLaughlen, Ringo playing Cary Grant, and me playing Douglas Fairbanks. If we can’t get the rights to that we’re gonna do something just like it. Keith and Ringo and I got so loaded with Peckinpah day before yesterday. You walk into his office and he hits you with an amyl nitrate, and boom you’re on your way, and pretty soon you’re throwing knives in his door. No kidding, it should be an adventurous movie, if we get through it alive.

Is Dylan still hanging out with Peckinpah?

Yeah, he was at a party there the other night. I’d never met him, but Ringo and I were over in the corner talking, and Dylan walks up and says “Hello, hello” — then there’s this great silence. So later I walk over to him and sort pf whisper, “Hey, uh, Bob, what’s the matter — parties make you nervous?” He grins, and I go, “Ah, I knew I could get a smile out of you” and I turn and call Ringo, turn back and he’s gone — whoosh.

Must be hard on him, being Dylan all the time — he seems completely out of it. Ringo was telling me about the ride to the Bangla Desh Concert; he, and George and Bob in the limo together — not a word. All of ’em staring straight ahead, sort of “Uh, anybody got a cigarette.”

You never do any live petformances, why is that?

Well originally I didn’t perform because I wasn’t asked. Finally I was asked and it became something in print. So I started playing off it — ah, isn’t that interesting, “only one who doesn’t do concerts.” Nice, I like that, I can stay home now and watch TV. Also, the less I did, the more they gave me, thinking, if he can sell this many records without performing — there’s always that on the horizon.

Do the economic considerations put many limitations on your work?

Well, in the overall scheme of things I try to keep doing what I call side-projects: Nilsson/Newman, The Point, the Gordon Jenkins album, a Gilbert and Sullivan, an Allen Toussaint album perhaps, so that in the overall context a career is generated, not just individual pieces of product that might or might not sell. I’m very aware of how often I have to get hits to keep that career alive, and of a debt I owe to RCA. I’ve never had a contract come out in the red, and I don’t want to break that string.

The problem is being an elitist-artist, and I use that term to fit myself, Randy Newman, Laura Nyro, John Lennop sometimes, Joni Mitchell until just recently; people who never got played on the radio, and they just did what they do. That is what the company really pays you for. It’s more difficult, but you ve got to take those chances — otherwise you’re just copying someone’s rock ‘n’ roll formula. ¶|