It’s no big surprise that Harry Nilsson was a favorite of The Beatles. His god-given vocal talents, prolific songwriting abilities and campy sense of humor all made Nilsson a crucial American equivalent of the Fab Four in the late '60s. But his biggest success came after the The Beatles’ demise. As the follow-up to the huge hit album Nilsson Schmilsson, Son Of Schmilsson pushed both the pretty and zany sides of Nilsson’s art to extremes. It’s a wonderfully schizophrenic bunch of songs, marked by bad puns, strategically placed profanity, horror movie clichés, a star-studded band and one of pop’s greatest voices. There is a fairly even mixture of rockers and ballads, but every time the band plugs in, Nilsson lays on the satire. “You’re Breakin’ My Heart” kicks off with a blues-rock stomp led by guitarist Peter Frampton, but the song wouldn’t be memorable without the silly irreverence of the lyrics: “You’re breakin’ my heart/You’re tearin’ it apart/So fuck you.” The opening “Take Fifty Four” is a bouncing blues reminiscent of “Ob La Di, Ob La Da,” where once again, Nilsson lets the sarcasm rip: “I sang my balls off for you baby/I almost broke the microphone.” When he gets serious on the more stripped down numbers, his voice soaks up the spotlight, dancing in the upper registers with an elasticity that few men have been able to match. Songs like “Turn On Your Radio” and “Remember Christmas” possess a timeless beauty, explaining why Harry Nilsson was able to effortlessly walk the fence between rock risk-taker and pop star. Any review of Son Of Schmilsson would be remiss without mentioning “I’d Rather Be Dead,” a masterpiece of dark humor that finds Nilsson singing the refrain with the Senior Citizens of the Stepney & Pinner Choir: “I’d rather be dead/Than wet my bed.” The artist practiced what he preached in subsequent years, living a decadent, reckless life in Los Angeles, accompanying John Lennon during his infamous “lost weekend,” and forever ruining his amazing voice in the process. Like his British counterparts, Harry Nilsson was breaking apart on Son Of Schmilsson, but while doing so he made some beautiful noise. As a result, this was the last stone masterpiece of his career—a demented, heavenly last gasp.