There are numerous examples of pop songs that became hits by accident. (So numerous that I couldn't possible begin to list them here; either that or I just don't feel like doing so) Numbers earmarked as B sides that became unexpected sensations after DJ's flipped them over or afterthought compositions that a group or artist had to be cajoled into recording only for it to become a surprise smash. The pop instincts of musicians, songwriters, producers and, in particular, record execs can seldom predict what will or will not catch on.
This is more or less the story of how "Everybody's Talkin'" came to life. Singer-songwriter Fred Neil was set to finish recording his second album in the autumn of 1967 when he was informed by his manager that he had to have at least one more track recorded (what with nine cuts presumably being considered insufficient for pop-rock LPs). With no desire to belabour the process any longer than necessary, Neil dusted off a ditty that he had written a year earlier and had it in the can in one take. "Everybody's Talkin'" was thus added to the running order of his self-titled sophomore release.
The thing about this anecdote is that it tracks. "Everybody's Talkin'" is brief but nevertheless stretched out to two minutes and forty-five seconds. Verse, chorus, rinse, repeat. If the record buying public hadn't been so touched by Harry Nilsson's recording of it, they might have considered it insubstantial. It doesn't even sound like Neil bothered to finish writing it. (What sounds like an attempt at a second stanza — "I won't let you leave my love behind..." — pops up near the end, a line many of the acts who have since covered it chose to leave off their versions)
On the Fred Neil album "Everybody's Talkin'" is just another track that blends in with the whole, a languid drifter that is very much in the shadow of the record's one real highlight, the magnificent "The Dolphins". As recorded by Nilsson, however, it becomes breezy, a sailboat gently rocking as its anchored in a bay. Now, the obvious point in its favour is the singer. While Nilsson's status as an "American Beatle" is ludicrous (a moniker that even members of the Fab Four themselves misguidedly applied to him), there's no denying that he does this song justice. (Though frequently described as a singer-songwriter himself, there's no doubt in my mind that he really excelled was standards) The musicianship is similarly first rate and a marked improvement on Neil's original uninspired original. Of note is the lovely guitar picking of veteran sessioner Al Casey, whose seemingly hurried style of playing rather neatly suits the song's origins.
Its one real weakness is just how undercooked the writing is. An initial listen doesn't reveal much beyond its strengths but repeated plays start unraveling just how little there is to this thing. While he isn't the first city dweller to long for "where the sun keeps shinin'" — and is by no means the last either — why is such a blissfully unaware individual so bothered about escaping? Their whispers and their stares don't matter to them so there's no need to get the hell out of New York City or Hong Kong or wherever. A fuller lyrical narrative might have answered these concerns. The end result is enchanting enough that few noticed — not at first at any rate — but it's a flaw that can't be unheard once you've become aware of how its composer tossed it off. On the other hand, the fact that this isn't immediately apparent is a credit to Nilsson and merits an extra point on the score sheet. Someone should've called him Nilsson Skillsson.
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