Songwriters are often labeled quirky for no good reason other than they dare to write songs about topics other than love. Harry Nilsson was often saddled with the “quirky” label for some of the eccentricities that crept into his body of work.
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When you hear a song like “Good Old Desk” from Nilsson’s gorgeous 1968 album Aerial Ballet, those labels start to fall away. You end up getting lost in his ability to bring an inanimate object to life, all while revealing a ton about the owner of said object in the process.
“Desk” Specs
Harry Nilsson might be the most successful cult artist of all time. On the one hand, it feels like he never quite gets his due in terms of the utter brilliance and otherness of his catalog. And yet there were plenty of hits to be had for both a writer and a performer.
On his 1968 album Aerial Ballet, you can find “Everybody’s Talkin’”, his rambling cover of a Fred Neil song that turned into a runaway success once it made it into Midnight Cowboy. There’s also “One”, which Three Dog Night tackled for one of their biggest successes.
“Good Old Desk” did not get a single release, likely because the subject matter would have confused radio listeners. Yet it possesses so many of the qualities that made Nilsson such a fantastic artist. It’s ridiculously tuneful, utterly charming, and yet can’t quite completely hide away a melancholic strain.
The sound of the song, along with many others like it in the Nilsson catalog, would go on to influence many other singer-songwriters with a yen for fluttery, ornate production. We’re talking about folks ranging from Emmitt Rhodes to Todd Rundgren, from Aimee Mann to Elliott Smith. But the sensibility of it is pure Harry, something that no one could hope to imitate.
Examining the Lyrics of “Good Old Desk”
On the surface, “Good Old Desk” is about exactly what the title says it is. The narrator sings the praises of the reliable piece of furniture at which he does his work every day. But hidden in those words of love are hints about why he’s serenading it rather than, say, another person.
He asks a lot of his silent companion. “It’s waitin’ there for me / To keep my hopes alive.” Check out these lines: “It’s got no place to go / It’s always there / It’s the one thing I’ve got.” Sounds like he’s been abandoned one too many times by the people in his life. Abandonment is one feat of which this desk is incapable.
“And I’ve never once seen it cry / I’ve never seen it tease,” he sings in the second verse. Again, these characteristics that he mentions are exactly the ones that other human beings might possess. He calls his desk “A giant of all times” which is quite the superlative for some pieces of wood holding papers and his typewriter.
In the final verse, he admits that the desk “isn’t picturesque,” but he doesn’t mind a bit. “We never say a word,” he says of it. “But it’s perfectly alright with me.” The closing lines reveal just what this desk can do. “For when my hearts on the floor / I just open the door.”
“And what do I see?” Nilsson asks. “But a picture of me / Workin’ at my good old desk.” The twist reveals that his work life is a source of pride and surety for him, something that his personal life might not provide. “Good Old Desk” reveals a lot more than just the dimensions of this magical object. It also gives us a glimpse into the wounded heart of the man seated at it.
Photo by Stan Meagher/Daily Express/Hulton Archive/Getty Images
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