By: Andrew Vaughan

Everyone comes to Nashville at some point and I was recently honored to sit down for brunch with May Pang. Beatles fans will all know that May lived with John Lennon during the mid-‘70s. Naturally, this gracious firecracker of a woman had some great tales to tell, and I was able to pick her brains about one of her good friends Harry Nilsson. Nilsson enjoyed massive commercial success with two huge hits in the ‘70s: “Everybody’s Talkin’” and “Without You”. He had even more fame as John Lennon’s drinking buddy in LA in the mid-‘70s. There’s not a rock and roller from that time that doesn’t have a good word to say about Nilsson. He was larger than life, the ultimate party animal, generous to a fault, and loved by all who knew him.

Years hanging with rock and roll royalty in the 70s and 80s, his production company closed in 1990. Nilsson found himself with just $300 in his checking account having been embezzled by his financial advisor.

Broke financially and spiritually, Nilsson's health deteriorated rapidly, he suffered a massive heart attack in 1993 and died in January the next year. Ironically, just a couple of weeks after his funeral, Mariah Carey went to Number One with Nilsson’s trademarked song, "Without You."

Digging into this fascinating character and talking to some who knew him, I discovered that sometimes—especially in rock and roll—truth really is stranger than fiction. The trouble with Blockbuster and Hollywood Video in the old days of renting DVDs was the limited choice in the local store. Thankfully, I’m a digital convert and a Netflix junkie: a source for some of the weirdest, most wonderful movies and some fascinating music documentaries.

The other night I picked out a title called Who Is Harry Nilsson (And Why Is Everybody Talkin' About Him?). That intrigued me to no end because I loved Harry Nilsson’s music, but was pretty sure that in fact everybody was not talking about him.

Imagine being a young singer/songwriter in the mid 60s. You’ve just had The Monkees record one of your songs and quit your day job. Then, The Beatles start their own record company and at the press conference to launch Apple Records, the two most famous men in the world at that time (John Lennon and Paul McCartney) were asked for their favorite singer. "Harry Nilsson," they both replied.

By the early 70s, Nilsson was the toast of the town and split his time between L.A. and partying with his Beatle pals in London. But things would soon take a turn for the worst.

Harry asked Ringo’s personal interior designer to decorate his new London apartment. It was on swanky Curzon St, just around the corner from the swinging Playboy Club. Walking into the newly decorated flat, Nilsson sees his new home and was impressed. Bright striped wallpaper, chrome, and glass everywhere. This was the height of London chic, 1972-style.

But then he walked into the bathroom and something happened that shook Harry Nilsson to the core and changed his life forever.

In the bathroom, he saw a picture of a hangman’s noose. Harry knew the image’s reputation. Perceived superstition or something real, the image of the hangman’s noose has long been a symbol of terrible misfortune to come. The noose, with its 13 coils some say, is behind the unlucky thirteen superstition that has held for centuries.

The flat that Nilsson had bought and that was decorated with such a powerful image would be the site and possible catalyst for a series of tragedies that seemed to spread like a virus in Nilsson’s life. He rented the apartment to Mama Cass of Mamas and Papas—who died in the flat in 1974 at just 28 years old. Four years later, another rock and roll legend, The Who’s eccentric drummer Keith Moon, died of an overdose in the same apartment.

The curse of the hangman’s noose: pure bad luck or simple consequences of rock and roll hedonism?

After Mama Cass’s death, Nilsson’s career stalled and headed into a decline. From being tipped as the fifth member of a reformed Beatles, his sales turned into trickles. He led John Lennon into public disgrace during the infamous "Lost Weekend in Los Angeles" and in 1980 saw his drinking buddy and best pal, Lennon, gunned down in New York. Harry never recovered. Incidentally, two members of the band Bad Finger, whose song “Without You” took to the top the charts around the world, committed suicide.

In 1990 his entertainment production company collapsed and Nilsson found himself with just $300 in his checking account. Broke financially and spiritually, Nilsson's health deteriorated rapidly, and he suffered a massive heart attack in 1993 and died in January 1994. Ironically, just a couple of weeks after his funeral, Mariah Carey went to Number One with Nilsson’s trademark song, ”Without You.”

Just how a poor kid from Brooklyn—abandoned by his father as a baby, and raised by an alcoholic mother with no less than 6 step-fathers—could rise from singer/songwriter obscurity to critically acclaimed artist and member of The Beatles' exceptionally exclusive inner-circle makes a fascinating story in itself. The fact that tragedy seemed to follow him after that phenomenal rise to the top makes this one of the most fascinating, compelling, and tragic stories in fifty years of rock and roll.