Vladimir Nabokov worked in bed.
My bed is more comfortable than my desk. I sleep at night with books and mail and magazines beside me, because my lover is far away. Sometimes I have a whiskey on the rocks sitting on my bed, reading and writing. It sounds depressing, but it isn’t. It’s kind of my center of operations. But I must say, I go to work and go out. Really, I don’t get enough time there. This is not a Brian Wilson lost- years-in-bed situation.
I’ve compiled some songs as a salute to the bed. It’s more than just a place to sleep or horse around. It’s the new Round Table.
From All Things Must Pass. When I was a kid my brother used to ask me who my favorite Beatle was and I said Ringo. I mean, I was just a kid, I think I liked the way it sounded. Anyway, it’s totally George now. Hands down, he was totally the most spiritual Beatle.
Love this one. It sucks waking up to realize you’re alone in the bed. “I run my hands down the cold, cold sheets on your side of the bed…”
Dusty, the other woman, repeats a phrase from one of her earlier hits: “You don’t have to say you love me” -addressed to a married man.
Don’t smoke in bed. Drinking is okay.
I slept on this album for a while. The whole thing is an ornate, rococo affair. Listen to the lyrics in this one.:
By your bedside I leave fruits of many colors
and the wines of many lands
and your company, I believe, is my pleasure.
On the beach of your mind I am sand…
Here’s a late 1960s Dutch pop group who knew what it’s all about: drinking in bed.
Here’s footage of John Lennon and Yoko, at their week-long Montreal bed-in in 1969, 40 years ago.
Cheers, from my bed to yours.