It seems that there’s a Randy Newman for all sorts of music listeners.
Like acerbic/satirical/edgy/intelligent pop songs? He’s the guy who wrote tunes from the POV of a slave ship captain pitching an all-expenses paid American journey to skeptical African natives (“Sail Away”). And about American militarism (“Political Science”), fervent religious beliefs (“God’s Song”), and racism of both the South and the North (“Rednecks,” “Yellow Man”).
Like film scores? Newman has penned dozens for adults (Ragtime, the Natural, Awakenings) and—more famously—animated movies (A Bug’s Life, Monsters, Inc., Cars, and all the Toy Story movies, including the now-standard “You’ve Got a Friend in Me”).
Like bouncy earworms ostensibly about the vertically challenged but possibly about any form of prejudice or maybe was created just a joke? Well, he’s the guy who does “Short People.”
All of those Newmans—and even more—come together in the massive bio from former LA Times music critic and longtime admirer Robert Hilburn in A Few Words in Defense of Our Country: The Biography of Randy Newman (544 pp., $31.99, Hachette).
In some ways, Newman was born to his profession. Three of his uncles were well-known Hollywood film composers, most notably Alfred Newman (Wuthering Heights, How Green Was My Valley). Even Randy’s own father wanted to follow those footsteps but was dissuaded for fear of too many family members in one profession (he became a doctor instead).
After stints in pop music and TV scoring, Newman embarked on a career as a singer/songwriter/pianist with an unconventional voice and even more unconventional lyrics. The kind which music critics and nerds loved but that the general public needed to warm to. Though this was in a time of the early/mid-‘70s when such a thing was embraced.
The similarly-leaning-but-rockier Warren Zevon—to whom he is often compared—wrote of fantastical characters like headless Thompson gunners, murderous and mentally ill excitable boys, and suave, lady-killing (in more ways than one) lycanthropes. But Newman’s gaze was always on more real-life characters and attitudes from America with darker undertones. Most often using the literary device of The Unreliable Narrator.
Take the opening stanza/slavery sales pitch from the aforementioned “Sail Away:” “In America you get food to eat/Won’t have to run through the jungle/And scuff up your feet/You just sing about Jesus and drink wine all day/It’s great to be an American.”
Or the protagonist in “Rednecks:” “We are rednecks, we’re rednecks/We don’t know our ass/From a hole in the ground/We’re rednecks, we’re rednecks/And we’re keeping the n*****s down.”
Newman has remained more a less a cult figure, even though he went all the way up to No. 2 in 1977 with “Short People.” A song actually banned by some radio stations while Newman’s concerts were actually picketed by its purported targets.
And while his seemingly upbeat “I Love L.A.” has been embraced by both Los Angelenos and LA sports fans as an ode of love to the city and its people (buoyed by a splashy video that got a lot of MTV play), Newman twists the knife in about consumerism and superficial vapidness: “Look at that mountain/Look at those trees/Look at that bum over there, man/He’s down on his knees/Look at these women/There ain’t nothing like ’em nowhere.”
Newman’s pop/rock records got more sporadic as his film work ticked up, though he would thrill fans and critics by dropping an occasional release. Still with a sharp pen attacking Imperialism (“The Great European Nations”), George W. Bush (“Big Hat, No Cattle”), old dudes chasing much younger women (“Shame”), and anti-science crusaders (“The Great Debate”).
Though not all of his songs have a non-fiction point. He’s also written plenty of somber/softer tunes about aging and love both lost and gained. And he’s not afraid to add full on orchestration to even his shortest of songs. His gripping “Louisiana 1927″—written many years earlier about the massive flood of historical record—was embraced by pretty much all of the state in the wake of Hurricane Katrrina.
Hilburn has plenty to say and digest about the music. But pinpointing Randy Newman the man is much more elusive, even though the author had full access and participation of his subject and his archives. We know that Randy Newman has self-doubt. We know that he often needed extra motivation to write. And we know he was reluctant to reveal too much about his thinking to even the most sympathetic of interviewers.
Hilburn also unfortunately teeters on the edge of hagiography with some whitewashing of the lesser times in Newman’s life. His drug period is only mentioned as “brief.” And when as a fortysomething he leaves his wife of nearly 20 years and mother of his children for a 21-year-old college student (to whom he is still married and had other children), it’s seemingly “all good” for all parties, a near-seamless transition. Fawning commentary from famous musician friends also fill pages.
The book ultimately gives a deeper appreciation of the music and wit of Randy Newman, and will send readers immediately back to the records. Newman was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2013, an Outsider in his profession’s ultimate Insider Club.
Today, at 80, he’s slowed his roll quite a bit. But fans can only hope that he is secretly working a Trump Concept Record. And not the soundtrack to Toy Story 5.
This article appears in Jan 1 – Dec 31, 2024.
