The 10 best songs by Randy Newman
Ever since he leapt out of a window on Tin Pan Alley in 1968, Randy Newman has outsmarted the world to such an extent that he has inadvertently imposed his own obscurity. His anthem on the insanity of prejudice ended up enraging people so much that he received extremely prejudiced death threats. Tom Jones scored a huge hit covering his floundering track on meek sexual ineptitude by making it about macho sexual prowess, and he cataclysmically claimed that all his fans are “ugly” in the disastrous antithesis of Richard Ashcroft’s successful marketing quip that he’s “never had a bad review off a good-looking person.”
Indeed, Newman has, almost by design, made himself hard to market. How can someone be the Dean of Satire and the Master of Children’s Music? It’s a confusing dichotomy, one of many in the stumpy six-foot maestro and master of simplicity’s existence that continues to beguile as he enters his 80th year. It has ensured that over the years, he has garnered a consistent fanbase of 200,000 globally. That isn’t many for a musical genius, and he’s smart enough to see why but just not quite smart enough to help himself.
But he is a genius all the same. The lyric, “If Marx were living today, he’d be rolling around in his grave,” is genius. Responding to a letter about a fan who committed suicide while listening to a loop of the song ‘Laughing Boy’, by saying, ‘Thank you, great compliment’ is genius (dark, but genius). Crafting tracks that can enchant children with wonder and offer up affirmation for that same child 20 years later is also genius (light, but genius).
He is living proof of the predicament foisted by culture still in the grips of religiosity, that art can actually be a laughing matter. For too long, solemnity has ruled the airways, and the only thing met with reverence or deemed important is in a league of art that can now be aptly described as Oscar-bait. So far, he’s got the kids on board and with that, we can be hopeful his ranks will rise from the 200,000 mark to infinity and beyond because he is a wonderful gist who brightens our dismal daily lives with a wry cognisant wink towards what blights them in the first place. This is what the world needs now, and it always has been: a singing frog who lovingly disparages everything… and then quickly renders that appraisal ridicules with something as gorgeously sincere as ‘She Chose Me’.
These little stories, borne from the imperfection of life, exude such comedy and heart that you can rejoice in tragedy if only for the poetry it provides. Each song has its message and tale to tell, from dramas about lacklustre lovers to satirical skewers of colonialism, and as a songwriter, Newman allows them to tell it without any prejudice or preordained notion of what a masterpiece should be, so they veer and wax to the whims of his novelistic ways. But not all the stories in this unreliable narrators songbook were created equally.
So, with that in mind, we’ve waded through the chronicles of Newman and come out with his finest tracks; a nearly impossible task, but if he teaches us anything, it is that life is arbitrary and capricious if you take things at face value all the time; but if you see this list as a highlights reel celebrating a master, then rather than a brutal culling of classics, the words of Steve Tesich might spring to mind: “Life, it seems, is not meaningless but, rather, so full of meaning that its meaning must be constantly murdered for the sake of cohesion and comprehension. For the sake of the storyline.” When it comes to Newman, there is always meaning lingering beyond the last note, sometimes he just outsmarts it out of existence.
The 10 best songs by Randy Newman:
10. ‘The Girls in My Life (Part 1)’ (The Randy Newman Songbook, 2016)
The literary trait of an unreliable narrator is one often imposed by Newman. His characters are frequently Trumpian fools whose boasts are bellied by their own ineptitude in the next breath. This braggadocios tale of sexual conquests over females includes “real nice conversations” and Newman being swindled out of his car in a recital of conquests akin to the world’s wealthiest vagrant explaining how he built his non-empire. The whole song is an in-joke down to the title itself (there never was a Pt. 2).
For the bouncing melody, Newman pairs a syncopated riff with the lyrical skit in a style of songwriting under-utilised in narrative pop whereby the lyrics find a suitable match. There’s a clownish quality to the sound, with each brag being undermined by a note that fails to hit the punchline highlighting the ironic folly of a near-virgin.
9. ‘Dayton, Ohio – 1903’ (Nilsson Sings Newman, 1970)
With Nilsson Sings Newman, what you have is one of America’s greatest ever singers in Harry Nilsson, singing the songs of one of America’s greatest ever songwriters in Randy Newman, and somehow, it extends beyond the sum of its parts. Both artists share such an expert knowledge of their craft that they can afford to be naturally playful with it, and the result is one of the greatest records of the ’70s, full stop.
‘Dayton Ohio, 1903’ stands out on the album as the epitome of what it’s all about. In less than two minutes, it whisks up a lullaby that could rock a can of Red Bull to sleep, offer a hug to a cactus, and gently blow the rain away from a wedding. Nilsson’s pipes are in perfect order, but they don’t have to be pushed to pretentious possibilities, and the song is a thing of subtle self-contained perfection. It is a genuine gem for everyone to enjoy and proof that Newman can do simple prettiness, too.
8. ‘The Great Debate’ (Dark Matter, 2017)
‘The Great Debate’ is perhaps the most Newman-esque Newman song there is. It’s a track genuinely like no other. Such an accolade has no doubt been bestowed on a thousand songs but this time, it is irrefutable. With this unique effort, he gathers up a conference that places God under the microscope; on the one side, you have astrophysicists, biologists, a life coach and a lumberjack, and in the red corner you have the true believers, the Baptists and the bible belters from the Mississippi Delta. The compere in the middle is the strawman himself, the trickster behind it all Mr Randy Newman, all vying to prove their side right on a range of topics from evolution to global warming, the stilted good points of science often losing out to an emotive chorus of “I’ll Take Jesus!”
Throughout the song, the melody is constantly evolving from swing to gospel, brass band and back again, each according to the point being made, ultimately residing in a modest and tuneful melody that abides by a conclusion that renounces indoctrination in all its guises, like some good-humoured call for radicalised moderation. If post-modernism is the reconciliation of science and art, then this is the most post-modern song ever written. It is a comedy sketch for the ears, composed by a master akin to Stravinsky.
7. ‘Memo To My Son’ (Sail Away, 1972)
The problem with satire is that it can often be cynical, but Newman has far too much humanity for that. ‘Memo To My Son’ lets his sweet side shine through with a ray of joyous sincerity. The song might be tender, but it isn’t soppy, with gloriously specific lines like, “I know you don’t think much of me,” showcasing a point that countless fathers craving a babbled ‘dada’ instead of ‘mama’ for a change have encountered.
It’s performed with a nostalgic beat that ensures the song retains a pertinent place in your life long after your son has surpassed babbles and started shadowboxing you in the kitchen as a show of primal dominance. ‘Memo to My Son’ will always be there as a window to the past, like a VHS that isn’t pointlessly stored away in the attic, and it’s a wonderfully pleasing one.
6. ‘New Orleans Wins the War’ (Land of Dreams, 1988)
‘New Orleans Wins the War’ is an autobiographical song of childhood memories, complete with all the little inaccuracies that fading recollections play upon us in our later years. Part ode to his mother, part ode to the past, it is one of his more straightforward tunes, but it’s chocked full of charm and narrative detailing all the same, like the flourish of his mother skewing the geographical location of his upbringing towards a more prim and proper part of town.
This narrative of a relatable childhood is paired with a sweet waltzing melody with his trademark ability to chuck in a flurry of horns or change tact for a brief moment on full display. But the true beauty lies in how unremarkable the song is in some ways. It plays with your expectations, but in the end, it just provides the damp squib of Newman’s baby days told as best as he can remember them. And to use the horrid parlance of our times that can make you ‘feel seen’.
5. ‘She Chose Me’ (Dark Matter, 2017)
In the history of love songs, very few male artists have ever thought to place themselves as the benefactor of someone better, the gardener of a flower, so to speak, even though, from my experience, that is mostly the case. Even when male songwriters are head over heels celebrating a prize that they’ve just uncovered, it’s usually a union of equals. With ‘She Chose Me’, Newman goes in the opposite direction to such an extent you could almost weep at the sweetness alone.
Beyond that, you’ve got a beautiful melody that is perfectly honed to soothe with all the humble serenity of a nice, warm cuppa. Contentedness is the most underrated state of the human condition, but here, Newman sings its praises with a prayer to partner and the satisfaction she brings. It ain’t much, but it’s a perfect love song.
4. ‘In Germany Before the War’ (Little Criminals, 1977)
‘In Germany Before the War’ is an ominous masterpiece. It’s one of the most unsettling and visual pieces of baroque pop music ever written. A track penned from the romanticised perspective of a child killer that plays out like a movie directed by Jennifer Kent, as it charters the grisly depths of Peter Kürten. Kürten’s nickname of The Vampire of Düsseldorf tells you everything you need to know about his blood-lusting modus operandi.
He attempted this hideous act on over 40 people, claiming the lives of at least nine between 1913 – 1929. Just to ram the point home, that’s 16 years of unapprehended neck-chomping! The master songsmith tells his tale as though it were a Peter Süskind novel, imbuing the darkness with poetry. Lyrics like “We lie beneath the autumn sky / My little golden girl and I / And she lies very still,” colour his crimes with a narrative, while the stirring melody and production flourishes add an eerie atmosphere like finely-tuned true crime prose. If any one song crowns him the unreliable narrator, then it is surely this one. Empathy is vital to understanding, but you can’t really sidestep into the mindset of a man who races around clamping down on people’s collars. So, it is best to simply get the story straight from the vampire’s mouth, and piece together reconciliations from there.
3. ‘You’ve Got a Friend in Me’ (Toy Story: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack, 1995)
There aren’t many songs in existence that a three-year-old can love as much as a 93-year-old, but this is one you can bank on. It’s a thing of joy with a message as foolproof as always letting someone else light the fireworks for you… and it comes from the very same man who sang with glowing romanticism from the perspective of a Vampire with a paedophilic tendency.
Mostly, it typifies Newman’s shunning of dogged seriousness that must forever be celebrated for the hopeful legacy it holds over the arts. 90% of people who hear the song are unlikely to fully appreciate it, to embrace the way the orchestration is perfected to a swinging crispness that conjures up the aimless reverie and whimsy of playing make-believe with toys as a toddler, while a topline melody makes the whole thing pop, as our idiosyncratic vocalist pipes out a wholesome and happy message as perfect for brightening up an irritable commute on a stuffy train as it for teaching primary school some singing practice.
2. ‘A Wedding in Cherokee County’ (Good Old Boys, 1974)
If Newman sounded like trash then none of his novelistic advancements in music would matter. He’d have been better off being a writer, but the reason he is a pop star is that he is, despite what even he might tell you, brilliant at getting his point across in three minutes with a few fitting chords and techniques that end up resulting in a ditty. That’s exactly what happens with ”A Wedding in Cherokee County’ from the brilliant Good Old Boys.
It might be resplendent with laugh-out-loud punchlines, comic wordplay, and clever beat syncopation to keep those interested in the compositional work happy, but above all, it is just a lovely little ditty. The slide guitar is sumptuous, the key is primed for his grovelled tones, and the rhythm is one you can slip into with ease; all the while, Newman sings the saddest punchline in the whole damn human comedy: “Why must everybody laugh at my mighty sword?” The damn havoc that question has endlessly wreaked is now reduced to nonevent in Cherokee County.
1. ‘Short People’ (Little Criminals, 1977)
Randy’s biggest hit was one he’d rather have traded in. ‘Short People’ is a vicious, perfectly poppy, tirade against damn stinking short people sung from the perspective of “a maniac”. The only issue is that upon its release, many people thought it was sung from the perspective of Randy Newman, who for some reason had become the first songwriter or perhaps simply human, to develop a prejudice against diminutive bastards who scurry around by his shoelaces. He was labelled as some sort of heightist bigot, rallying a revolutionary cabal against vertically challenged citizens, and as such, received death threats presumably from less than burly six-footers.
For a time, he would bravely play his shows hiding as much of himself as he could behind the microphone, fearing a little bullet from a little gun, while touting a pleading rhetoric that the song actually highlights the absurdities of discrimination. In reality, the piece is just a very funny track about a crazy person, and it bounded along on enough of a jolly bouncing melody to break through into the mainstream for once.
While chart and art are usually far more miles apart than a mere ‘ch’, on this occasion, the song’s controversial success typifies the songwriting of Newman. As the intro to this piece mentioned, with Newman’s songs all being little fables, they’re nearly all as valid as each other. This one just so happens to be so upbeat, immediately catchy and joyously fun that foisted the greatest punchline on pop, by baffling the populous and avoiding all platitudes including even typical prejudices. He dances pop to his whims like a marionette.
