I do apologize if this seems like a "spin-off"--for lack of a better term--of last week's "sermon." It wasn't intended to be. But I was thinking of a conversation I had with my sister regarding music.
While at work a few days back, my phone randomly played the song "Guilty" by the group Nazareth. I commented to Heather (my sister) that the song should be considered part of the Great American Songbook, alongside the works of Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, Hoagy Carmichael, and the Gershwins. Even though Nazareth was a Scottish band, "Guilty" was written by the American composer and songwriter Randy Newman. (To which Heather replied, and I quote, "Gasp! Short People guy??" I added that I'm pretty sure that's what he likes to be called.)
I figure when a song has been covered by multiple artists from different genres over the course of its life, it can be called a standard, even if it wasn't necessarily a hit single for any of them. I first heard "Guilty" by The Blues Brothers when I was in high school. Over the years, I've heard it by the likes of Madeleine Peyroux, Bonnie Raitt (who, to the best of my knowledge, actually recorded it first), and, of course, Newman himself. Perhaps my favourite recording is by Joe Cocker, whose version was not only released the same year as Newman's, but also featured Newman on piano. If I were ever crazy enough to sing karaoke, this would be the one song I would want to attempt. I think I could really tear that one up--and I can't even sing that well.
Critic Mark Deming once wrote, "Between 1977 and 1988, Randy Newman seemed bound and determined to prove he could be a pop star, which is no small task when your voice is froggy, wear glasses, and your favorite themes are racism and insensitivity." Most people tend to think of Newman as a musical satirist (for songs like "Short People" "Rednecks," and "Political Science") or the guy who writes songs for Disney films (most famously "You've Got a Friend in Me" from Toy Story). Because of this, I think he gets unfairly overlooked as a songwriter, just because I think most people tend to pay attention to the performer rather than the writer.
So many of his songs were hits for other artists including "Mama Told Me Not To Come" by Three Dog Night and "You Can Leave Your Hat On" by Joe Cocker. Many of his songs throughout his career were originally recorded by other artists first, most notably "I Think It's Going To Rain Today" and "Feels Like Home," both of which have been covered so many times over the last 60 years (30 for "Feels Like Home") that I feel they should be considered standards as well.
And when he's not recording albums, he can be found writing songs and scores for motion pictures and television. Over the last few decades, Randy Newman has accrued 22 Academy Award nominations for his film music, winning two in 2002 and 2011. It's actually the family business. Three of Randy's uncles--Lionel, Emil, and Alfred Newman--wrote scores and songs for countless films going back to the 1930s. Alfred wrote one of the most recognizable pieces of film music ever, the "20th Century Fox Fanfare" which can be heard at the beginning of most 20th Century Fox movies. Many of Randy's cousins have also joined in, most notably David and Thomas. They've become such a dynasty that 20th Century Fox renamed one of its largest scoring stages the Newman Scoring Stage in 1997. And if you thought Randy's Oscar tally was impressive, we won't even go into the rest of the family.
As much as I enjoy and certainly respect his film work, I do tend to gravitate more toward his "pop" work. I love the fact that so many of his songs, even ones that weren't exactly big hits, have become such a part of the culture that you recognize it when you hear it--even if you don't recognize it as a Randy Newman song. "I Love L.A." has basically become an anthem for the city. "Louisiana 1927" got a second life in 2005 when it got used over countless montages of the destruction caused by Hurricane Katrina. Many of his songs have been used in soundtracks to popular films that he didn't even score--especially it seems in the mid to late 1990s--that when you hear the song, you likely associate it with that scene in the respective film.
This week's album, at least from a critical level, is still considered something of a masterpiece, albeit a controversial one, more than 50 years after its initial release. Perhaps it's the controversy that draws me to it. In the liner notes of its 2002 deluxe CD re-issue, David Wild described it as "a conceptual song cycle that explores the good, the bad, and the ugly of the American South, with all the highly loaded racial and social politics that such volatile subject matter involves."
Perhaps most controversial is the album's opening track, "Rednecks." Told from the perspective of a racist, white southerner, it addresses the hypocrisy of the north where racism and segregation were institutionalized but not really acknowledged, versus in the south where it was overt and legal for a very long time. Because of the narrator's perspective, the song features liberal use of a particular racial epithet, which was jarring enough to hear from a white artist in the early 1970s. It's easily ten times more jarring today.
The album features such recognizable (today) songs as "Louisiana 1927" and "Mr. President (Have Pity on the Working Man)," a rare cover song for Newman--"Every Man a King," co-written by Louisiana Governor and U.S. Senator Huey P. Long--as well as "Guilty," which started this whole exploration in the first place. (Thanks, sis!) Originally released in 1974, please enjoy two-time Academy Award winner Randy Newman with Good Old Boys.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed then skydiving definitely isn't for you.
Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!
The Reverend Will the Thrill
