Randy Newman is one of the original musical satirists and enjoys nothing more than turning his attention to America and its leaders, writes Siobhán Long
WE'RE CURSED to live in such interesting times. Economic meltdown, grotesque political gamesmanship and psychological warfare are the stuff of everyday headlines and the meat and potatoes of political reportage.
They can also be nectar of the gods to political satirists. Witness Saturday Night Live's Tina Fey and her pre-election evisceration of Sarah Palin, and Jon Stewart's Bush-whacking shenanigans. Whatever we might make of America's current political and fiscal conundrums, and it would appear we've become markedly more forgiving of them, in the wake of Barack Obama's election, at least they've got the chutzpah to poke a satirical finger at their own ragged fairground attractions. Would that we could muster even a fraction of their lampooning gestures in these trying times.
The US has had its share of waggish artists whose acrid sense of the absurd has turned half-baked cliches on their heads and parodied the worst of the country's chest-thumping excesses.
Buster Keaton, Bob Dylan, Loudon Wainwright, Woody Allen (then, if not now) and yes, even Bruce Springsteen have laid waste to the notion that the aspirational land of the free and the home of the brave bears anything resembling close kinship with reality. And, over the past four decades, Randy Newman's has been one of the most consistent voices niggling away on the margins — where all the best satire thrives.
If it's a primer in current affairs you're after, look no further than 1972's Political Science. Was it Nixon or a premonitionary vision of George Dubya that inspired such pithy couplets as "They don't respect us/So let's surprise 'em/Let's drop the big one/And pulverise 'em"?
Newman's prescience is chilling on Louisiana 1927 (written in 1974), a tale of federal neglect bathed in a sublimely romantic melody line: "Louisiana, Louisiana/They're trying to wash us away."
The past may indeed be another country, but do they really do things differently there? With his mother from Louisiana and a host of family living in Mississippi, Newman's southern roots have always shown. Was he affronted by the blithe Stateside indifference that met the arrival of hurricane Katrina?
"Three of my cousins lost their houses during Katrina," he recounts in a deadpan monotone. "But to say that I completely identify with the southern experience would be a lie. I'm not Dr John. But I'm interested in the south, in its history. What happened there was dreadful. Totally. The thing with New Orleans is that it can't fix itself. The federal government should have jumped in, but it didn't. And it was the poor people who got hit. They don't care about 'em."
Although he's focused much of his energy on writing film scores since the 1980s, forging a whole new audience among Pixar fans (Toy Story and Toy Story 2, Cars, A Bugs Life, Monsters Inc and so on), Newman's genius in his solo recordings is in addressing complex ideas with the simplest lyrical skeleton.
Racism, religious bigotry, homicide, apartheid and insatiable nationalist fervour nestle alongside tales of a foreshortened childhood in The Big Easy. Latterly, he's sprinkled his studio recordings with an increasing selection of miniature autobiographies. For Newman, the personal was always political.
NEWMAN'S LATEST CD, Harps And Angels, his first solo release in nine years, is an abject lesson in the principle of less is more. A 90 per cent-proof distillation, charting his response to the eight-year reign of George W Bush, A Few Words in Defence of Our Country captured the zeitgeist so delectably that it was published as an op ed piece in the New York Times when the CD was released last August.
Ostensibly a "get out of jail" card for Bush Jnr, albeit with its tongue planted firmly in its cheek, A Few Words finds consolation in the fact that, notwithstanding the depths to which the present administration has sunk, much worse has gone before; from the excesses of countless Caesars to the monstrosities of the Spanish Inquisition, not to mention the imperial shamanism of Hitler, Stalin and good old King Leopold of Belgium.
Might he be tempted to tag on an extra verse, charting the belated appearance of one Sarah Palin on the political dais? Newman pauses for a moment before responding with that trademark jaded tone so beloved of anyone who's followed his meandering career over the decades. It's a weariness that seems born of contempt but tempered by the wisdom of experience.
"It's a real jaw-dropper," he says of the Palin nomination. "Prosaic is not even the word. It's anti-intellectual. That whole frontier thing is one of the worst things about the country." He does, however, feel an undeniable urge to separate himself and many of his fellow Americans from the actions of their commander-in-chief.
"I wanted to say that 'these people aren't bad, nor are they mean'," he continues. "Even though it's a comedic song, I felt good saying that. I was surprised though, by the way it takes a sad turn at the end. I wanted to write a song about this administration, somehow, and that was the only way I could get to it, but it didn't happen until I sat down to work on it."
Newman's closing couplet laments the fact that "we're adrift in the land of the brave and the home of the free/Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye". As if fading to black, the song skulks off stage, suddenly lost in the darkness of the world in which it finds itself mired. It's an ironic twist that takes the listener by surprise. I wonder though, whether there's much room these days for irony and sarcasm in a country pummelled by a so-called war on terror and an economy in freefall.
"The Simpsons are still on," Newman responds, with lightning speed. "Irony is in better shape than ever. I don't know that I know so much about the country as I thought I did, after the last election - whether it was stolen or not is irrelevant - but the fact that it was even close was a surprise to me.
"The fact is, we didn't get the government that we deserve. It's much worse. The US and the world just didn't deserve these people. They're a good deal worse. They don't even know the rules."
One of the defining characteristics about Newman's songwriting is his penchant for adopting the third person in his song lines. It's not a technique that's been widely copied, nor is it one which he can readily explain, other than to acknowledge that it's worked a treat for him. It's allowed him to adopt disparate personas to tell tales that might otherwise have floored him, critically.
"It's amazing how few people in the whole history of this kind of music have done that third-person narrative," he says.
"It's not the right medium for it, I think. It's fine by me, and it was just more interesting for me to do it like that. I don't know whether it was shyness or what. It's like, there's Springsteen with direct communication, and I'm indirect. It's more difficult - and less popular."
ONE OF THE MOST refreshing things about Harps And Angels is how it chronicles the ageing experience by peering through a different lens. Potholes casts a leery eye over the perils of memory lapses (if not outright loss), while Losing You is a heartbreakingly poignant meditation on the impact of grief and loss as one advances in age.
Newman turns 65 this month. Does he find himself pondering the vicissitudes of ageing a lot more these days?
"Physically, yes, but consciously, when writing, I wanted to see if I could still write rock and roll at this age, and be honest about what I'm singing about," he says. "You're not going to boogie all night long. That would be a lie - not that I don't lie. It's sort of a young person's medium in a way, even though all of us old crocks are still kicking around. Most people do their best work very early, yet it's so important to me that I write well. If I was getting worse, I'd quit - but I don't think I am."
Biography is increasingly important, he admits, particularly over the course of his last two albums, 1999's Bad Love and Harps And Angels. There's a mercenary quality to some of this mining of his past too though.
"I'm writing more autobiographically lately than I used to," he confesses. "It's just because I'm finding the stuff there. I have no hesitation about reviewing anything. If I can get a song out of it, I'll do it."
• Randy Newman's entire European tour, including two concerts in Vicar Street, scheduled for Nov 3 and 4 last, were cancelled at short notice due to his reported back problems. They have not yet been rescheduled. Harps And Angels is out now on Nonesuch Records