If anyone had been foolish enough to think that a three year recording hiatus prior to his fifth studio album ‘LITTLE CRIMINALS‘ (September 1977) might have dulled the sardonic impressionism running through the songs of Randy Newman, they were, of course, very much mistaken.
Indeed, one glance at a sleeve adorned with titles such as ‘Texas Girl at the Funeral of Her Father‘, ‘In Germany Before the War‘ and ‘Sigmund Freud’s Impersonation of Albert Einstein in America‘ was testament to his ongoing prowess as the most diverse songwriter around.
Beginning with his self-titled debut set (1968) and continuing through ‘12 Songs‘ (1970), ‘Sail Away‘ (1972) and ‘Good Old Boys‘ (1974), Newman – born Los Angeles 28/11/1943 – had populated his albums with wry social comment along with political and cultural satire. Such material was delivered in his distinctive drawl amidst innovative, often string-laden arrangements, the composer at the hub of things on piano.
Unlike any other singer-songwriter among the vanguard who appeared in the late-60s, Newman, for the most part, veered away from introspective, self-analytical lyrics. Instead he wrote from the perspective of misunderstood, misled or just plain misinformed characters who found themselves in situations where they were bemused or beaten down.
Across a broad canvas he referenced ills such as slavery and racism, often setting the narrative in times gone by, be it an imagined journey on a slave ship (‘Sail Away‘) or a devastating flood (‘Louisiana 1927‘).
Those conveying the stories were sometimes depicted as ridiculous, condescending figures and while they are his own creations Newman had no hesitation in mocking them – the prejudice they espouse theirs and not his.
Yet tracks such as ‘God’s Song‘ and ‘Political Science‘ (both from the utterly brilliant ‘Sail Away‘), take Newman’s satirical instincts to their most heightened level. The latter, the most sharply ironic rock song of the era, states ‘Let’s drop the big one and see what happens,’ this in response to criticism of the United States, as according to his lyric the rest of the world ‘all hate us anyhow‘ – the piece superbly flippant, once you convince yourself it is meant as irony.
While delighting many critics with the originality of his work, Newman had made little in the way of commercial headway and what attention he gained came mostly through cover versions. In 1970 Harry Nilsson recorded an entire album of his songs (‘Nilsson sings Newman‘) and with numerous other interpretations in circulation, Newman was able to a work in a painstaking, self-effacing way. The sweeping orchestral arrangements (for which he took responsibility) that were a feature of his own recordings, being lightened on occasion by the accomplished guitar work of Ry Cooder and drums of noted sessioneer Jim Keltner.
Yet without sacrificing any of his customary pathos, in the autumn of 1977 Newman found himself in the unusual position of having a hit album. ‘Little Criminals‘ made its way into the U.S. top ten, this success due in no small way to opening track, the widely misconstrued ‘Short People‘, climbing to number two on the Billboard singles chart.
His most accessible LP to date, Newman makes a few concessions to L.A. studio craft, receiving support from 4/5 of the Eagles, although in fairness Don Henley, Glenn Frey and and by now ex-Eagle Bernie Leadon had sung harmony on one ‘Good Old Boys‘ track. Cooder and Keltner are once again present, (along with long-standing production duo Lenny Waronker and Russ Titelman), yet if the melodies are done with a lighter touch, the subject matter they frame has a scope ranging from 20th Century serial killers to failing communities to enigmatic cowboys – with a host of curious stopping off points in-between.
The album arrives with the simple piano chords of ‘Short People‘, the easy-going melody, while as instantly engaging as a sit-com theme tune, at odds with a lyric insulting to the vertically challenged, if taken literally that is.
Being taken to task in fact are those who hold prejudiced views, Newman making clear his stance as a humanist at the bridge, where he is joined by Eagles Frey, Schmit and their long-time cohort J.D. Souther:
‘Short people are just the same as you and I/All men are brothers until the day they die.’
Despite throwing this unequivocal couplet into the mix, Newman was accused of advocating heightism, the single a huge hit even in the face of being banned by a number of radio stations. The supreme satirist working in the rock medium suddenly found a whole new audience on the basis of a song that in effect ridiculed the shallow views of one of his character creations, all bundled up in a polished pop performance – the joke clearly not lost on Warren Zevon, who the following year wrapped ‘Excitable Boy‘, his tale of a murderous, criminally psychotic teenager, in similarly jaunty tones.
With its creaking brass and rag time piano, ‘You Can’t Fool the Fat Man‘ conjures depression-era America, the protagonist needing money from an overweight loan shark in order to bail his sister out of jail:
‘Sittin’ with the fat man/Tryin’ to get a loan/Talkin’ about the horses/And the women that we’ve known.’
The appeal for cash, however, falls upon deaf ears, the plea for $50 turned down and dismissed with the disparagement of, ‘You’re just a two-bit grifter/That’s all you’ll ever be.‘
Crime as one might suspect is also at the heart of the title-track, the little criminals in this case young hoodlums about to stage a hold-up:
‘Got a gun from Uncle Freddy/Got a station all picked out/Got a plan and now we’re ready/Gonna take that station out.’
With its incessant piano, rapid fire percussion and an edgy slide guitar solo from Joe Walsh, the track is not far removed from a Little Feat offering of the time, Newman later juxtaposing narration to a family member of the tearaways, who clearly abhors their actions:
‘So you go about your business/You just leave us folks alone/We don’t need no two-bit junkie/Screwin’ up our happy home.’
The only track not to feature Newman as a musician, amidst the swirling strings of ‘Texas Girl at the Funeral of Her Father‘ the piano is played by film score composer Ralph Grierson, all of which adds to the cinematic perception.
Newman keeps his observations brief, the lyric running to just a dozen lines, but still conjures some vivid imagery. As daylight begins to pass the daughter is drawn as a solitary figure, ‘Here I am alone on the plain/Sun’s going down/It’s starting to rain/Papa, we’ll go sailing.’
The quartet of Keltner, Waddy Wachtel (guitar), Willie Weeks (bass) and Milt Holland (percussion), provide the support for ‘Jolly Coppers on Parade‘ – an engaging soft-rock account of watching parading policemen, (‘They’re comin’ down the street/They’re comin’ right down the middle/Look how they keep the beat/Why, they’re as blue as the ocean‘).
The scene has clearly made an impression on the person observing the pageantry, the eyes through which it is seen revealed to be that of a boy, ‘Oh, mama/That’s the life for me/When I’m grown/That’s what I wanna be.’
Performed by Newman on piano accompanied by sombre, atmospheric strings, side one closer ‘In Germany Before the War‘ alludes to the sickening villainy of notorious serial killer Peter Kurten, who as the words reveal lived and murdered in Dusseldorf.
When reflecting on the song several years later Newman commented:
“I usually say exactly what I mean so that everyone understands me,” he explained, “but the subject of ‘In Germany Before The War’ is too gruesome to lend itself to a comprehensive description. There may be too little concrete information in the text, but I’ve tried to overcome that through the ghostly orchestration. Although it is not said in so many words, the listener knows that the main character is a child murderer.”
Even without going into lurid detail, the lines ‘A little girl has lost her way/With hair of gold and eyes of gray/Reflected in his glasses/As he watches her/A little girl has lost her way,’ are haunting enough.
Germany is again evoked as side two opens with the sound of an Oompah band that announces ‘Sigmund Freud’s Impersonation of Albert Einstein in America.’
Sung from the standpoint of Albert Einstein, the theoretical physicist leaves his German homeland in 1905 to begin a journey that eventually finds him, ‘Happy to be here in the land of the brave and the free.’
That said, Newman cannot resist putting some caustic words into the mouth of the narrator (‘America, America/God shed his grace on thee/You have whipped the Filipino/Now you rule the Western Sea‘) – neither can he resist images so contrasting as ‘African appendages that almost reach the ground/And little boys playing baseball in the rain.’
The overall impression is that Einstein (who had been dead over twenty years when the song was written, his death announced in New Jersey in 1955), was quite taken with the US of A, the American dream held up as a model of both inspiration and aspiration.
‘America, America/Step out into the light/You’re the best dream man has ever dreamed,’ says the European emigree through Newman, acknowledging the influence of popular culture by adding, ‘And may all your Christmases be white.’
If there are any dreams attached to what Newman has observed in the city of ‘Baltimore‘ they are predominantly bad ones – the writer depicting a modern day urban nightmare.
Once again the melodicism, uplifting in the manner of Van Morrison, is in contrast to some stark ruminations, (‘Hard times in the city/In a hard town by the sea/Ain’t nowhere to run to/There ain’t nothin’ here for free‘), the vista even more disconcerting when his gaze falls upon a couple of woebegone inhabitants:
‘Hooker on the corner/Waitin’ for a train/Drunk lyin’ on the sidewalk/Sleepin’ in the rain.’
With each mention of the title, Newman receives glorious harmony support from Souther and Frey, the latter also playing guitar. But no doubt is left in regard to what the future has in store, ‘And they hide their faces/And they hide their eyes/’Cause the city’s dyin’/And they don’t know why‘ – this evocation of the city far closer to the one portrayed in the brilliant television drama ‘The Wire‘ of twenty five years later, rather than the droll Bobby Bare country song ‘Streets of Baltimore‘ that was covered with aplomb by Gram Parsons in 1973.
‘I’ll Be Home‘ finds Newman at his most eloquent as a romantic wordsmith in a song previously heard on the 1970 Harry Nilsson covers album and in the meantime also recorded by Barbara Streisand. Featuring Newman on piano and the sympathetic electric guitar of Wachtel, this is songcraft of the highest order.
The writer expresses his affection (‘Wherever you may wander/And wherever you may roam/You come back/And I’ll be waiting here for you‘), with understated, almost hushed phrasing that takes this exquisite track closer to lullaby than soft-rock ballad.
He then changes tack with ‘Riders in the Rain‘, the direction of travel now the old west, the cowboy hero of the piece heading to Arizona with the assertion, ‘Got a gun in my holster/Got a horse between my knees.’
Three years later Bob Seger would use a similar structure for his ‘Fire Lake‘ hit and while we cannot be certain, given the country overtones, this not a pastiche of wild west mythology, (‘So I’m goin’ to Arizona/With a banjo on my knee‘), there were surely knowing smiles in the studio as backing vocalists Henley, Frey (and Souther) heard Newman sing, ‘I have been a desperado.’
There is also an Eagle presence on ‘Kathleen‘ (Catholicism Made Easier), the electric guitar of Walsh and mandola input of Cooder supporting the blues piano licks of Newman – who somewhat appropriately sets this tale in Chicago.
Kathleen is a woman the storyteller wants to marry, (aware of a courtyard in the city where the ceremony can take place), his infatuation based on her Emerald Isle heritage, ‘I’ve always been crazy about Irish girls.’
The album closes in strangely downbeat fashion, ‘Old Man on the Farm‘, a slowly lilting piano piece in which Newman adopts the persona of the title after first describing what the elderly gent experiences on a daily basis:
‘He’s waitin’ for some rain to fall/He’s waitin’ for the mail to come/He’s waitin’ for the dawn again/Old man on the farm.’
The shortest track on the record Newman signs off in curious manner, apologising for staying too long before adding, ‘So long it’s been good to know you/I love the way I sing that song.’
An album that is never in danger of outstaying its welcome, ‘Little Criminals‘ even at nearly 40 minutes leaves the listener eager for more.
Too short in fact – but let’s not go there again.
RANDY NEWMAN – LITTLE CRIMINALS (Released September 23 1977);
Short People/You Can’t Fool the Fat Man/Little Criminals/Texas Girl at the Funeral of Her Father/Jolly Coppers on Parade/In Germany Before the War/Sigmund Freud’s Impersonation of Albert Einstein in America/Baltimore/I’ll Be Home/Rider in the Rain/Kathleen (Catholicism Made Easier)/Old Man on the Farm;
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