Fitting In Was Never Randy Newman’s Jam

A FEW WORDS IN DEFENSE OF OUR COUNTRY: The Biography of Randy Newman, by Robert Hilburn

Randy Newman was a nepo baby, a sprig of musical royalty. Three of his uncles were Hollywood film composers. One received 45 Oscar nominations and won nine times.

Newman’s own father wanted to be a composer. His parents, sensing the family needed to diversify its portfolio, dissuaded him. He became a physician with a celebrity-studded clientele. Those celebrities included Pat Boone, the bland pop singer, who tried to get young Randy signed to the publishing arm of his label.

Randy didn’t need Boone — or anyone else. He was writing songs professionally while still in his teens and by his early 20s was recognized as an uncommon sort of genius. His first four records, released between 1968 and 1974, floored those who knew the real thing when they heard it. His songs were literate, mocking and dense with the ghosts of American history.

His greatness did not go unsung. Rolling Stone named Newman Rock Star of the Year for 1971, the same year Marvin Gaye released “What’s Going On,” Joni Mitchell released “Blue” and the Rolling Stones released “Sticky Fingers.”

He broke through to the rest of America six years later, when his song “Short People” began blasting from car radios. Here was an anchovy amid pop radio’s peaches. Many can remember where they were when they first heard it. No one could recall a hit like it. It was a novelty song with a poison tip.

“Short People” was hilarious (“you got to pick ’em up just to say hello”) and, oh, it was cruel (“short people got no reason to live”). It divided people; some highly cheesed-off little people began to picket his concerts.