Randy Newman

"What did you discover about musical theater?" wondered a Hollywood reporter more impressed by Newman's Broadway aspirations than by his Faustian ambition. "There's no money in it," replied the artiste, who holds down a day job in the family business, which is scoring movies. And though Newman's pact with musical theatre requires him to sacrifice music, where his gifts are huge, for theatre, where he's a novice, the songs themselves are rich, mocking rock, religion, musical comedy, the classix, and American culture all at once. Newman's Devil is a midlife whiner, James Taylor's God a palavering politician, Don Henley's Faust a bigger creep than both of them put together, Bonnie Raitt and Linda Ronstadt's good girl-bad girl a set piece. Yet these brontosauri dance through their dress rehearsal with the found grace of busmen on holiday, and the pleasure Newman takes in his hubris is so ebullient that the satire never turns cheap. If the project reeks of concept album, well, pardon me for reading--the songs do get even better once you take in the plot summary. And if it reeks of burlesque, well, how better to bum-rush Western civ and "America's greatest art form" simultaneously? (Grade: A)