How this man hasn’t been given a ceremonial post in the American Government by now is beyond me. Oh wait. Either way, his entire body of work from the early-seventies seems as relevant now as ever. A songwriter of the first order, he seems to have been mistaken for a Disney-backed soundtracking artist by now. But when he was at his best, he was one of America’s most poignant lyricists. His quiet satires, songs of subtle protest and caricature, strike right to the heart of the American Dilemma as surely as when written.

For whatever reason, Good Old Boys has long been my favorite. A loose, ramshackled concept album about the quietly seething, and loudly drinking, American South, Newman quiets his rabid sense of irony with piano-plonked songs that sound right out of the Depression. The desperate late-night needs of “Guilty,” the dixieland breakout of “Kingfisher,” the scathing resentment of “Rednecks.” Newman’s raspy, storyteller-voice seems at times to brittle for such attacks, incapable of anything more than a quiet good-night, a last fairy tale before sleep. But he keeps on moving; anyone unfamiliar with the man’s work would be well-advised to give this one a whirl.