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Mark Newman
Growing up on Long Island, I always felt that there was something missing in our indigenous music culture. There were virtually no points of reference in the early days of rock and roll, and since then…well, let’s just say that Mariah Carey and Billy Joel did not exactly provide us with a local ‘scene’. Out of necessity, musicians from these parts usually had to look elsewhere for their inspiration, and most of us looked south. From a northerner’s perspective, the wealth of Americana that flowed south of the Mason-Dixon line seemed incredible, and more than a few great players from the North-East U.S. developed their playing chops by emulating these sources.
The best of that batch make it almost impossible to discern their roots. I don’t know Mark Newman, and I can’t say where he’s from, but I do recognize a few of the recording studios he used (a shout-out to Fred at Tiki in Glen Cove – Hi Fred!), and this implies that he’s a local boy. On a more comical note, my wife was born and raised in Louisiana, and she suspected the same thing, judging solely by his diction; a lyric from the title track has Mark enunciating the phrase ‘forget it,” and she said to me, “Ain’t no Southern boy who’d say that any other way than “fergit it”!
Accents aside, “Must Be a Pony” is one of the better Americana-based disks I’ve heard in quite a while. Over the course of fourteen tracks, Newman proves himself to be a rich, versatile songwriter with a highly nuanced sense of texture. The performances are top-notch too, with crackerjack musicianship supporting the well-honed tunes, and a production quality that keeps the song front and center. “Dead Man’s Shoes” has a spooky swamp feel, with musical interplay that suggests Lowell George-era Little Feat. “What She Does for Me” has the rhythmic structure and flavor of a Les Dudek composition - think vintage Allman Brothers and you’ll come close to what I’m talking about.
Newman is one heck of a guitar player, switching between slide, lap steel, and dobro as required, and he plays them with such veracity and finesse that you can almost smell the bougainvillea. His writing can be both humorous and/or powerful, depending on the circumstances. “So, So Cynical” takes a wry look at a relationship gone south (“I admit that I’m no rocket scientist, but now she wants me to see her psychiatrist”), while “God for Sale” pulls no punches and takes direct aim; “They warn about false prophets while the profits grow and grow” indicates a writer who knows how to turn a phrase while shooting from the hip.
A guest vocal from Sam “the Sham” Samudio (of “Wooly Bully” fame) adds some nice texture, and his re-arrangement of the Bee Gees’ “New York Mining Disaster” is both surprising and impressive. Mark Newman may not be a southern boy, but judging by “Must Be a Pony,” he’s the genuine article.
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