You know the feeling when a song becomes so synonymous with a city that the actual meaning just... evaporates? That is exactly what happened with the I Love L.A. lyrics. If you’ve ever been to a Dodgers game or a Lakers championship parade, you’ve screamed that chorus at the top of your lungs. It feels like a high-five in musical form. But here is the thing: Randy Newman is the king of the "unreliable narrator," and if you think this song is a straightforward postcard to Southern California, you’re missing the joke.
He wrote it in 1983.
The eighties in Los Angeles were a weird, shiny, gritty mess. You had the buildup to the '84 Olympics, the rise of the "Valley Girl" culture, and a massive divide between the glittering hills and the reality of the streets. Newman, a guy who grew up in the industry—his uncles were legendary film composers—knew the city’s DNA better than anyone. He didn’t write a jingle. He wrote a character study.
The Geography of the I Love L.A. Lyrics
The song starts with a literal map. Newman name-drops specific streets like he’s giving directions to a lost tourist. Imperial Highway. Santa Monica Boulevard. 6th Street.
It’s an interesting choice because, honestly, these aren't all "beautiful" places. Imperial Highway can be pretty bleak depending on where you are. By calling out these specific arteries of the city, he’s grounding the song in a reality that locals recognize immediately.
"Roll down the window, put down the top"
This is the quintessential L.A. dream, right? The wind in your hair, the sun on your face. But look at who is doing the singing. The narrator sounds almost too enthusiastic. He’s obsessed with the superficial. He mentions the "big nasty redhead at his side." He talks about his "Guy Lombardo" shirt. This isn't a poet admiring the sunset; it's a guy who has fully bought into the commercialized, plastic aesthetic of the era.
When he shouts "Look at that mountain! Look at those trees!" it feels a bit manic. It’s the vibe of someone trying very hard to convince themselves they are living the perfect life. Newman has always been fascinated by people who are blind to their own surroundings or their own flaws. In this case, the narrator is so blinded by the "glamour" that he ignores the "homeless man on the corner" or the "smog" that—in 1983—was thick enough to chew.
Is it a Sincere Anthem or a Satirical Jab?
This is where fans usually get into heated debates over the I Love L.A. lyrics. The answer is: it’s both. That is the genius of Randy Newman.
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Critics like Robert Christgau have often pointed out that Newman’s songs work on multiple levels. If you want to use it as a celebration, you can. The melody is anthemic. The production, featuring members of Toto and backing vocals by Lindsey Buckingham and Christine McVie, is top-tier 80s pop-rock. It sounds expensive. It sounds like success.
But Newman himself has admitted in interviews, specifically with Rolling Stone and NPR, that he finds the city’s boosterism slightly ridiculous.
He’s mocking the way L.A. presents itself to the world. Think about the lines where he lists the "beaches" and the "palm trees." It sounds like a brochure. But then he hits you with the refrain: "Hate New York City, it's cold and it's damp / And all the people dressed like monkeys / Let's leave Chicago to the Eskimos."
It’s petty! It’s that classic West Coast vs. East Coast insecurity. He’s leaning into the stereotype of the Angeleno who thinks everywhere else is a wasteland. By making the narrator so dismissive of other great cities, Newman highlights the shallow provincialism that can sometimes define the L.A. bubble.
The Music Video Factor
You can't talk about these lyrics without mentioning the music video directed by his cousin, Tim Newman. It was a staple on MTV. It showed Randy in a convertible, looking somewhat uncomfortable, while the world around him was hyper-colorful and choreographed.
The video reinforced the "celebration" aspect for the general public. It made the song a hit. But if you look at Randy's face during the video, he’s barely smiling. He’s the observer. He’s the guy at the party who is watching everyone else dance and taking notes on how weird they look.
Why the Song Still Dominates the Zeitgeist
Despite the irony, L.A. claimed the song. And Randy is fine with that. He has joked that he’s happy to take the royalty checks every time it’s played at a stadium.
There is something powerful about the phrase "I love L.A." It’s a simple, declarative statement. In a city that is constantly being criticized for being fake, or dangerous, or over-congested, having a song that just says "I love it here" feels like an act of defiance.
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Even if the lyrics are poking fun at the guy in the Guy Lombardo shirt, the people actually living in the city don't care. They see themselves in the "Santa Monica Boulevard" shout-out. They feel the energy of the driving beat.
Breaking Down the Verse: "Century Boulevard (We Love It!)"
This is one of the funniest parts of the song. Century Boulevard is the road that leads you to LAX. It’s notoriously congested, lined with chain hotels, and generally not a place anyone "loves."
By having the background singers shout "(We love it!)" after every street name, Newman is highlighting the absurd boosterism of the city. It’s like a forced cheer. "Victory Boulevard! (We love it!)"
It’s brilliant because it captures that specific Californian brand of optimism that can sometimes border on the delusional. We’re stuck in 405 traffic, the gas is $6 a gallon, and the air quality is questionable, but hey—the sun is out! (We love it!)
Semantic Layers: What You Might Have Missed
If you dig into the production credits, you see why the song feels so "L.A."
- Steve Lukather on guitar.
- Jeff Porcaro on drums.
- David Paich on keyboards.
These guys were the L.A. sound. They played on everything from Michael Jackson’s Thriller to Steely Dan records. By using these specific musicians, Newman wasn't just writing about L.A.; he was using the city's literal "sound" to build the track.
The song actually sounds like the 1980s. It sounds like the "West Coast Sound" that dominated the airwaves. This adds a layer of authenticity to the satire. It’s not a parody from the outside; it’s an internal critique from someone who is deeply embedded in the system.
Actionable Insights for Music Fans and Analysts
If you are looking to truly understand the I Love L.A. lyrics, don't just read them on a screen. You have to listen to the rest of the album, Trouble in Paradise.
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That album is dark. It’s cynical. It features songs about racism, failed relationships, and the dark side of wealth. When you place "I Love L.A." in the context of the full album, the irony becomes much more obvious. It’s the "brightest" song on a very "dark" record.
Here is how you should approach the song next time it comes on the radio:
- Listen to the tone: Pay attention to the "shouting" nature of the chorus. Is it a cheer, or is it a demand?
- Research the 80s context: Look up photos of Los Angeles in 1983. Specifically, look at the contrast between the new skyscrapers downtown and the areas the song mentions.
- Compare with "Burn On": Listen to Newman's song about Cleveland. He does a similar thing—writing about a city's flaws with a weird, twisted kind of affection.
- Check the live versions: Watch Randy perform it live. He often plays it with a slightly mischievous grin, knowing that half the audience thinks it’s a straight-up love letter and the other half knows better.
Randy Newman once said that he writes about "characters who aren't necessarily him." The guy in "I Love L.A." is a character. He’s a guy who loves his car, loves his girl, and doesn't want to think about anything else.
Whether you're a lifelong resident of the Southland or someone who has never stepped foot in California, the I Love L.A. lyrics offer a masterclass in how to write a song that means two things at once. It’s a celebration of a dream and a critique of the dreamer.
And that, honestly, is the most L.A. thing about it.
To get the full experience of Randy Newman's songwriting style, compare the upbeat production of this track with his more somber work on films like Toy Story or his satirical political songs like "Political Science." You'll quickly see that he rarely plays anything completely straight. The irony isn't a bug; it's the main feature.
Next time you find yourself driving down the 405 with the windows down, go ahead and scream the lyrics. Randy won't mind. He's in on the joke, and now you are too.
Next Steps for Music Enthusiasts:
- Listen to the Trouble in Paradise album in its entirety to understand the cynical framework Randy Newman was operating within during 1983.
- Watch the original 1983 music video and pay close attention to the visual contrasts between the "glamour" and the "grit."
- Analyze the lyrics of "Short People" or "Sail Away" to see how Newman uses irony in other contexts to tackle complex social issues.
- Explore the "West Coast Sound" of the early 80s by looking into the session work of the members of Toto, who provided the musical backbone for this track.