Somewhere atop the mountain of peak New Wave bands lies Talking Heads. Along with David Byrne becoming a music icon in his own right, everything they achieved accounts for what an ideal career would have been. It’s there in the Top 40 hits, an iconic concert film, and most importantly, a sound so unique that it’s still influencing generations of art rock bands wanting to mix dance music with self-conscious paranoia. Talking Heads, for lack of a better word, is essential to understanding New Wave. While I would personally argue that Devo’s work is more accomplished, they’re still considered a one-hit wonder, while Byrne was recently selling out Broadway theaters with American Utopia. It is prime weirdness, but most of all, it’s the kind of palpable weird that clearly resonated with fans.
The truth is that I appreciate them more than love what I’ve heard. Before listening to “Fear of Music,” I was mostly familiar with their work through singles and the two aforementioned concert films. They weren’t bad by any stretch, but Byrne’s ambitions didn’t necessarily line up with what I enjoyed. Some of the music comes across as sterilized. They’re impersonal because they sometimes favor satire instead of personal observation. I’m sure that songs like “Air” matter to Byrne, but I mostly hear the creative exercise more than the desired effect of emotionality. Did I have a good time? Yes. However, I think it’s easy to scrutinize Talking Heads more than other groups because of their looming presence in pop culture. I question their accessibility because, to me, some of it makes no sense.
Given that this column will cover their 1980 album “Remain in Light” later, the main focus will be on their early days. This may greatly limit the scope of what will be discussed, but they are also surprisingly prolific for a New Wave band in 1979. “Fear of Music” was their third album and far from the first to produce a noteworthy single.
The band members met in 1973 at Rhode Island School of Design. It was here that Byrne met Chris Frantz and formed a band called The Artistics. They were considered a “prototype punk band” who performed covers of The Who and Al Green. As the band began to fizzle, the two were inspired to start a new group. When they couldn’t find a bassist, they turned to fellow student and Frantz’s girlfriend Tina Weymouth. She was encouraged to learn bass, and after a few tryout,s would become a permanent band member. The name Talking Heads was said to have come from a TV Guide, which described it as a filming practice of “all message, no action.” It stuck and led the group to begin performing in June 1975. Their first gig was opening for Ramones at CBGB. They would make demos for CBS but, upon failing, eventually signed to Sire Records.
Their early success was evident. The debut “Talking Head: 77” featured the hit “Psycho Killer.” This would get the attention of musician and future producer Brian Eno. Finding interest in their sound, he encouraged them to continue expanding and embracing their art rock tendencies. This was evident on their follow-up “More Songs About Buildings and Food,” and would become a central part of “Fear of Music.” Whereas elements of disco and African music had been more buried in their style, the 1979 record would find it becoming more prominent.
At the same time, Talking Heads were moving into a more conceptual direction. For Byrne, the record would feature several narratives about engaging in a dystopian landscape while trying to make sense of his new reality. This is most evident on “Life During Wartime” and “Cities,” where he describes in cold yet comical detail the aesthetic of his surroundings. At another point, he compares romance to a “Paper,” suggesting a level of materialism that wasn’t that dissimilar from Elvis Costello or Buggles. Even the finale “Drugs” turns the act of hallucination into a description of every small way that the body changes. Byrne’s hyper-awareness of his psychology is both the album’s strengths and its most isolating.
The subversiveness is alarming when judged against the larger New Wave scene. While the best bands were keen on mixing commentary with hooks, nobody had an angle quite like Talking Heads. There were direct ties to mainstream appeal that could be seen in their style. Even as Byrne suggested that they were still a dance rock band and found the anti-disco comparisons erroneous, they were not making it easy to love them. Weymouth’s bass was often cleanly produced and featured prominent funk influence, while Byrne’s guitar was choppy and distorted. Given his jittery approach to singing, everything sounded much more esoteric than their comparisons. The B-52s may have been offbeat, but they sounded like a synth-pop jam band. Devo may have sung about similar destructive subject matter, but Mark Mothersbaugh still had elements of straightforward rock grooves. Talking Heads were very much an art rock group that featured some of the most ambitious blending of any band at the time.
To start breaking down the album, the opener “I Zimbra” best reflects this. With elements of African popular music, the lyrics also borrow from Hugo Ball’s Dadaist poem “Gadj beri bimba.” The lyrics come across as nonsensical otherwise and not in English, meaning that it sets up audiences to think a little deeper about what was to come. With that said, the percussive nature is a driving force for why Talking Heads are as good as they are here. Somehow, the same choppy guitar works well as a disco feature as it does the backbone for something more immersive. As the introduction to this larger vision, it makes sense that Byrne wants the listener to question reality, and does so both on a lyrical basis but more importantly a sonic one that blends time signatures while still making a relatively normal-sounding pop tune.
From there, the album begins to enter a different kind of befuddlement. Byrne’s lyrics form a repetitive nature, as if becoming a meditation. “Mind” finds the chorus repeating this notion several times. The more that it becomes recognizable, the more it allows the listener to question what its greater meaning is. This is a look into the head of someone about to enter a strange world, and it has those underlying traces of uncertainty. Even with the propulsive melody, it becomes dreamlike until suddenly it gives way to a run of songs that reflect Talking Heads at their most antagonistic.
The choice for “Paper” to compare romance to an inanimate object is the perfect set-up for how Byrne will begin to see the world less as something lifelike and more uncomfortable. The added value of paper being a product made from a living tree into something disposable also speaks to the layers of cleverness. Much like its title object, maybe Byrne too will enter a state of devolution the longer that he spends trying to make sense of the world around him.
It’s there in the highlight of the album “Cities,” where he details his alienation while traveling around different cities looking for a place to live. Even in its comic detail running down various famous locations, there is a distance from his environment. It’s the type of satire reminiscent of Gary Numan, who similarly took on observations with detachment. It also makes the wonderment of travel lose its beauty when it’s replaced with a sense of textbook blandness. This carries into “Life During Wartime,” which was the big hit off the album and found Byrne singing like a character from Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) as he shrieks about everything that his world isn’t. The lyrics were claimed to have been inspired by author Walker Percy with references to parties, discos, and fooling around. Byrne’s efforts to move away from temptations make it the perfect subject for a subversive dance track.
Following “Memories Can Wait,” the back half features the cold reality giving way to a macabre sentimentality. Byrne suggests that “Air” is not a comedic song, and yet it’s hard not to read as such. The lyrics detail his frustration with the sky and he believes that even to breathe is hard. It’s the anti-environmental anthem that sounds rebellious even now, just because there’s a sense of defeat in his voice. It carries into “Heaven,” where he suggests that nothing happens. This notion makes it sound like a postscript to Albert Camus’ “The Stranger” in that Byrne is so detached from pleasure that his idea of a good time is inaction. It's tragic even as he presents it in a beautiful register.
The only song in the back half that I don’t like is “Electric Guitar” just because it feels like a repetitive feature of “Paper” and “Cities,” but without any greater meaning. While it can be argued that this symbolizes the loss of creative freedom, the idea of basing an entire song around the act of playing an electric guitar is ridiculous even by Talking Heads' standards. It’s also where the point where the former manic tone starts to shift towards a more peaceful, dreamlike stage that plays into the finale “Drugs,” which totally removes the percussive zaniness in favor of something more atmospheric.
A major reason that it works has to do with “Animals.” While this comes before “Electric Guitar,” it’s the perfect setup for how things have gone since entering “Fear of Music.” For the first two-thirds of “Animals,” there isn’t a lot of unassuming detail in Byrne’s musicality. However, there is a point where his voice deepens and he becomes more in tune with the title. The singing becomes the least focused it has ever been, and it suggests that he’s become inhuman. There’s an impulsivity that has been missing from the rest of the album. It’s surreal upon first listen and shows how much the band was winking at its audience.
The closer may sound like an outlier tonally, but it plays into the dystopian vision that Byrne has been building this whole time. Love is like paper. Cities are inhospitable. Heaven is nothing. The messaging has finally become an opiate for the masses, and here he is, overtaken by narcotics that alter his brain chemistry. It’s not quite the psychedelic rock of other 70s bands, but it still embraces the uncertainty that makes the listener feel subdued.
Overall, it’s tough to really judge the album on a musicality perspective because, to me, a lot of it plays with the same ideas. If you dislike Byrne’s guitar style, it is likely going to get tedious after a few songs. While I appreciate the larger craft, this isn’t a record that I immediately liked. It felt more like acknowledging something was clever. There’s value in art rock pushing boundaries, but it’s still more about intellect than heart. This could all be because Byrne identifies as autistic, and thus this record reflects a perspective common to neurodivergent fans. In short, reality feels like a world not built for them. There is a joy in that, but it’s still a bit too conceptual for its own good.
As mentioned, a lot of the band’s bigger years will be covered when “Remain in Light” comes up later. For now, this feels like a great record of early New Wave during a time before it truly became mainstream. It’s taking the risks that I’ve come to expect from the best artists and leaves me with many eyebrow-raising moments. It may not totally land, but Byrne, in general, has been an artist who never fully speaks to me. I like him when he’s latched onto a good idea, so thankfully, I like this one. However, I may need to fill out the rest of their catalog before returning with a deeper dive.
Coming Up Next: Joe Jackson – “Look Sharp!” (1979)
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