Talking Heads Live Again!
In the mid-seventies, a three-person band that went by the name, “Talking Heads” emerged out of the bowels of NYC. They were young, spry. They were informed by the polyglot, underground music scene of Manhattan.
Post-punk was in, as was New Wave. The shepherds of this new fertile new moment — Pati Smith, New York Dolls, The Ramones — gave way to their immediate understudies. Bands like Television, Blondie, Iggy pop, and Talking Heads, all aspired to make their mark.
That said, The Heads were never ones for imitation. Byrne, Weymouth and Frantz seized the unique cultural moment to announce their new sound.
Cut to 1976. The Heads convene in a small SOHO recording venue called, “The Kitchen.” The space was bare, the white hot overhead lighting illuminated every tick and wart. The musicians’ every physical trait and mannerism popped out in bright detail.
What’s more, none of the young members appear particularly enthused to be on camera as they perform their basement jams. David Byrne, the lead singer and guitarist, never looks down the lens. He’s a scrawny kid with a green, long-sleeved shirt. Pale, nasally, and shaggy-haired. He launches into the first song of the recording, “Girls want to be with girls,” with all the charisma of a dim lamp post.
To his left stands Tina Weymouth, the Talking Heads bassist, wielding an instrument bigger than her torso. She dons a bob hair cut and stone-cold face that could cut you in half. As the drummer, Chris Frantz is spared much of the spotlight but, similar to Byrne, Frantz is shaggy and scrawny. He sits still, keeping straight time on the six-track recording.
This was the early period of every band’s tenure when things get ironed out. New sounds are discovered, others discarded. By the time STOP MAKING SENSE hits the scene, eight years would have passed sense The Kitchen recording. The sonic repertoire of Talking Heads has expanded to include Reggae, New Age, Disco, Hip-hop.
They’ve expanded their live musician count to include background vocals, and expanded battery. Production design now played a new factor in Byrne’s vision of Talking Heads. Varied imagery was projected on large white panels positioned on the background walls of their stage design.
When the film starts, a well-coifed, bugged-eyed David Byrne casually struts onto a bare stage with a boom box. He’s wearing a gray suit and white tennis shoes. There are shades of that awkward young man from 1976, but something about this image feels intricately constructed.
The suit, the boom box, the metal racks and step ladders strewed throughout the background ground. It all feels like it’s thrown together in the moment, but keep watching. There is a method to the madness. And with that, Byrne marches head first into “Psycho Killer.”
The trite and annoying phrase “every artist is a storyteller,” feels apt in describing why STOP MAKING SENSE succeeds where other concert films fail. Its visual design lends itself to audience spectacle.
We feel the inner machinations of Byrne’s head at work when the musicians jog in place all throughout “Life During Wartime.” The campy, red-tinged horror construction of “Swamp” invokes n amusement ride down some pirate infested bayou drenched with rum and odor tobacco.
By this point, the stage has grown smaller with every succeeding song. New musicians join the stage, props are moved around as we’re introduced to new instrumentations. By the time “This Must Be The Place” starts, the stage is filled with an expanded rhythm and keys section, two background vocalists and a crew of documentarians quietly shifting across stage as to not disturb the musicians in their flow.
In addition, a plethora of stage props, english phrases projected on large screens, and expanded light and shadow effects. Nothing is spared, visually or sonically. Jonathan Demme, who by this time had directed MELVIN AND HOWARD and SWING SHIFT lends his brand of down and dirty filming to inject a feeling of immediacy and momentum to a project that was shot over three performances. Never once does STOP MAKING SENSE feel chopped up or spliced together.
I managed to catch an early IMAX screening on a daytime 5:00pm and was surprised to find a packed theater. The vibes were immaculate. Everyone was jiving with the tunes in a way that didn’t distract from the screening.
The studios would be wise in acknowledging the market for this sort of revivalist entertainment outside of the coastal cities. With this and the Taylor Swift Era’s tour, it feels like we’e on the cusp of some change.
