Talking Heads, "Stop Making Sense"
Mitch flippy flops on new wave
Mitch’s Pitch:
I’ve always felt like I was born at the wrong time. Born too late to experience the really cool stuff in life. I think about how awesome it would be to lounge around all day in a nice, loose toga, crushing grapes with Caesar. Or maybe I’d be a Ronin in feudal Japan, living by just a code and a sword. I’d probably be great at stirring shit up in France, talkin’ ‘bout a revolution and such. I‘d be a significant man living in important times.
But deep down inside I suspect that living in ye olden times would be terrible. First off, the hygiene: I’m a very neat person and those people always looked so filthy (and I don’t even want to ask about the bathroom situation). Secondly, the food: how would I survive without crab rangoons and scorpion bowls? And worst of all: no Mario Kart!?!?!?!?
No, when I say I was born too late, I mean that I was born exactly 10 years too late. If I was just one decade older, life would have been so much cooler. I could have been a part of that awesome downtown (uptown?) scene before NYC got all corporate and Disney-fied. If I was born in 1961, my first concert would probably have been seeing the Talking Heads at CBGB's in 1975, instead of seeing John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band at Great Adventure in 1985 (in fairness, an epic show).
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In the real timeline of the multiverse of my life, I was born too late to really get the Talking Heads. Sure, “Burning Down the House” and “Once in a Lifetime” were cool new wave videos, but I always thought of the Talking Heads as a decent pop band that made some nice - but not particularly exciting - singles like “And She Was” and “Wild, Wild Life”. I was born too late, and as a result my perception of the Talking Heads didn’t reflect the reality of the Talking Heads. It’s like telling your kids that shouty, old man Al Pacino was once the greatest actor in the world. Sure, Grandma, let’s get you to bed.
Over time I started to realize how many Talking Heads songs I actually knew and loved, even if I didn’t always know they were Talking Heads songs, or what they were called. Or what David Byrne was singing. And then I found Stop Making Sense and the Talking Heads finally started making sense.
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While most live rock albums are focused on guitar heroics, what makes Stop Making Sense so unique is that the percussion is the clear star. The performance is driven from the bottom up, with a propulsive energy that runs through every song, creating a funky melange of R&B, world beats, post-punk and new wave rock. There’s an energy throughout this album that never lets up. It’s a party, and we all know that the kids just want to dance and shake their bones. Add in the incredible vocals - both Byrne’s leads and the perfect backing vocals - and you have a live album where somehow every track improves upon the studio version.
Standout songs include “Psycho Killer”, “Slippery People”, “Life During Wartime”, “Girlfriend is Better”, and, of course, “Crosseyed & Painless”, but there’s not a skip on this truly perfect live album.
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I may have been born too late to fully appreciate the Talking Heads in their prime, but at least there’s still time for us to enshrine them in the prestigious Newbury St. Collection. And that makes a lot of sense to me.
Ken’s Response:
Let’s get this out of the way. I don’t like the Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense. Yes, I know I might as well admit I don’t like puppies or that I eat pizza with a fork and knife. Still, every time I confess this opinion, at least three people gasp, one drops their vintage vinyl, and someone starts aggressively pointing like I’M the psycho killer!
Look, it’s not that I hate David Byrne, it’s just that I find everything about him awful. The suit? Too big. The dancing? Too twitchy. The music? Too manufactured. Every track feels like it’s trying to throw a party while simultaneously having a nervous breakdown. Maybe they should have covered “Mother’s Little Helper” instead of Tesla.
And don’t accuse me of not trying. In addition to the album, I watched the concert film (by Jonathan Demme) . Halfway through “Girlfriend is Better,” I began wondering if maybe pouring an Old Fashioned (or two) might help, or at least make me pass out and avoid my suffering. I’d rather be a prison guard assigned to Hannibal Lecter’s cage, than experience Stop Making Sense again.
People say it’s a masterpiece, a cultural reset, the spiritual awakening of post-punk. I say it’s a soundtrack to chaotic noise.
So please, go ahead and love Stop Making Sense. Wear your metaphorical giant suit with pride. Just don’t make ME listen to it again.
Pitch Failed (same as it ever was, which ain’t that good)
CJ’s Response:
I kind of expected to feel nostalgic when I listened to this album. What I didn’t plan on was being homesick, which is doubly weird because I live in the town that I grew up in. Hearing songs like “Psycho Killer,” “Burning Down the House” and “Girlfriend is Better” brought me straight back to my childhood bedroom in my parent’s home. It was all so vivid–the odd plaid rug, the randomly placed sports stickers, the giant Rush poster. And me lying on my bed staring at the ceiling while David Byrne and his band of art school dropouts told me about swamps and slippery people and how they navigated a war that only existed in their heads.
Why did I love this album so much? It was wildly different from the music I usually listened to and yet it connected profoundly with me and my fellow rockers. We weren’t the only ones, either. The punks, the goths, the alts and the new wavers were all digging this groove. Maybe because it borrowed from so many different styles that it was bound to hit one each of us adored.
Even today, when I talk about music with my son and his friends, Stop Making Sense inevitably comes up. They like the same songs that I do, maybe for different reasons. So when I think about what makes an album Newbury St.-worthy, timelessness is at or near the top of my list. And when I think about my old bedroom, I deeply, deeply regret the bedspread that matched the rug.
Pitch Successful (If there actually is a bar in heaven, I betcha it’s playing this soundtrack.)
Don’s Response:
Listening to Stop Making Sense during the past week has been incredibly nostalgic. Like CJ’s experience, it took me back to my tweens, a period in which the most important things in the world to me were Wiffle ball, MTV, and – for the first time – my very own bedroom.
To my delight, my 13th birthday present was a tiny, basic record player which filled that room with the wonders of music. I would save my $5 weekly allowance until I had enough to buy new records. But investing in LPs was a risky venture during that pre-digital age. We heard the hits on the radio but had no idea whether the rest of the album would be filler, or fulfilling.
So, I focused on collecting ‘45s, which were easier to carry on my bike anyway. One of the first singles I procured was “Burning Down The House.” I loved it despite – or maybe because - it was different from everything else in my collection. But I never splurged for a full Talking Heads album. It felt too risky. I wasn’t ready for it. Turns out, they were ahead of my time.
Listening to Stop Making Sense has been a revelation. Of course, I’m familiar with most of the songs. But I’m struck by David Byrne’s confidence and the band’s musicianship. The tracks are true to the studio versions, yet surprisingly fresh. The production sparkles, especially the celestial “Heaven,” galloping “Thank You for Sending Me an Angel,” and spectacular “Once In A Lifetime.”
Ultimately, Stop Making Sense is a rare live album that elevates every song. I love the presentation, which begins with only Byrne on stage, followed by each bandmate joining along the way. Count me in on that bandwagon.
Pitch Successful (almost as great as my Wiffle screwball)
Mitch’s pitch was successful and Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense has found a job here on Newbury St. What’s your take? You might find yourself with a once in a lifetime opportunity to let us know in the comments section.
Please join us next week as Ken asks if we can spot this one…with a pitch for Eric Clapton’s Unplugged.
Talking Heads are also the reunion that I want most but am glad will never happen.
It is great to have the boys back after a too long hiatus.
It is also great to see "Stop Making Sense" receive the recognition it deserves.
It was the summer of 1986, right before I started college at the University of Michigan. A couple of friends of mine who were musicians and had a strong musical influence on my tastes, had rented a copy of the concert film and asked if they could come over to play it at my house with their girlfriends. Sadly, none of the girlfriends wore bows in their hair, though my girlfriend at the time sometimes did.
My friends explained how the rhythm section were married and had a side project Tom Tom Club. At a certain point, David Byrne disappears from the sage and they play a couple of tracks from the Tom Tom Club.
Both my girl and I went out after and bought our own copies of the soundtrack. I have been a fan ever since and consumed all of the band's records. More recently, I made sure to see the movie when it was re-released to theaters. It has held up well.
A few months ago I streamed David Byrne's American Utopia which is also excellent. Byrne recycles some of the tracks from Stop Making Sense in American Utopia, but it is an older Byrne with a very different band and context. I thought it was magnificent.
My only surprise was that this was not all ready part of the collection. Glad to see that omission fixed!