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“This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody)” – Talking Heads
(Words/music: David Byrne/Chris Frantz/Jerry Harrison/Tina Weymouth, available on Stop Making Sense: Special New Edition, Sire 1999)
First, let’s talk about this “Naïve Melody” business. From their art school roots up through David Byrne’s dense blog posts, the Talking Heads and their affiliated members (Brian Eno was virtually a studio-only member of this band for a few albums) are known for being intelligent musicans. So when David Byrne’s first love song (dubbed so by him in the Stop Making Sense self-interview) comes with the word “naïve,” the implication is that it that the Heads had to put aside their genre-bending and challenging sound in order to write a love song. Even if this was Byrne’s first love song (and I’d disagree, but that’s irrelevant), it may be “naïve” but it certainly isn’t stupid. If nothing else, writing a simple song takes self-awareness and a little bit of faith to know to get out of its way.
Appropriately, Bryne’s narrator finds happiness in his instincts. “Home – is where I want to be,” he sings in the first line, and it’s a sentiment that we all share, especially around this time of year. We spend so much energy trying to find happiness without realizing what we have. As soon as Byrne’s narrator realizes this – that he’s already home when he’s in the company of the one he loves – the restlessness ceases. Just as a complicated arrangement might adulterate the “naïve melody” in this song, Byrne’s narrator realizes that he doesn’t have to look in far off places to be happy. Instead, just like an animal follows its instincts, he trusts his heart and revels in the joy his loved one provides.
Of course, the song (particularly the Stop Making Sense version) isn’t as simple as that. Letting the melody take the lead is one thing, but the Talking Heads fall into formation behind it, complementing its simplicity without squashing it. Whether it’s that beautiful synthesizer introduction, the joyously belted vocal harmonies, or the wordless cooing and “hey” Byrne shouts out before the solo near the end of the song, the Heads sound like a band at home, basking in the glow of their song. It’s not as urgent, oblique, or challenging as most of their work, but these qualities would crush such a delicate song. The genius of the song is in its simplicity – by stepping outside their normal mode of operating, the band found a way to repurpose its strengths to accomplish a different goal. It may be a simple melody, but let’s be honest – none of us would have come up with it.
(As postscript, the idea of “home” being what makes someone happy really hits home today. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for all the people who make my life feel like “home” everyday, whether they actively try or not.)
More on Talking Heads: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm
“Private Idaho” – The B-52s
(Words/music: Kate Pierson, Fred Schneider, Keith Strickland, Cindy Wilson, and Ricky Wilson, available on Wild Planet, Warner Brothers 1980)
The B-52s are a party band, and any effort to prove otherwise denies their basic essence. Even “Private Idaho” and its jagged riff come packaged with a driving dance beat and bubbly vocals. No matter what, it’s this identity as a party band that flows through all of their songs. Even their name’s military connotation pales in comparison to the hairstyles of the same name. No matter what, the party vibe comes first.
That said, they’re more than a three minute stop on a wedding DJ’s playlist. “Private Idaho” in particular doesn’t have the same abandon one might expect in a dance party song. Like many of their early songs, “Private Idaho” uses a surf rock lick as its main riff, but unlike a song like “Rock Lobster,” this one feels rougher. The tone sounds darker and the edges seem more jagged and pronounced, and with the pounding drums leading the charge, the riff sneaks its way into the mix at times. Lyrically, the song touches on paranoia and isolation – atypical subjects for a dance party, but the B-52s manage to toe the line skillfully between foreboding and forgetting. The chorus of overlapping voices, especially Cindy Wilson and Kate Pierson’s wordless moans, feels closed in yet never entirely claustrophobic. No matter how dark the song gets lyrically or sonically, it still sounds like a band having fun. Whether it’s the stampeding drum fills, Fred Schneider’s distinctive annunciation, or the ladies’ intermingling voices, the song never loses that initial sense of fun. If it’s necessary to retreat to the underground, the B-52s advocate bringing the party down with us. I imagine it being a party where the B-52s follow “Life During Wartime” rather than the electric slide.
More on artist: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm
“Kinky Afro” – Happy Mondays
(Words/music: Shaun Ryder, Paul Ryder, Mark Day, Paul Davis and Gary Whelan, available on Pills ‘n Thrills and Bellyaches, Factory 1990)
I’ve used this space to do a number of different things – including my not-so-shocking admission that I have weak dancing abilities. This is directly related to my aversion to dance clubs, which directly influences my pedestrian knowledge of dance music. For example, I know everything I know about the late ‘80s / early ‘90s Madchester scene from a handful of things I’ve read on the internet and 24 Hour Party People. I don’t have all of the details down, but I do have a general timeline and some key names, so a flag went off in my head when Factory Records’ Tony Wilson came up in conjunction with the Happy Mondays. It’s also worth noting that I only sought out some of the Happy Mondays’ music (aside from “24 Hour Party People,” which I enjoy a lot) after seeing the movie. I didn’t know that the first three Mondays’ records were produced by (in order), John Cale from the Velvet Underground, Paul Oakenfold, and Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz of the Talking Heads and Tom Tom Club. That’s enough historical context for me to start digging a little deeper.
What I found (to be fair, I’ve mainly gone through the singles / best of) sounds terrific. “Kinky Afro” in particular captures this liveliness and electricity in the music. It manages to blur the line between my concept of “dance” music and guitar rock, and I hear all of those things mixed in there. There are elements of the Brit Pop I loved as a teenager as well as some of the post-punk that preceded the Mondays on Factory. Similar to Primal Scream’s early ‘90s output, “Kinky Afro” surprised me with how fresh it sounds – I might have expected this to sound dated, but it reminds me of a lot of stuff from the past few years. In particular, Shaun Ryder and James Murphy from LCD Soundsystem are joined in my mind. Ryder doesn’t sing in the conventional sense (and I imagine that is a dealbreaker for a lot of people), yet he sings enough to let his personality shine through the track. He’s uncompromising and kind of funny, especially during his most curmudgeonly points on “Kinky Afro.” His brash and unforgiving persona here laid the groundwork for the snarky persona Murphy cultivated on the early LCD Soundsystem singles. Still, I have to think that Ryder, the center of the storm, might be the reason why the Happy Mondays are nonentities in the United States and Jesus Jones topped the charts here (while stalling in the 30s in the UK). On this one, the Brits had it right.
More on Happy Mondays: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm
“Your Fucking Sunny Day” – Lambchop
(Words/music: Kurt Wagner, available on Thriller, Merge Records 1997)
This is the last in my series of posts about bands on Merge Records (thank you for indulging me) and I planned on yesterday’s being the final one, but I need to write about the single best moment of my week in Chapel Hill. I anticipated that Superchunk would be awesome and they didn’t disappoint. However, I was not expecting the best set of the week to come from Lambchop, the musical project of former floorer Kurt Wagner. Until I started receiving the SCORE boxset earlier this year, I couldn’t name a single Lambchop song. I soon fell for “Your Fucking Sunny Day” on Phil Morrison’s mix, at first because of the title and then because of its strangely addictive melody. It’s a difficult song to pin down – it’s kind of funky, kind of orchestrated. The most compelling part of the song, for me, is the way Kurt Wagner sings it – holding out certain phrases, letting some notes sneak out as a yelp, and still staying faithful to the melody the entire time. In three and a half minutes, Wagner gave a sense that his personality ran deeper than the cursing in his song titles and the humor mentioned in every synopsis I read after listening to this song.
None of this, however, prepared me for what I saw last Friday night at Merge’s anniversary show. Wagner came on stage backed by ten musicians (which I’m told is half as many as accompanied him at the Merge 15th anniversary) and played a 40 minute set that left half of the crowd a dancing mess and the other half petrified in awe. I expected Wagner’s songs to shuffle from genre to genre, but I didn’t expect every different style to have such life and enthusiasm. The slow songs sounded gorgeous (and, when I could make out the words, melancholy and heartbreaking), and the lively songs swung like a jazz trio after weeks of rehearsals. Over a forty five minute set, Wagner and his band made us laugh, tugged at our heartstrings, and made jaws hit the floor. Appropriately, Lambchop garnered the loudest, most enthusiastic ovation to end their set of the week, with Wagner beaming beneath his thick frames and trucker hat. I’m convinced that the people in the audience had no clue what was coming when Lambchop was introduced. By the end of the set, Wagner leaped out of his seat when shouting out the lyrics to the Talking Heads’ “Once in a Lifetime,” seeming like a man speaking in tongues (and, appropriately, one-upping David Byrne’s evangelical preacher performance in the music video). It was a surreal moment that ended a memorable set – one that melted even the most cynical of hearts. I’ve been surprised by shows before and naively thought that it couldn’t happen again – not with the free flow of information and the ease of acquiring music on the internet. I was wrong, and went home ready to explore Wagner’s catalog. I’m excited to digest his albums and, perhaps, be surprised again. Still, I’m not sure any record can duplicate what I experienced in person last Friday.
More on Lambchop: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm
“All My Heroes are Weirdos” - !!!
(Words/music: !!!, available on Myth Takes, Warp 2007)
Lately, I feel like I’ve been paying a lot of attention to formative songs in my personal listening history. It’s strange referring to these important musicians as “heroes” when I’m not writing or (currently) performing music, but there’s a definite element of admiration involved. If nothing else, I admire their innovation – at least innovation in the sense that many of my favorites willfully went outside of their comfort zone. Whether it’s through risk-taking or pushing the envelope, these are reminders that excellence often requires to step out of our comfort zone. I’ve been told (more when I was younger) that these people produced “weird music,” and I think this is the reason they captivated me in the first place. Even if I never got around to starting that noise rock band, there’s a strange comfort in watching something beautiful come out of something unconventional.
!!! pay homage to odd idols appropriately by turning a cacophony of jarring sounds into a fluid groove. They play funk like a rusty bicycle – some of the parts might not please the senses, but together it’s a machine that moves adeptly as it weaves in and out of traffic. Among others, the Talking Heads’ glitch-funk from the Remain in Light era serves as a prominent touchstone of weirdness. Like the ‘Heads, !!! try to cloud the core of the song in an unconventional fog. However, like their weird heroes, the groove cuts right through, letting the freak-show flood light illuminate the dance floor for the rest of us.
More on !!!: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm
“Genius of Love (Stop Making Sense Version)” – Tom Tom Club
(Words/music: Adrian Belew, Chris Frantz, Steven Stanley, Tina Weymouth, available on Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense: Special New Edition, Warner Brothers 1999)
Like many in my generation, my introduction to “Genius of Love” came through Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy,” one of many songs to sample “Genius of Love” since its release in 1981. It’s understandable why it’s been sampled so much – Weymouth and Frantz, the Talking Heads’ rhythm section and the main members of the Tom Tom Club, understood the blossoming hip hop culture of the early ‘80s, so it makes sense that they would be open to having their hit sampled. In addition to its sample-friendly creators, “Genius of Love” has a relentless groove. The version in the Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense (essentially the extended Heads lineup minus David Byrne, who left the stage to change into his exaggerated “big suit” for the finale) really accentuates the groove, playing to the strengths of the musicians on stage (some of which played with some of the bands referenced in the song). I also love Chris Frantz’s turn as the MC, interjecting throughout the track. I imagine some might prefer the original and find Frantz distracting, but I find him endearing, in particular the way he “directs” the band at the end of the track.
Few would argue with the instrumental performance of “Genius of Love,” but it features a clever lyric in addition to all of the funk/soul/hip hop name dropping. In fact, it might be the finest song ever written about a music snob. Tina Weymouth’s narrator describes her infatuation with her music loving boyfriend (who she dubs “the maven of funk mutation” in the verse omitted in the Stop Making Sense version). Sure, it’s his dancing that sweeps her off her feet, but he’s also quite opinionated about the music he likes, filling her ear with his musical opinions, including the future of reggae (Sly & Robbie) and funk innovators (Bootsy Collins, etc). The narrator loses herself in his presence, only to have him disappear to the dance floor later in the song. I hear the final verse as slightly tongue-in-cheek, reacting to her boyfriend ditching her to go dance on his own. She pointedly reminds him, the “genius,” that if he doesn’t need to think when his feet are going, then he won’t feel hurt when she leaves him.
More on Tom Tom Club: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm




