The first two Talking Heads albums established them as a creative and funky new wave band, with a quirky and neurotic charm. David Byrne’s nerdy persona and their intricate instrumentation made them stand out in the late 70’s.

Their third album, Fear of Music, raised the neuroticism up to a level of paranoia. Byrne sang about seemingly random subjects like paper, cities and air and singing of how fearful and wary he was of them. 

This album raises the level of neuroticism and paranoia to a climactic level. The instrumentation is as rich and involved as it’s ever been, and the record has a really interesting trajectory in the style it portrays the mood. It starts off really energetic, gradually descending to a more subdued and weary tone.

The first three tracks are almost jittery in their energy level. The intricate layering of the all the instruments and vocals give the effect of controlled chaos. Bongos and other percussive instruments constantly charge through each song, creating a real sense of flurry around Byrne’s neurotic delivery. 

His singing is barely melodic, like he’s too confined in a state of anxiousness. The lyrics generally speak of his skeptical perception of the world and his place in it, (“lost my shape, trying to act casual, can’t stop I might end up in the hospital”; “Sometimes the world has a load of questions, sometimes the world knows nothing at all”). Between his verses are catchy and melodic vocal hooks that do a really good job at keeping the songs grounded.

The opening groove to Born Under Punches (Track 1) uses it’s slap bass and funkiness to convey one of the most tumultuously unstable and unassured grooves you’ve ever heard. As driving and lively as it is, it sounds unsure of itself, like it’s teetering on the edge.

Byrne gives my favorite vocal performance on the album. As animated and unmelodic as ever, he sounds like someone lost in his own world, but trying to tell you something important (“Take a look at these hands! Take a look at these hands! The hand speaks. The hand of a government man”). 

The first vocal hook sounds in itself like it belongs in a slow and whimpering tune, but fits seamlessly over the chaotic rhythm. It’s moments like these that really take the album to a unique place. 

There’s a guitar solo by Adrian Belew (from King Crimson) and the best way to describe it is that it’s like atonal video game music. I don’t know how it got that “8 bit” style sound but it really fits well in the abstractness of the music.

After the equally good “Crosseyed and Painless” (Track 2) the franticness of the music reaches a climax with the “Great Curve”. It’s main feature is that the hooks are three or four different vocal phrases going on simultaneously. Different words and voices come in and out of the forefront in these repetitive chants. It’s really amazing how perfectly it all meshes together in a tight and catchy sound. Toward the end of the song the hook just goes on and on in repetition and it never gets boring cause there’s so many different things to hear. 

Adrian Belews solo once again provides a strikingly sharp and unique guitar tone. He gets every note to sound strained and intense. The distorted sound just pierces through and it really adds to the overall extremeness of the song.

Once in a Lifetime (track 4) transitions us to a more settled and introspective place. It has a groovy rhythm but over it there’s a beautifully mysterious and hazy atmosphere. It’s a constant, synthesized drone that appears throughout the verses that really elevates the song to a foreign and ominous place. 

It compliments the lyrics well which speak of a man having an existential crisis, observing his surroundings and going “how did I get here?”. The verses then transition to a cheerful, singalong chorus that appear to signify the relative escapism that most of life is spent in. ”Letting the days go by, letting the water hold me down, letting the days go by, water flowing underground”. The prominent use of the word “letting” conveys lack of a sense of control on life. Just going through the motions of job, car, wife, house.

There seems to be a search for meaning and an expected fulfillment that is never satisfied. 

The constant going back and forth between moods (the verse and chorus) give the impression that this a continuous trend, always falling back into distraction and escapism between the uncomfortable moments of self realization. 

We get into an even more settled and low key atmosphere with “Houses in Motion” (Track 5).

The instrumentation is more involved like the first three tracks but overall it’s a more compressed sound. There’s muted guitars and a lack of snare drum (something that will continue through the rest of the album). Byrne’s delivery is much more calm, bordering on nihilistic, as he simply speaks in the verses. 

The album takes a dip in quality with this song. The verses are rather dull and there’s this avant-garde synth solo that sounds like it’s trying to annoy with it’s screechy and dissonant tone. The chorus pretty catchy though, and the groove is interesting enough for the song to not be too boring.

Seen and Not Seen (Track 6) has Byrne simply speaking throughout the song, but I find this one much more interesting. It relies more on atmosphere and the absence of a chorus or solo makes it sound like one train of thought. Once again, Byrne speaks in a very dry and straightforward way and the odd and unsettling lyrics are characterized and enhanced entirely by the instrumental. Squeaky sounds and feedback fragmentarily appear throughout the song and around your headphones as Byrne tells a weird story about people molding their faces to fit their preference. 

The Listening Wind (Track 7) takes us to an even darker atmosphere, but this time it’s to create a more sad and emotional mood. Unlike the rest of the album, the sense of instability is more external. The other songs sound like they exist in someones mind, while this one creates a cold and haunting setting, narrating the story of a terrorist on a mission. The spacey and echoey instrumentation is very involved yet minimalistic, giving a sense of fragility. The chorus is a beautifully lamenting chant (“The wind in my heart, the dust in my head”), and the feedback and squeaky sounds come up again, and do a great job of adding emotion.

“The Overload” is the final song on the album, and the atmosphere is as bleak and nihilistic as the opening songs were energetic and upbeat. While it does capture a mood effectively, the song is really boring. It has a really slow drum beat and a dense bass tone that plays one note through the entire (six minute) song. David Byrne’s vocals are slow and subdued, and the whole thing has a slow motion effect. It just doesn’t go any where. It sounds like it’s trying to entrance you with it’s monotonous and heavy atmosphere but in the many times I’ve heard this album straight through, this song never fails to evade my attention. 

This makes the album end on a real downer which is pretty disappointing for such a unique and stimulating piece of work. 

The album is excellent overall. It’s originality and uniqueness is something the band never even attempted to duplicate, and to this day it’s quite unlike anything you ever heard.

4/5