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Wednesday, October 7th, 2009
Midnight Media Cafe - Life During Wartime
Wednesday, October 7th, 2009 09:12 pm.
The Talking Heads' concert film Stop Making Sense turned 25 this week.
Life During Wartime - The Talking Heads
Heard of a van that is loaded with weapons
packed up and ready to go
Heard of some gravesites, out by the highway
a place where nobody knows
The sound of gunfire, off in the distance
I'm getting used to it now
Lived in a brownstone, lived in the ghetto
I've lived all over this town
This ain't no party, this ain't no disco
this ain't no fooling around
No time for dancing, or lovey dovey
I ain't got time for that now
Transmit the message to the receiver
hope for an answer someday
I got three passports, a couple of visas
Don't even know my real name
High on a hillside, trucks are loading
Everything's ready to roll
I sleep in the daytime, I work in the nighttime
I might not ever get home
This ain't no party, this ain't no disco
this ain't no fooling around
This ain't no Mudd Club, or CBGB's
I ain't got time for that now
Heard about Houston? Heard about Detroit?
Heard about Pittsburgh, PA?
You oughta know not to stand by the window
somebody might see you up there
I got some groceries, some peanut butter
to last a couple of days
But I ain't got no speakers, ain't got no headphones
Ain't got no records to play
Why stay in college? Why go to night school?
Gonna be different this time?
Can't write a letter, can't send a postcard
I can't write nothing at all
This ain't no party, this ain't no disco
This ain't no fooling around
I'd love you hold you, I'd love to kiss you but
I ain't got no time for that now
Trouble in transit, got through the roadblock
We blended in with the crowd
We got computers, we're tapping phone lines
I know that ain't allowed
We dress like students, we dress like housewives
or in a suit and a tie
I changed my hairstyle so many times now
don't know what I look like!
You make me shiver, I feel so tender
We make a pretty good team
Don't get exhausted, I'll do some driving
you ought to get you some sleep...
Burned all my notebooks, what good are notebooks?
They won't help me survive
My chest is aching, burns like a furnace
the burning keeps me alive...
1984. My friend Maria, a student at Otis Parsons Art Institute, took me to see the Talking Heads' Stop Making Sense. It was a revelation. I'd been into rock and roll for years, of course, but it was always a matter of partying and gettin' high and rebellion and all that teenage crap. It had never occurred to me that it could be a vehicle for art, real art, the kind you study in classes. The film was challenging, engaging, and full of wit. It wasn't just "rocking out"; these guys made you think.
Life During Wartime especially challenged my notions of what music, or at least pop music, was supposed to be about. Its dark, evocative lyrics, pounding rhythm, and paranoid tone made me uneasy at the same time that it made me want to dance. It was the first song I'd ever heard that left me looking over my shoulder, feeling like there was something after me, something I didn't know about. It still gives me that feeling, that I'm being watched, that someone somewhere is chasing me, that life is not safe. It's a song about running, not running to but running for, running from. From what? Byrne never says, and that's its genius. It captures a certain thread in the late 20th-century tapestry, one that still runs through our world, even more now than when the song was written - the underground, the outsider, the guy with the too-big coat and the shifty eyes, anarchy and terror. But the real artistry is in Byrne's capturing of it from the inside, his telling us what it's like to be that guy, to live on the run, to never trust anyone, to move only in darkness, to know that any moment Death could come around the corner, and to be ready for that. Heady stuff for rock and roll.
And then there's the performance. I'm still terribly jealous of the people that got to see this tour. David Byrne's strange, mysterious stage persona, with his cryptic movements, wild wide eyes and paradoxically still mien, the choreographed workout of the front members, that section when Byrne suddenly starts running around and around the stage, the juxtaposition of all this with the good cheer of the backup singers - it all combines into something sweaty and enjoyable but at the same time, jittery, nervous and damn, just WEIRD. Seeing the film for the first time, I couldn't take my eyes off any of it, and it still captivates me. They were a great rock band, but they were also cryptic prophets of a doom never completely articulated. Or maybe it was articulated, but in a language to which only they had the key.
I don't know how the Heads did it. I just know it was incredible.
The Talking Heads' concert film Stop Making Sense turned 25 this week.
Life During Wartime - The Talking Heads
Heard of a van that is loaded with weapons
packed up and ready to go
Heard of some gravesites, out by the highway
a place where nobody knows
The sound of gunfire, off in the distance
I'm getting used to it now
Lived in a brownstone, lived in the ghetto
I've lived all over this town
This ain't no party, this ain't no disco
this ain't no fooling around
No time for dancing, or lovey dovey
I ain't got time for that now
Transmit the message to the receiver
hope for an answer someday
I got three passports, a couple of visas
Don't even know my real name
High on a hillside, trucks are loading
Everything's ready to roll
I sleep in the daytime, I work in the nighttime
I might not ever get home
This ain't no party, this ain't no disco
this ain't no fooling around
This ain't no Mudd Club, or CBGB's
I ain't got time for that now
Heard about Houston? Heard about Detroit?
Heard about Pittsburgh, PA?
You oughta know not to stand by the window
somebody might see you up there
I got some groceries, some peanut butter
to last a couple of days
But I ain't got no speakers, ain't got no headphones
Ain't got no records to play
Why stay in college? Why go to night school?
Gonna be different this time?
Can't write a letter, can't send a postcard
I can't write nothing at all
This ain't no party, this ain't no disco
This ain't no fooling around
I'd love you hold you, I'd love to kiss you but
I ain't got no time for that now
Trouble in transit, got through the roadblock
We blended in with the crowd
We got computers, we're tapping phone lines
I know that ain't allowed
We dress like students, we dress like housewives
or in a suit and a tie
I changed my hairstyle so many times now
don't know what I look like!
You make me shiver, I feel so tender
We make a pretty good team
Don't get exhausted, I'll do some driving
you ought to get you some sleep...
Burned all my notebooks, what good are notebooks?
They won't help me survive
My chest is aching, burns like a furnace
the burning keeps me alive...
1984. My friend Maria, a student at Otis Parsons Art Institute, took me to see the Talking Heads' Stop Making Sense. It was a revelation. I'd been into rock and roll for years, of course, but it was always a matter of partying and gettin' high and rebellion and all that teenage crap. It had never occurred to me that it could be a vehicle for art, real art, the kind you study in classes. The film was challenging, engaging, and full of wit. It wasn't just "rocking out"; these guys made you think.
Life During Wartime especially challenged my notions of what music, or at least pop music, was supposed to be about. Its dark, evocative lyrics, pounding rhythm, and paranoid tone made me uneasy at the same time that it made me want to dance. It was the first song I'd ever heard that left me looking over my shoulder, feeling like there was something after me, something I didn't know about. It still gives me that feeling, that I'm being watched, that someone somewhere is chasing me, that life is not safe. It's a song about running, not running to but running for, running from. From what? Byrne never says, and that's its genius. It captures a certain thread in the late 20th-century tapestry, one that still runs through our world, even more now than when the song was written - the underground, the outsider, the guy with the too-big coat and the shifty eyes, anarchy and terror. But the real artistry is in Byrne's capturing of it from the inside, his telling us what it's like to be that guy, to live on the run, to never trust anyone, to move only in darkness, to know that any moment Death could come around the corner, and to be ready for that. Heady stuff for rock and roll.
And then there's the performance. I'm still terribly jealous of the people that got to see this tour. David Byrne's strange, mysterious stage persona, with his cryptic movements, wild wide eyes and paradoxically still mien, the choreographed workout of the front members, that section when Byrne suddenly starts running around and around the stage, the juxtaposition of all this with the good cheer of the backup singers - it all combines into something sweaty and enjoyable but at the same time, jittery, nervous and damn, just WEIRD. Seeing the film for the first time, I couldn't take my eyes off any of it, and it still captivates me. They were a great rock band, but they were also cryptic prophets of a doom never completely articulated. Or maybe it was articulated, but in a language to which only they had the key.
I don't know how the Heads did it. I just know it was incredible.