TIME Domestic 4 July 1994 Volume 144, No. 1

David Enryb

By GUY GARCIA


David Byrne is rock's most protean misfit. During the 1980s,
when he was the lead singer for Talking Heads, his jittery,
paranoid persona was the ideal conduit for songs about psycho
killers, information overload and the itchy neuroses of
ordinary life. Then, on albums such as Remain in Light and
Speaking in Tongues, Byrne added African polyrhythms to the
Talking Heads' new-wave mix, creating a pancultural groove.

Byrne has directed a film (True Stories), written music for
dance (Twyla Tharp's The Catherine Wheel), won an Oscar for
a movie sound track (Bernardo Bertolucci's The Last Emperor)
and appeared on the cover of TIME. After the breakup of
Talking Heads in 1988, he immersed himself in the sensuality
of tropical salsa, releasing two solo albums that hitched his
quirky vision to the locomotion of the mambo and the cha-cha.

Now the songwriter has changed course again with David Byrne,
an album that resurrects - and redefines - the skittering,
stripped-down sound of the early Talking Heads. Backed by a
nimble rock trio that includes percussionist Mauro Refosco
on vibes and marimba, Byrne sings typically off-kilter vocals,
yodeling and crooning, moving from anxious whispers to
ululations of unfettered elation. The jerky, shifting beats
and shimmering guitars evoke the buoyant mood of Talking
Heads classics like Once in a Lifetime and And She Was.

Yet David Byrne is anything but a retreat into the past.
From the slightly sinister tones of A Long Time Ago and
Crash to the rollicking stomp of Back in the Box, Byrne
has taken elements from his entire career and molded them
into something new.

Eclectic, eccentric and often downright funny, the album
resonates with the hard-won truths of self-examination.
Byrne still comes across as a man who knows that danger
lurks in the shadows of even the sunniest day, but his
attention is focused inward, and the result is
illuminating. "I can barely touch my own self," he sings
on Angels. "How can I touch someone else?/ I'm just an
advertisement/ For a version of myself." Nothing at All
builds from a funky guitar figure into a vaulting ode to
alienation as Byrne sings, "And the knife is near at
hand/ I cut myself to see who I am/ Reach inside but I
still can't touch the policeman inside."

Byrne does occasionally manage to escape from his mental
prison. You and Eye suggests that pursuit of sensual
pleasure can provide a welcome, albeit temporary,
respite from the pain of self-awareness. "Hey yeah - I
can't stay in my skin/ I've been here too long," Byrne
sings, his voice playfully bouncing over the percolating
beat. "But I know where to find a really good time/ And
Darlin' I think you'll like it here." And My Love Is You,
with its simple, sweet melody and acoustic guitar
arrangement, is the most unabashed love song Byrne has
ever written.

It is Buck Naked, which ends the record with a stirring
plea for a return to innocence, that sums up the
cathartic quality of David Byrne. Byrne's head and
heart seem to collaborate perfectly as he sings, "Running
naked like the day I was born/ We're all naked in the
land where I come from/ I'm a long long way from New
York City now/ We're all naked if you turn us inside
out." Combining giddiness with gravity, David Byrne
manages to make angst fun.