The Talking Heads
The most jarring thing about the Talking Heads for me at first was David Byrne’s lyrics. Neither satrical or immediately angry they instead hover in a world in which personality and neurosis is smudged together into a one dimensional stew. They’re insulting to their subjects becase they suggest you really are that simple while Mr. Byrne’s irony and the bands arrangements hint at full bodied pyschologies with all the kinks and wrinkles of a real life. They are in essense striking becuase the characters are paper drawn squiggles while the ideas are fresh and alive. I hated it.
The Heads always annoyed me untill a friend obsessively played them back and back and wafts of tropacilia and soweto pop awoken me to the mesh of what they were doing. While I always admired Byrne’s artistry, I found his delivery far to cold and mean. Of course later solo projects fleshed this out, but it was really Tom Tom Club that delivered the music minus the deadpan. Perhaps I always felt the fear of being interpreted this way. The simplicity of people merely summing you up from body language and not that peculair fuzz of emotion that people emit and I use to navigate.
Today I began mapping out my mental arguements, tracking how many people make fun of me and mock me in my head, I got 6 since 6:30 a.m. to 12 with them speeding up through out the day. At one point I was being assailed by a failed girlfriend for liking girls to much in another for being gay by a designer I briefly meet once in a bar. The later happened in the pinch of 7 minutes. As I quantify my life by these exercises and experiment with diet to overcome them (phytoestrogens have the peculair power to stop the mental arguements) it occurs to me that were you take my life as a one dimensional strip of characterures, it would be cubist at the least with sexualities flying around by the minute and views on race perhaps by the hour. How am I supposed to explicate one view as being mine in actuality if I am, as the neurologist proclaims, destined to forever be thinking? Excessive compulsive disorder has the additional problem of leading one into irrational phobias, why is dark skin a paranoia for me now? Why am I homophobic? etc. Such answers could be answered by eleborated on, I can think of contexts in which I can make myself comfortable, compensations for each one, but in the end you end up with a pile of phobias that don’t mesh. That David Byrne is in reality one of these people, nervous, shy, at times girlish, and prone to that mess of emotion and false intentions gives the songs that peculair menance, after all he could easily be one of his own characters.
Entry filed under: media.