David Byrne overwhelms the Talking Heads image. With his outsized gestures, insane personality, and arc lyrics, not to mention his mastery of composition credits throughout much of his catalog, he overshadowed the efforts of all the other band members. However, according to a new memo from Talking Heads co-founder and drummer Chris Frantz titled Remain in Love, Byrne’s dominant image was not simply a by-product of legitimately overkill talent, but a clear take on power, powered by the ego. . , greed and a biased mindset.
“It’s like I can’t help it,” Frantz said in a phone interview. “Her brain is connected in such a way that she doesn’t know where other people end and begin. You can’t imagine someone else being important. “
To that end, Frantz argues, Byrne often took exclusive credit for writing the songs the entire band had created, denigrating the musicality of the other members, particularly that of bassist Tina Weymouth (who is married to Frantz), and put enough space between himself and the other members socially to suggest contempt for them as persons. At the same time, Frantz appreciates the unique opportunity that Talking Heads’ alchemy afforded him and the other members. As evidence, his book proudly details the artistic highlights of a band that he rates as one of the most creative units in music, a group so visionary that, as he writes, “we were post-punk before punk even happen. “
In his book, Frantz also writes about his 42-year marriage to Weymouth with the warmth and awe that inspired his title. Beyond Talking Heads, it tells funny, though often unflattering, stories about Patti Smith, Lou Reed, Johnny Ramone, Happy Mondays (which Frantz and Weymouth, at one point, unhappily produced), and frequent producer on Talking Heads, Brian Eno. Of course, it also covers the groundbreaking band he and Weymouth created, Tom Tom Club.
A first section of the book details the early days of Talking Heads at CBGB in 1975, when they were upstarts, trying to enter a world dominated by Patti Smith, the Ramones, and Television. When they met Smith, he fired them as wealthy children, based on his pedigree as recent graduates of the prestigious Rhode Island School of Design, where the core of the band had formed in 1973. “It was definitely reverse snobbery,” said Frantz. . . “I had great empathy for people like William Burroughs but, for the children who had just left art school, zero.”
When Frantz first heard about the Ramones, he thought they were a Mexican band. Once he discovered its true origin and style, he loved its minimalism and humor, but Johnny Ramone did not return the feeling. The famous small-minded guitarist found Talking Heads pretentious or baffling. “Johnny was a real son of a bitch,” said Frantz.
Shortly after Talking Heads began settling into CBGB, Lou Reed befriended and courted them, albeit in a peculiar way. He invited them to his place, where he proceeded to eat a whole gallon of ice cream in front of them, while offering his criticism of the band. He wanted to sign a recording contract, but when Frantz and others reviewed it, they realized that he gave ownership of his catalog entirely to Reed and his manager, which would have sent them all the proceeds from album sales. “It was a ridiculous deal,” said Frantz. “I never understood why he did that. Lou was a good friend and still was, despite that. “
Still, the meatiest part of Frantz’s book is the relationship between Byrne and the other three Chiefs, including guitarist Jerry Harrison. The drummer felt that there was something strange about their leader from the beginning. Byrne never looked anyone in the eye, and maintained dissociated behavior that led the author to assume that he might be “at the high end of the spectrum.” Frantz had already been playing with future wife Weymouth at the time, imagining a band based on their rhythms. When they invited Byrne to join them, friends told him that they believed Byrne would be “a thin reed to lean on” as a leader.
The first signs of Byrne pushing his contributions above anyone else were displayed at the university. He was supposed to be part of a group visual art show, but he sneaked into the gallery before the opening to hang his own pieces in a front room, pushing the others back. “I was trying to make it look like it was his show,” Frantz said.
The pattern was repeated with a Talking Heads song, Warning Sign, which Byrne wrote with Frantz. However, when the song first appeared, he only had the singer’s credit. When Frantz asked Byrne about it, he stated that it was a mistake and that it would be changed, which was later. Frantz and Weymouth received co-writing credit for Talking Heads’ first single, Psycho Killer, which the drummer revealed was inspired by the ironic morbidity of Alice Cooper. The first version of the band, captured in Talking Heads: 77, emphasized what could be described as antisensory rhythms, emphasized by Byrne’s edgy and distracted personality. “We were very aware that we should behave differently than, say, New York dolls,” said Frantz.
But on Talking Heads’ second album, More Songs About Buildings and Food, for which Frantz provided the title, they drew more inspiration from the funk and dance rhythms that had inspired the drummer since childhood. The result made them popular enough to inspire a successful tour of England and Europe with the Ramones, whom they loved, with the exception of Johnny. Frantz writes that Johnny bullied Weymouth, while complaining about the cultural places that everyone else wanted to savor. He complained about going to Stonehenge, which he referred to as “a bunch of old rocks,” and complained about Paris because they all spoke French. “He was like an Archie Bunker guy,” said Frantz, with a smile. “I have to think his father made him a number.”
The Heads began their artistic relationship with Eno on their second album, although no problems arose until the third, Fear of Music, a job that took the band to a much more rhythmic and mundane phase. While the recording of the album was brilliant, when they listened to the mixes Eno created, the band felt it “spoiled it,” said Frantz, who needed to hire an engineer to fix the problem.
There was also a serious problem with the credits. In the first edition of Fear of Music, in 1979, all writing credits went to Byrne (except for a co-authorship with Eno in I Zimbra). Frantz found it particularly unfair, as the album’s success, Life During Wartime, was entirely based on Weymouth’s classic bass line and the beat that surrounded it. After the band complained, partial credits were awarded to other members (including guitarist Harrison) for three of the songs on the album. A year later, Byrne was giving the first of many signs that he wanted to get rid of the band by recording an album with Eno, My Life in the Bush of Ghosts. As a consequence, the other members made a final run around him by starting their own impromptu sessions with Eno, inspiring Byrne, who felt left out, to join. Those sessions evolved into Talking Heads’ fourth album, Remain in Light. Their collaborative genesis and development led to crediting all four members with the music, while Byrne handled the lyrics, including the hit, Once in a Lifetime. However, at this point, things started to get more tense with Eno. He wanted to be billed as an equal member of Talking Heads on the cover of his album, which the band manager eventually convinced him. “There is no question that Brian is an excellent producer, but his head got bigger and bigger,” said Frantz. “He started doing things like having to fly on the Concorde. And we had to pay for it. “
Byrne was also plotting his own path, allowing downtime for Talking Heads in 1981, which Frantz and Weymouth filled in the most creative way. Together with guitarist Adrian Belew, they formed the Tom Tom Club, a group that forged an innovative mix of hip-hop, post-punk dance music, and art-rock, in the process uniting highland and central New York cultures. York, resulting in the hits Genius of Love and Wordy Rappinghood. Still, when Frantz and Weymouth were in a taxi with Byrne, and their manager told them that the Tom Tom Club album had turned golden, Byrne was simply looking out the window grimly. “He didn’t say anything,” said Frantz. “It was very competitive. Later, David said things about Tom Tom Club like, “Well, that’s just commercial music,” as if there was nothing else to do. “
On a subsequent Talking Heads tour, Byrne hired a second bassist, Busta Jones, to undermine Weymouth’s work. According to Frantz, his wife’s treatment of the entire industry expressed blatant sexism. Ziggy Marley, whose music the couple later produced, was particularly condescending towards her. It wasn’t just for men. “‘If you think boys are bad,'” says Frantz, his wife said, “‘You should have listened to girls.'”
Despite Talking Heads’ internal problems, they managed to produce incredible music through 1988’s Naked. In his book, Frantz recounts the band’s final reunion in 1991, when an exasperated Byrne yelled at the other members, “You should call me a jerk, “while everyone was quiet. Byrne’s line, as reported, implies that he believed he had been telling the other members for years that he wanted the band to break up, but they ignored it for their own purposes. Frantz responds by saying, “We had heard this before, so we thought, ‘If we stay calm, this will explode and we can make another Talking Heads record.'”
But it wasn’t going to be. These days, Frantz and Weymouth still communicate with Byrne, if only on necessary business matters. They haven’t had a face-to-face meeting with him since 2003. In the nearly 20 years since the disappearance of Talking Heads, one thing has changed dramatically: Byrne’s public persona. Although it used to seem strange and distant, in the last two decades it has only radiated warmth, positivity and charm. “Now he’s like Mr. Rodgers,” said Frantz, with a smile. “It is true that his public image has changed. But my friends assure me that he has not. I think he probably decided he could catch more bees with honey. “
Despite his many problems with Byrne, Frantz insists that he is not embittered by his story. Nor, he says, is he jealous of the sustained success of the former gang leader. “Trust me,” he said. “If you knew David Byrne, you wouldn’t be jealous of him.”
.
