Talking Heads – ’77 Review

A year on the circuit and a sure-fire hit on their hands, architect and art students came together to form what would be a defining moment in music history. Talking Heads’ debut, ‘77, was passed through the hands of legends like Lou Reed and the CGBG venue. With all this focus and chatter the at-the-time trio of David Byrne, Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz were still unsure of when to record. Drafting in Jerry Harrison from The Modern Lovers marked the missing piece and from there the four-piece kicked on, exploding as they did with this, their debut. Psycho Killer and a garish album cover aside, Talking Heads hits a stream of lighter tones masking the punk messages of the time. How did we get stuck in the painful days? A track like Uh-Oh, Love Comes to Town does not have the necessary reply, even if Byrne proclaims these answers as obvious.  

Function, fear and the effects of being out in the live circuit wilderness so long see Talking Heads grip tightly onto the likes of smooth, rhythm-led Tentative Decisions. Take hold of your life, they cry. Let those concerns spark the fires of fear and push you to some unimaginable limit. ‘77 is more about reacting to the world than understanding it. Talking Heads were a poor fit for producer Tony Bongiovi. Lending knives to Byrne before Psycho Killer sessions got underway was never going to work. This was not about characters or literal readings of lyrics which, when put on paper and studied, fall to pieces. It is more the rhythm and feel, the slick and twinkling likes of Happy Day and the obvious lack of joy live in limbo between absolute mockery and sinister tones.  

Pragmatic the lyrics of Who Is It? may be, the whiny desperation Byrne brings to life is essential. Its drift into No Compassion feels like a direct response to those unanswered and seemingly awkward questions pegged to the preceding track. The Book I Read is an essential. You are your own worst critic. You write about what you read, and what you consume in this half-hearted, barely awake manner. Be embarrassed about your reference points. Cringe at the soppy piano work and revel in its absolute confidence. More of that in your own life, as Talking Heads increasingly demand of their audience. Find the space for your ambition and those frequent mistakes, rushing around without a head or hope of figuring it all out. ‘77 is a shot in the dark, but it has such an infectious self-belief.  

Finding this at the bottom of a waterlogged plastic bin in Newcastle marked a period of self-doubt which has lasted for four years. Thanks, Byrne. “We are vain, and we are blind.” Psycho Killer will be remembered for its steady percussion from Frantz, its villainy yet not its deconstruction of where the world still finds itself. It has the Byrne essentials – lyrics fired through with such conviction the general disconnect goes unnoticed. It would pop up later Naked but for now, it marked a fresh flair for understanding the world and still does. As you sit there staring at Monopoly Go forums and scrolling endlessly through out-of-stock records, pull yourself up. Byrne lays out a gravelly voice on Pulled Up, another powerful push to rid your brain of rot. Weymouth on bass throughout this record is incredible. This is not an afterthought but a mention of what would become the core of Talking Heads’ efforts. Just give Once in a Lifetime a listen.