ewe2
15-02-2006, 01:55 PM
Everything seems to be up in the air at this point, I need something to change your mind - The Talking Heads
This is a band close to my heart. Tina taught me how to play bass on their previous two albums, and the controlled mania of the songwriting (and performance!) by Byrne was already very appealing. This album was different in two ways: its production was radically different, and its subject matter was darker, more immediate. It is often overlooked because Remain In Light (http://www.talking-heads.net/remain.html) had such an impact, but it's rare to hear covers from that album, yet at least 4 songs from Fear (http://www.talking-heads.net/fear.html) have been.
Byrne has tended to write from the perspective of a mind trying to look at itself, which turns up some startling images. The prevailing theme on Fear is that of control and of course, fear. Melophobia is a real condition and seems to stand for a state of mind to which Byrne's point of view is anathema. Caught between the twin motivations of fear and control the album lurches from one thinly-veiled state of desperation to the next.
I Zimbra is most jarring by being completely unrelated to the rest of the album sonically, and in gibberish, as if they'd already given up and moved on to Remain In Light. Mind is punctuated by jarring backward guitar stabs, to frankly Orwellian lyrics that have fresh meaning in a post 9/11 world. We digress for frustrated mania (Paper) and cross-cultural house-hunting (Cities) and return to 1984 via an embedded report (Life During Wartime), a funky state of siege. By this time it's hard to get to sleep (Memories Can't Wait), and the mind returns to contemplate itself.
With Air we return to an innocent perspective that was characteristic of earlier work, simpler, somewhat goofy but still agroaphobia. Heaven is often misinterpreted as an ode to peace; it is actually a sly, if weary dig at complacency that does not recognize its fetters. The contempt of Animals, and its startling fury slides back into the Orwellian present, where the Electric Guitar itself is judged for treason ("Electric guitar is copies, the copy sounds better"), but a compromise appears to be reached by its end because Someone controls electric guitar. With Drugs we are back to the gibberish of I Zimbra, only less focussed. The sharp guitar surges are back too, suggesting that even if drugs won't change you, at least they keep you quiet for the time being. You're left with the simple choice: become one with the society demanding your very mind, or keep it for yourself and take the risks and loss.
The sound of this album delves more into Eno's bag of tricks than before. The only real complaint I have about the production is that Byrne's voice could have been clearer: probably more than any other Heads album, it suffers from potential mondogreens. The full effect of Jerry Harrison's contributions become clear, Weymouth's trademark dotty bass has never been sweeter. Space, the true stuff of music, is masterfully stretched and squeezed, suggesting both the constriction of phobia and disconnection of self. This album will disturb you. In over 25 years of listening to it, I'm still hearing new things. Put it on loud and late and in the dark. Make your decision. This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around.
This is a band close to my heart. Tina taught me how to play bass on their previous two albums, and the controlled mania of the songwriting (and performance!) by Byrne was already very appealing. This album was different in two ways: its production was radically different, and its subject matter was darker, more immediate. It is often overlooked because Remain In Light (http://www.talking-heads.net/remain.html) had such an impact, but it's rare to hear covers from that album, yet at least 4 songs from Fear (http://www.talking-heads.net/fear.html) have been.
Byrne has tended to write from the perspective of a mind trying to look at itself, which turns up some startling images. The prevailing theme on Fear is that of control and of course, fear. Melophobia is a real condition and seems to stand for a state of mind to which Byrne's point of view is anathema. Caught between the twin motivations of fear and control the album lurches from one thinly-veiled state of desperation to the next.
I Zimbra is most jarring by being completely unrelated to the rest of the album sonically, and in gibberish, as if they'd already given up and moved on to Remain In Light. Mind is punctuated by jarring backward guitar stabs, to frankly Orwellian lyrics that have fresh meaning in a post 9/11 world. We digress for frustrated mania (Paper) and cross-cultural house-hunting (Cities) and return to 1984 via an embedded report (Life During Wartime), a funky state of siege. By this time it's hard to get to sleep (Memories Can't Wait), and the mind returns to contemplate itself.
With Air we return to an innocent perspective that was characteristic of earlier work, simpler, somewhat goofy but still agroaphobia. Heaven is often misinterpreted as an ode to peace; it is actually a sly, if weary dig at complacency that does not recognize its fetters. The contempt of Animals, and its startling fury slides back into the Orwellian present, where the Electric Guitar itself is judged for treason ("Electric guitar is copies, the copy sounds better"), but a compromise appears to be reached by its end because Someone controls electric guitar. With Drugs we are back to the gibberish of I Zimbra, only less focussed. The sharp guitar surges are back too, suggesting that even if drugs won't change you, at least they keep you quiet for the time being. You're left with the simple choice: become one with the society demanding your very mind, or keep it for yourself and take the risks and loss.
The sound of this album delves more into Eno's bag of tricks than before. The only real complaint I have about the production is that Byrne's voice could have been clearer: probably more than any other Heads album, it suffers from potential mondogreens. The full effect of Jerry Harrison's contributions become clear, Weymouth's trademark dotty bass has never been sweeter. Space, the true stuff of music, is masterfully stretched and squeezed, suggesting both the constriction of phobia and disconnection of self. This album will disturb you. In over 25 years of listening to it, I'm still hearing new things. Put it on loud and late and in the dark. Make your decision. This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around.