Speaking in Tongues had seen Talking Heads edging towards the mainstream, shuffling almost reluctantly, the grip on their intrinsic and beguiling rhythms a little looser. The band had flirted with the charts previously, with excursions from ‘Take Me To The River’ and ‘Life During Wartime’, while ‘Once In A Lifetime’ performed well in the UK. But ‘Burning Down The House’ had seen them crack the previously impregnable top ten in the US, ushering in the band’s most commercially successful period. Little Creatures would become the band’s best-selling studio album as the band stopped searching for an edge and dipped their toe into pop music.
It wasn’t that the band had exhausted all creative avenues but rather that they were exhausted with trying to constantly remain original. Ironic for a band that, despite all their brilliance and musical shapeshifting, were instantly recognisable. The Heads’ reputation had been enhanced further by Stop Making Sense, their 1984 concert film directed by Jonathon Demme. Shot over three nights at Hollywood’s Pantages Theatre but seamlessly blended to create the illusion of one continuous performance, the film provided the group with a legion of new fans. Stop Making Sense neatly packaged the band’s unique history in one concert; the whole thing was epically staged and choreographed without feeling contrived. It also confirmed what we already knew. That Talking Heads were the undisputed masters of rhythm and possessed the most captivating frontman of the era.
The Speaking Tongues‘ tour would be the band’s last, and the group were typically busy away from the Heads’ sphere. Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth released the second Tom Tom Club album, Close to the Bone. It was less successful than its predecessor, lacking a beefy, marketable single like ‘Genius of Love’. Jerry Harrison drifted into weirder territory, releasing the single ‘Five Minutes (Bonzo Goes To Washington Song’ alongside disco star Bootsy Collins. Ronald Reagan’s famous faux pas inspired the track, his “We begin bombing in five minutes” joke speech, with Harrison managing to track down the original audio and make it the song’s centrepiece.
There was a feeling of relaxed evolution rather than creative revolution to the recording process of Little Creatures. Bryne arrived at the original sessions with a series of demos as the band moved away from jamming their songs into place and moved towards a more conventional singer-songwriter-centric process. Incorporating elements of Americana-flavoured country music, Little Creatures lacked the tension that had previously permeated through their music. The looped grooves of Speaking in Tongues disappeared, and the melodies which had always been present but sometimes hidden were allowed to shine through. The result was arguably their most straightforward and relatable album, abundantly joyful, with a large ensemble of backing vocalists giving it an air of jubilation.
Not that the band completely abandoned their previous identities, Weymouth’s bass was still abundantly funky, and Frantz’s rhythm was as assured as ever. But everything was sharper and more focused, the touches embellished, and the music felt less sophisticated but grander. Take ‘Perfect World’ for example; Weymouth’s bouncing bass creates the subtle disco grooves introduced on Remain in Light, combining with Harrison’s chiming keys. But everything feels sunnier; Bryne coos and ahhs, totally enraptured, even cracking out a jubilant falsetto. ‘The Lady Don’t Mind’ utilises the polyrhythmic patterns for which the band had become renowned but lifts everything with this dramatic saxophone-led fiesta-style chorus. It’s glorious, and Bryne’s swept up in it all as he sings: “I like this curious feeling”.
Bryne provides his most involved performance yet; the curious observer has largely disappeared, and human relationships seem like something to cherish rather than fear. The finale on Speaking in Tongues, ‘This Must Be The Place’, had seen Bryne begin musing on love with his most tender offering to date, and Little Creatures continues upon that theme. On the exultant creation anthem, ‘Creatures of Love’, Bryne is curiously fascinated: “Little creatures of love/With two arms and two legs/From a moment of passion/Now they cover the bed”. Frantz and Weymouth had recently become parents, and on the punchy ‘Stay Up Late’, he sounds like he’s revelling in his role as uncle: “Cute, cute little baby/Little pee pee, little toes”. Lyrically, it’s far from his best offering, but the sentiment is nice.
It’s a long way from the Bryne of ‘No Compassion’, where he seemed decidedly isolated: “So many people have their problems/I’m not interested in their problems”. On the strutting funk of ‘Walk It Down’, he sounds more dependent on the existence of others: “Togetherness, ecstasy is what I need”. Even on the groovy opener, ‘And She Was’, his observations feel less anxious, and they evolve into an ecstatic chorus amongst the brassy brushes: “The world was moving she was right there with it, and she was/The world was moving she was floating above it, and she was”. There’s a transcendent, trippy feeling, and only in the eerie ‘Give Me Back My Home’ does he lapse into his old Brynisms: “There’s a word for it/And words don’t mean a thing”.
There’s a similar air of anxiety to ‘Television Man’, whereas on ‘Found A Job’, TV was a form of mindless escapism that stifled creativity; it has now become a controlling force: “And I’m inside, and I’m outside at the same time”. But backed by a crowing chorus, some bombastic horns, and a mad percussive breakdown, there’s a festive air. Should we fear the Television Man? Or should we celebrate him? Everything feels slightly less claustrophobic; Frantz’s drums burst through forcefully, Weymouth’s bassline pops and bounces proudly, while Harrison’s twanging guitar feels more pronounced than ever.
It’s pop music with a quirky edge; even when shaking off the shackles, the band retain a distinct sense of cool. Everything comes to a spectacular conclusion with the gospel banger ‘Road To Nowhere’. Frantz’s military-style drumming provides an epic backdrop alongside the cheerful sounds of the accordion, and Bryne lets loose vocally, leaning back into his yelping style that is often absent throughout the record. It’s a joyful stroll to doom, and when Bryne sings: “It’s alright, it’s alright”, it’s hard not to believe him.