David Bryne had always been a keen social commentator, often confused and anxious at the state of America, struggling to understand why people acted as they did. Talking Heads’ music sometimes resembled puzzles, often presented through characters, as Bryne tried to piece together the actions of ordinary people. Buildings and cities represented fascinating microcosms to Bryne, filled with the tension of everyday life. Their early records, Talking Heads 77′ and More Songs About Buildings and Food, painted pictures of a dystopic New York, with tracks like ‘Don’t Worry About the Government’ examining the rise of industrialism.
Even when moving to a more cut-and-paste style of abstract lyricism, social commentary continued to creep into the band’s work. ‘Once in a Lifetime’ feels like an unconscious slip into capitalism, featuring several tropes of the archetypal American dream: “the beautiful house”, “the beautiful wife”, and “the large automobile”. “How did we get here?” asks Bryne. It’s a question that seemed to bug him, and perhaps feeling that Talking Heads’ wasn’t providing him with enough of a vehicle for his social fascinations, Bryne entered the world of film with True Stories, from whom the album derives its name.
Bryne had stepped into the world of film with considerable success on Stop Making Sense, the band’s highly regarded 1984 concert film. At the film’s premiere, Bryne met actor and budding writer Stephen Tobolowsky and successful playwriter Beth Henley, inviting the duo back to his flat, where he showed them a collection of hundreds of drawings he had made and put on his wall based on tabloid clippings he had scrapbooked from the band’s time on tour. True Stories arose from Bryne’s burning question surrounding his drawings. What if they were true? And what if these characters were real? In Tobolowsky and Henley, Bryne could manifest his curiosities into something grander.
Starring John Goodman, Swoosie Kurtz, and Spalding Gray, with Bryne serving as an on-screen narrator, True Stories is a semi-satirical musical comedy set in the fictional Texas town of Virgil. It’s presented in a series of vignettes centred around a cowboy-hat-wearing stranger who provides a lens for Bryne’s surrealist and idiosyncratic observations of small-town life. There are elements of parody, but Bryne is not a sneering critic, and True Stories is primarily sympathetic in tone. Bryne has come a long way from ‘Big Country’, where he comes across as unintentionally snobbish.
The preceding album, True Stories, was not a soundtrack in a conventional sense. In the film, the actors perform the songs, and the album features re-recordings by the band. But the band do adhere to the film’s emotional tones and messages and captures the warmth of Bryne’s sentiments. Unsurprisingly, considering he wrote the film, Bryne taps into the songs excellently, showcasing the greater emotional warmth he had displayed on Little Creatures.
Musically, the band delved further into the roots of American music, continuing the exploration that began in Little Creatures. Sadly, the beguiling, intrinsic rhythms of the Remain in Light were a distant memory as the band continued moving towards a poppier territory. True Stories largely favours simplicity over sophistication, but that is not meant as a criticism, as the melodies throughout are largely warm and captivating. While Frantz and Weymouth’s rhythms may be more pronounced, they are still immensely pleasing to the ears.
Having described True Stories as not a conventional soundtrack, it has a theatrical opening salvo in ‘Love For Sale’ and ‘Puzzlin’ Evidence’. ‘Love For Sale’ initially sounds like an ecstatic piece of stadium rock, with Harrison’s bold riffs and Frantz’s punchy drumming, but Harrison’s guitar becomes more distorted as the band departs from their traditionally clean cut sound. Over its stomping rhythm, Bryne reaches into the band’s past with mentions of cities, television, and love. ‘Love For Sale’ is a blatant commentary on the consumerist culture of the eighties, where anything, even love, is available for a price. ‘Puzzlin’ Evidence’ is even more musically brazen, with its minute-long instrumental build-up centred around Harrison’s organ-like melody. The track has a jaunty, semi-ska-like bounce, which gives way to a huge gospel-style chorus, and treads on similar themes to ‘Love For Sale’.
‘Happy Now’ is a catchy, ridiculously boppy tune with its calypso-style rhythm and bouncing drums. Its child-like verses create an air of impatience: “I wanna bicycle/I wanna popsicle/I wanna space face”, and suitably the chorus features backing from the St. Thomas Aquinas Elementary School choir. The track’s highlight is a beautifully sunny guitar solo from Harrison, which is sadly too short. On the other hand, the distinctly African-flavoured ‘Papa Legba’ drags, and Bryne’s eerie sneers don’t really fit the song. The song revolves around the idea of voodoo, which Bryne portrays positively in the film rather than in the often hysterical manner it was depicted in various films of the era.
‘Wild Wild Life’ provided the album’s biggest hit, with its bold, catchy chorus made for radio airplay. It’s undoubtedly one of the band’s most simplistic songs and features one of Bryne’s most absurdist openings: “I’m wearing fur pyjamas/I ride a hot potato”. But the song has a strong emotional core; Bryne is not a detached, cynical observer. He may poke fun at people’s self-importance, but he also marvels at their resilience and ability to survive and thrive in a bustling modern society that often feels distinctly unhuman. ‘Radio Head’ is a semi-companion to ‘Television Man’, an upbeat jungle that serves as an ode to the radio and the form of escapism it can provide: “The sound of a brand new world”.
‘Dream Operator’ is a dreary ballad with its droney synths, somewhat predictable chord progressions, and basic solos. It has a cheesy, musical feel, especially with lines like: “When you were little/You dreamed your big”, and Bryne pulls out an unconvincing falsetto at one point. ‘People Like Us’ is much better, a vibrant, pseudo-psychedelic country stomper with a consistently propelling rhythm. There’s a gentle melancholia as Bryne sings of people searching for love in a materialistic world. “What good is freedom?” Bryne asks if it is not supplemented by love.
‘City of Dreams’ is a far more effective ballad, with Frantz’s drums bringing some much-needed bite to match Harrison’s dense keys. It’s full of historical connections as Bryne sings of a world building culture and becoming gradually more connected. Despite the rise of industrialism and capitalism, “Underneath the concrete/The Dream is still alive”. It’s a poignant ending, an ode to harmony, regardless of where you come from.