David Byrne explains his ‘Stop Making Sense’ character
In 1984, Talking Heads delivered Stop Making Sense. Between frontman David Byrne’s iconic big suit, some suitably zany dance moves, and endlessly danceable tunes, it was considered to be the greatest concert film of all time. In the four decades since then, that reputation has refused to waver. No artist has topped the euphoria Byrne and his bandmates documented at Hollywood’s Pantages Theatre – perhaps no one ever will.
But why was Stop Making Sense so successful and so admired? Why has it been awarded a 4K restoration and theatrical re-release 40 years on, rather than fading into obscurity like many other concert films? Perhaps it’s because, really, it’s so much more than just a video of Talking Heads performing live on tour. It’s a celebration of music and life.
At the centre of it lies the enigmatic Byrne, who seems to harness the ability to turn everything he touches into gold. The legacy and impact of Stop Making Sense has much to owe to Byrne’s eclecticism and vulnerability onstage – rather than just watching him play guitar and sing familiar songs, we feel every emotion he feels. He delivers a performance that goes far beyond live music, steeped in honesty and humanity.
Byrne himself has suggested that he took on a character for the show, as he recently told The Ringer. The frontman explained, “It’s me as a character – or me as myself – being anxious and isolated in the beginning, and then gradually finding himself with this little supportive community.”
At the beginning of the film, Byrne enters the stage alone. With a hesitant, “Hi, I’ve got a tape I wanna play”, he sets down a boombox and plays the iconic ‘Psycho Killer’. “I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax”, he declares, and we feel it – in his anxious head bopping, his jarringly wide eyes. The camera is either set close to his face, detailing all of his emotion, or excessively wide, showing just how alone he is.
Gradually, Byrne finds himself less and less lonely on stage. He’s joined by just Tina Weymouth for the minimal yet beautiful ‘Heaven’, and, increasingly, bandmates and collaborators enter to support his playing. By the time they play ‘Life During Wartime’, the stage is full of musicians, boasting more talent than most rooms could ever hope to contain.
Byrne has loosened up, equal parts flowing and erratic in his dance moves. He interacts with the audience, crouching down to address them, before embarking on a sprint around the perimeter of the stage. “Little by little,” Byrne explains, “He starts to relax and become a little less anxious and has a little bit more fun.”
It mirrors the experience many may have had at a live music event – initially nervous to get up out of your seat and dance, by the end wondering why you ever felt that way at all. His character makes the performance all the more visceral and human, and plays a huge part of why Stop Making Sense has become so iconic and well-loved.
