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Why Talking Heads switched instruments for one of the greatest songs of the 1980s
Talking Heads always revolved around the arthouse tenet of production matching the means of intent. When they wanted to do something new with art they innovated with new technology. When they wanted to create a naïve melody to reflect the ‘could this be true’ feeling of love in its infancy, they decided that swapping instruments would give them that joyously tentative sound. The result, ‘This Must Be The Place (Naïve Melody)’, is undoubtedly one of the greatest songs of an era, and in my humble opinion perhaps the very best.
As Chris Frantz said of the anthem: “It’s a very comforting song. I think people listen to it and it kind of warms their heart because it’s a song with a happy and secure message. I love that song myself,” he opined. “It’s really sweet—quite an accomplishment for a band such as ours.” However, despite his humble avowal, it’s an accomplishment that was achieved in such a way that pretty much defined a band like theirs.
Byrne wanted to defy the usual pompous bravura of love songs so that it “wasn’t corny” and “didn’t sound stupid or lame the way many do”. Often the polished Byronian affairs which he referred to are not in line with the realities of love and as such lack sincerity—the highs and lows, and the natural reservationist trepidation and the moments of unbridled jubilation which sequester it without you even noticing. This begged the question: how do we create that melodically?
Well, as Byrne expresses on the Stop Making Sense commentary track, the band decided to capture the childlike eudemonia in the melody by reverting to instruments that put them out of their comfort zones. Therein lies the “naïve melody”. So, in the end, bass player Tina Weymouth ended up on rhythm guitar, guitarist and keyboard player Jerry Harrison played keyboard bass, and David Byrne stationed himself behind the Prophet-5 synthesizer, whirling the jittery sound into place.
The initial inception of this masterpiece occurred in 1981. A dancer named Twyla Tharp commissioned David Byrne to score her latest project. Following the collaboration, the two become romantically involved. In Tharp’s memoir, she describes Byrne’s curious creative process as an attempt “to find the residue of ancient thoughts in the most up-to-date aspects of society.”
This is an important note in analysing Talking Heads and this definitive anthem. Their singular approach to music comes from a very singular place, and as weird as it sounds Byrne’s search for spiritualism or science in the everyday permeates each and every single one of the band’s funkiest grooves. Putting people on different instruments and weaving new technology into the mix, tapped into the atavistic feeling of excitement and uncertainty, and that fit the “non-sequiturs” of “emotional resonance” like a sonic glass slipper.
Byrne’s career and art have not only been a mark of defiant liberation in the face of an industry that judges autism but an exploration of humanity fuelled by his own insular curiosity; the defiance provides acerbic energy, while the counterpoint of curiosity colours the songs with a wistfulness. ‘This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody)’ is the perfect example of this, it is a love song in spite of itself in the same way that Byrne seems to be a rockstar in spite of himself. The same can be said of all the creative wizardry deployed throughout the Talking Heads’ back catalogue. Every quirk and oddity is done with such sincerity that it is always fun and that, in turn, informs the art.
Swapping instruments might sound frivolous on the surface, but it’s a move that sings of the creative heart behind the band and, in the process, they crafted a love song that juices life right down to the bittersweet and blissful pith.
The song is perhaps the purest paradigm of how David Byrne sees the world. It is a hymn to his poetic worldview, which he delineated in one of the finest quotes ever attributed to a musician when he said: “I sense the world might be more dreamlike, metaphorical, and poetic than we currently believe–but just as irrational as sympathetic magic when looked at in a typically scientific way. I wouldn’t be surprised if poetry—poetry in the broadest sense, in the sense of a world filled with metaphor, rhyme, and recurring patterns, shapes, and designs–is how the world works. The world isn’t logical, it’s a song.” Like song, like quote: that naïve caveat of ‘I wouldn’t be surprised’ proves all important.
