The Royal Festival Hall is a genteel venue. It basks in self-assurance, knowing that it hosts the most elite cultural events in the UK. So who was performing this night? Philip Glass? The Vegetable Orchestra? Prinzhorn Dance School? No, it was the man who yelled maniacally of his host city: “Think of London, A small city, Dark, Dark in daytime“.
Sometimes the sun just doesn’t come out in London, but I can personally assure you that it’s not dark here in the daytime. So what was such a lyrically frivolous little scallywag doing in a venue more used to riff than raff? Well, when I tell you that twas none other than former Talking Head David Byrne you will understand all. Yes, David Byrne; the man who has made a career out of a mind boggling fusion of funkypunky afro pop with lyrics that the pseuds could really dig their teeth into.
Byrne was at the Royal Festival Hall on the London leg of his world tour to play a selection of songs he’d composed over the years with the musician/producer/godfather of ambient/general legend Brian Eno.
Beginning with some newer material which (heathen that I am) I wasn’t familiar with, Byrne and his band were certainly rocking and for those with ADD, the stage-show was brilliant. This featured three dancers prancing and flouncing around to the songs, interacting with the band and providing visual relief from their static posturing. I would have liked to know if there was some sort of concept behind the dances but I had to content myself with appreciating the apparent spontaneity of it all whilst acknowledging that it had all been very carefully choreographed. Indeed at one point, one of the dancers leapfrogged over David Byrne himself who, suffice to say, also joined in the dances by shuffling robotically round the stage and following bizarre conga lines of pretentious dance-school whimsy.
For the first half of the gig the polite, largely middle-aged crowd tapped their feet approvingly of Byrne’s newer material. However when Byrne started dropping the old stuff, a few of the less inhibited members of the audience jogged down to the stage-front and began dancing in a rarely displayed passion of white, middle-class levity. Those of a less extroverted persuasion (i.e. 98% of the rest of the audience) stood up in our seats and jiggled and clapped along to fantastic ‘classics’ such as Born Under Punches, Once in a Lifetime, Crosseyed and Painless, Mind and Life During Wartime.
I was impressed by Byrne’s gracious airing of these songs which, lets be honest, he must be sick of by now. Ever the professional however he played them with sincerity, knowing full well that most of the crowd had come in the anticipation of hearing some old Talking Heads stuff. He could easily have been a curmudgeonly old bastard and only played his new nose-flute concertos like some of his miserable peers who deludedly think people care about their new albums. But he didn’t. He played the hits and that is commendable.
After three, count ‘em, t h r e e encores, the band bowed humbly and jogged offstage and, my eyes at least, were full of blind spots from where Byrne’s crowning feature of his awesome white quiff had seared itself into my vision with its disco-ball glow. The man is a legend and it was a pleasure to see him perform with such energy, wit and conviction.
Sometimes the sun just doesn’t come out in London, but I can personally assure you that it’s not dark here in the daytime. So what was such a lyrically frivolous little scallywag doing in a venue more used to riff than raff? Well, when I tell you that twas none other than former Talking Head David Byrne you will understand all. Yes, David Byrne; the man who has made a career out of a mind boggling fusion of funkypunky afro pop with lyrics that the pseuds could really dig their teeth into.
Byrne was at the Royal Festival Hall on the London leg of his world tour to play a selection of songs he’d composed over the years with the musician/producer/godfather of ambient/general legend Brian Eno.
Beginning with some newer material which (heathen that I am) I wasn’t familiar with, Byrne and his band were certainly rocking and for those with ADD, the stage-show was brilliant. This featured three dancers prancing and flouncing around to the songs, interacting with the band and providing visual relief from their static posturing. I would have liked to know if there was some sort of concept behind the dances but I had to content myself with appreciating the apparent spontaneity of it all whilst acknowledging that it had all been very carefully choreographed. Indeed at one point, one of the dancers leapfrogged over David Byrne himself who, suffice to say, also joined in the dances by shuffling robotically round the stage and following bizarre conga lines of pretentious dance-school whimsy.
For the first half of the gig the polite, largely middle-aged crowd tapped their feet approvingly of Byrne’s newer material. However when Byrne started dropping the old stuff, a few of the less inhibited members of the audience jogged down to the stage-front and began dancing in a rarely displayed passion of white, middle-class levity. Those of a less extroverted persuasion (i.e. 98% of the rest of the audience) stood up in our seats and jiggled and clapped along to fantastic ‘classics’ such as Born Under Punches, Once in a Lifetime, Crosseyed and Painless, Mind and Life During Wartime.
I was impressed by Byrne’s gracious airing of these songs which, lets be honest, he must be sick of by now. Ever the professional however he played them with sincerity, knowing full well that most of the crowd had come in the anticipation of hearing some old Talking Heads stuff. He could easily have been a curmudgeonly old bastard and only played his new nose-flute concertos like some of his miserable peers who deludedly think people care about their new albums. But he didn’t. He played the hits and that is commendable.
After three, count ‘em, t h r e e encores, the band bowed humbly and jogged offstage and, my eyes at least, were full of blind spots from where Byrne’s crowning feature of his awesome white quiff had seared itself into my vision with its disco-ball glow. The man is a legend and it was a pleasure to see him perform with such energy, wit and conviction.
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