David Byrne: American Utopia World Tour - Ryan’s Untitled Review

The Context

My general love for Talking Heads and their frontman, consummate weirdo David Byrne, came about piecemeal over the past decade or so.   I’m not sure the exact moment, but “Once in a Lifetime” was my point of entry, finding my ears via some public broadcast or another, reinforced by clever usage in the trailer for Oliver Stone’s quickly-forgotten Bush biopic, “W.”

The song was gloriously strange, and I loved it, but it didn’t drive me to investigate its creators further.    A few years later, my roommate got into a routine of blasting “This Must be the Place” when he got home from work, and it slowly wormed its way into my psyche.  Contemporary Electro-pop spurred an interest in New Wave for me, a genre that had largely been pushed aside by time I began listening to popular music in the mid-90’s.  I had missed out, so I was voraciously catching up. Around the same time, a briefly significant other suggested I check out the David Byrne/St. Vincent collaboration while we were clichely browsing a used record store in Baltimore.  I listened to “Who,” and I just got it.  From point A in 1977 to the present, I understood Byrne’s artistic arc better than I had any legacy musician I had followed previously.  I caught wind of a Talking Heads tribute band, the masterly Start Making Sense, performing nearby, and decided to catch the show.  Unable to find someone to join me, I went alone, but the experience was pure joy.  A packed room of dancing revelers singing along to the 7-piece stage act’s catalogue of pitch-perfect covers shook the floor of the industrial loft for three hours.  As I found my way home, I couldn’t help but wonder what the real deal was like.

The Concert

When Byrne announced his 2018 world tour, I clearly wasn’t paying attention, as tickets were sold out to his stop in my neighborhood before I was even aware of it.  Luckily, I came across a friend with a ticket to spare.  $105 and a hearty Italian dinner later, I was through the doors of the gorgeous Hershey Theatre.  In a 2010 Ted Talk, Byrne proposed an evolution of music driven by the architectural spaces it was designed to fill.  I’d be surprised if he hadn’t considered the qualities of each venue while designing this showcase for his new album from the soundstage at Rock Lititz.   

With the exception of two stylish mid-20’s Japanese guys and myself, everyone in the foyer and lobby appeared to be in the 40-65 range.  Despite this, there was an aura of ageless energy filling the space.  As I walked down the aisle, I could feel the burn at my back of a thousand eyes I had outspent.  They didn’t have anything to worry about; I’ve sat all over that theater, and there isn’t a bad seat.  Approaching my row, the barren stage set came into focus.  A folding card table and a wooden chair sat at the center, illuminated by a spotlight.  Ambient bird noises chirped above.  On the table sat an object, a brain?  Yes, a brain, of course.  I settled into my seat, not sure what to expect.

Byrne strolled on stage abruptly, introducing the show with the aloof poise of a college professor, giving no hint of the theatrics to follow.  It was only the fourth stop on the tour, he explained, requesting we resist the compulsion to photograph or video the opening minutes, lest we capture a kink that hadn’t yet been worked out.  With that, he strolled off whence he came, and the room went black.

The spotlight flips on, revealing Byrne seated at the table, holding the brain.  The opening drone of “Here,” (available tomorrow with the tour’s namesake album), emanated from the background, as the performer’s distinctive voice joined.  As a glistening chain curtain that would box in the stage began its ascent toward the ceiling, I was hopeful, but concerned.  It was clear this would be a true show, but the obviously pre-recorded backing track had me fearing it would be of the one-man variety.  My fears were allayed when a fiery mop of red hair emerged through the curtain, Byrne’s harmonist, donning an identical gray suit and bare feet.  He took the brain from Byrne, as the rest of the ensemble slowly tiptoed out, 11 in all. 

From there, they went into “Lazy,” a pulsing track Byrne had sung for British electronic duo X-Press 2.  With lights, color, movement, and uniform taking the shape of a music video, the direction of the performance became clear.  While there was a guitarist and bassist, the rest of the musicians had traditionally stationary instruments strapped to them via marching band harnesses.  All the participants were completely mobile using the entire stage space in moderately choreographed movement.  The two back-up singers, a man and a woman, employed dance moves best described as "abstract mime," in keeping with Byrne's truly unique movement style. Byrne alternated between joining them, interacting with them, and ignoring them, recalling in my mind the opening songs of Disney animated films of my childhood, filtered through the lens of 1981 MTV.

“I Zimbra” brought the crowd to their feet, joining the aforementioned Japanese fellows who had already been dancing in their seats near front and center since the previous song began.  The energy carried things forward from there, and eight Talking Heads songs, eight Byrne originals, a song from the St. Vincent collaborations and a Brighton Port Authority cover breezed by in an hour and a half, only pausing twice to introduce the ensemble and encourage local voting. 

Cheered back to a second encore by a roaring crowd, the final song went in a different direction, reminding the audience Byrne’s outspoken progressive humanism was still a central component to both his person and public persona.  The multi-ethnic ensemble returned, carrying a bevy of world percussion instruments, and lined up for Janelle Monáe’s “Hell You Talmbout,” a war cry of a protest song shouting out the names of black Americans killed in racial and police violence.  I came out expecting to be thoroughly entertained; what I wasn’t expecting was to be moved and challenged as well.  The performers bid farewell, with Byrne’s characteristic “Thank yuu” piercing through, and I let myself out into the night. 

The Conclusion

I can say without question that this was in my top five of concerts I’ve attended, and I’m certain it will remain in my memory as an important personal intersection with one of our culture’s significant auteurs.  The hotel where I work hosted many attendees of this event.  One visitor told me he had seen Byrne’s first band perform while in college in Providence, and saw him again a year or two later with the Talking Heads at the seminal Bowery rock club CBGB.  I found myself at CBGB with a friend as a college freshman, unaware of the venue’s importance or even who was playing (I did, however, discover a love of scotch when a stranger brought us one in appreciation for holding his seats).  I consider myself incredibly lucky to have spent a few hours in that now-gone piece of grime-filled history, and I feel the same whenever I’m able to witness an honest performance by a truly significant artist.  The price of entry is a challenge (my $105 ticket is fairly typical for decent seats at concerts of lifetime achievement-class musicians, and I have friends who have spent far more to see showcases of legends), but I’ve always found it worth it.  Balanced with occasional free shows for up-and-comers an astute eye can find at local colleges, I’ve assembled a humbling lifetime of musical experiences.

David Byrne’s American Utopia world tour returns for a few stops in our region this July. I can’t recommend it enough.  Your memories will thank you for decades to come.