Good Feelings

David Byrne has the whole world in his head

by Ted Drozdowski

David Byrne ain't exactly Dr. Feelgood. The same cynicism and satire of Talking Heads songs like "Don't Worry About the Government" and "Once In a Lifetime" surfaces in his latest solo album. But the former head Head's grown considerably as a melodist since the days of "Psycho Killer" or "Born Under Punches." Especially in making albums like his love-affair with Brazil, 1989's Rei Momo. So the easy grooves and buoyant melodies of Feelings (Luaka Bop/Warner Bros.) provide tendrils of sunshine in even its darkest corners.

"I learned from the Brazilians, who have no fear of writing beautiful melodies and harmonies to accompany funky beats, radical sounds, and words that hit home," attests Byrne. "Northerners, whether in the US or Europe, have a fear and suspicion of beauty. We believe it can imply a shallowness, a Hallmark sensibility. We think that if something looks good or sounds good, then it can't be the bearer of real, sincere, intense honest feelings. We assume that noise, abrasiveness, and difficult music equals profundity. In America our suspicions regarding pretty sounds and images are often well-founded, but not always. And elsewhere things are often different. We censor our hearts and minds, and miss a lot of what's out there. But things are changing."

Indeed, like much contemporary art, Byrne's pretty-sounding Feelings reflects the increasing panculturalism of our country. It's a richly percolating stew of Brazilian, Cuban, African, electronic, hip-hop, rock, ambient, and anglo folk musics. It's the streets of New York City rolled into a little silver circle. The lyrics of the wickedly bright "Miss America," sung with a melismatic Latin feel, carry the theme. The song is a metaphor for the promise of the States, declared in the voice of a frustrated immigrant, with Miss Liberty transformed into a vixen who's intensely desirable but as hard to attain as the proverbial American Dream. The song's quite appropriate to 1997, since recent federal legislation has cut very deeply into the rights and opportunities of working US immigrants.

"I feel that we're at a historical moment, when the old vision and model of America -- although no longer valid and applicable -- is being held onto with an intense ferocity by those with vested and personal interests in it," Byrne observed in our e-mail exchange last week. "A last ditch effort in my opinion, but not surprising. . . like the old communists continuing to hold onto power throughout much of Eastern Europe. Power changes slowly, but inevitably. And the more inevitable the social and economic changes, the more tenaciously those with power hold onto it. Like the end of a love affair.

"I also sense that despite this resistance we're at an incredible moment when musical categories have fallen away and the powers that be are temporarily rudderless. Which is great. It's a moment when jungle can mix with country, when hip-hop can mix with rock, when orchestral can mix with dance and no one style holds sway.

"It's a time of musical chaos and confusion for a lot of people. The multinational labels are desperate, as they're by definition conservative. But for musicians it's healthy. This feels like home to me. I realize the door may close at any instant, but for now it is wonderfully open."

So Byrne stepped through for Feelings. He recorded the CD in home studios, including his own apartment, with collaborators the Balanescu string quartet, fellow art punks Mark Mothersbaugh and Jerry Casale of Devo, avant-gardists the Black Cat Orchestra, an international menu of session players, and trip-hop heroes Morcheeba. Byrne describes the latter as "genius producers. They totally submerged themselves into the songs. Their studio is in a former workshop in the back of a car repair garage in Clapham, a neighborhood in South London. It was formerly the home of the Orb. Morcheeba worked in a way that continued and expanded on the way I was already working on these songs as demos -- samples, loops, treatments, and whatever instrumentation seemed appropriate."

Byrne explains that on this tour "the live players are a weird mix, just like the record." There's Bruce Kaplan from American Music Club on midi-pedal-steel; Israeli programmer/mixer/drummer Rea Moichiach, out of New York's illbient/jungle club scene; Jamaican bassist Desmond Foster; and Danish singer Ingela Klemetz.

"You can see it all in that mixture of personalities, origins, and interests: country, deep grooves, atmospheric textures, theatricality, and funk," Byrne declares. "It's the music in our heads, to paraphrase Ornette Coleman."

David Byrne plays the Strand on Tuesday, August 5.