Forward into The Past

By Guy Garcia

David Byrne is rock's most protean misfit. During the 1980s, when he was the lead singer for Talking Heads, his jittery, paranoid persona was the ideal conduit for songs about psycho killers, information overload and the itchy $ neuroses of ordinary life. Then, on albums such as Remain in Light and Speaking in Tongues, Byrne added African polyrhythms to the Talking Heads' new-wave mix, creating a pancultural groove.

Byrne has directed a film (True Stories), written music for dance (Twyla Tharp's The Catherine Wheel), won an Oscar for a movie sound track (Bernardo Bertolucci's The Last Emperor) and appeared on the cover of TIME. After the breakup of Talking Heads in 1988, he immersed himself in the sensuality of tropical salsa, releasing two solo albums that hitched his quirky vision to the locomotion of the mambo and the cha-cha.

Now the songwriter has changed course again with David Byrne, an album that resurrects -- and redefines -- the skittering, stripped-down sound of the early Talking Heads. Backed by a nimble rock trio that includes percussionist Mauro Refosco on vibes and marimba, Byrne sings typically off-kilter vocals, yodeling and crooning, moving from anxious whispers to ululations of unfettered elation. The jerky, shifting beats and shimmering guitars evoke the buoyant mood of Talking Heads classics like Once in a Lifetime and And She Was.

Yet David Byrne is anything but a retreat into the past. From the slightly sinister tones of A Long Time Ago and Crash to the rollicking stomp of Back in the Box, Byrne has taken elements from his entire career and molded them into something new.

Eclectic, eccentric and often downright funny, the album resonates with the hard-won truths of self-examination. Byrne still comes across as a man who knows that danger lurks in the shadows of even the sunniest day, but his attention is focused inward, and the result is illuminating. "I can barely touch my own self," he sings on Angels. "How can I touch someone else?/ I'm just an advertisement/ For a version of myself." Nothing at All builds from a funky guitar figure into a vaulting ode to alienation as Byrne sings, "And the knife is near at hand/ I cut myself to see who I am/ Reach inside but I still can't touch the policeman inside."

Byrne does occasionally manage to escape from his mental prison. You and Eye suggests that pursuit of sensual pleasure can provide a welcome, albeit temporary, respite from the pain of self-awareness. "Hey yeah -- I can't stay in my skin/ I've been here too long," Byrne sings, his voice playfully bouncing over the percolating beat. "But I know where to find a really good time/ And Darlin' I think you'll like it here." And My Love Is You, with its simple, sweet melody and acoustic guitar arrangement, is the most unabashed love song Byrne has ever written.

It is Buck Naked, which ends the record with a stirring plea for a return to innocence, that sums up the cathartic quality of David Byrne. Byrne's head and heart seem to collaborate perfectly as he sings, "Running naked like the day I was born/ We're all naked in the land where I come from/ I'm a long long way from New York City now/ We're all naked if you turn us inside out." Combining giddiness with gravity, David Byrne manages to make angst fun.