Talking Heads - Stop Making Sense [1994] [DVD]

The pacing of the film is exemplary: the gradual addition of musicians provides the context for David Byrne's metamorphosis from tense New Waver to full-on funkster. And while the rest of the Heads, augmented by musicians of the class and charisma of Bernie Worrell and Alex Weir amongst others, play brilliantly, Byrne steals the show. He is more compelling than Michael Stipe in "Tourfilm", Bjork at the Royal Opera House last year or anyone else you care to mention.

Thankfully the classic "I Zimbra/Big Business" (the latter a Byrne solo number from "Songs from the Catherine Wheel") is included as an extra and proves one of the many highlights of the disc. Making further great use of DVD's potential, the disc provides the viewer with a choice of sounds tracks. While the concert sound was always good, the remastered track blows it away for clarity, depth and feeling. The voiceover gives great history and background and is good accompaniment to "Fa Fa Fa Fa Fa Fa", the biography of the band which reveals the extent of the inevitable animosity as Byrne garnered all the plaudits.

Accusations that this is over-rated and dated are without foundation as well as explanation. While the music is still great (same as it ever was), the influence of the visualisation of the concert is palpable: countless subsequent concerts/live performances such as REM's "Tourfilm" and U2's "Zooroopa" are unthinkable without "Stop Making Sense".

"Stop Making Sense" manages to be simulataneously cerebral and celebratory, enigmatic and ecstatic. In short, unmissable.

This is the greatest concert movie ever made because it works as a movie, even if you aren't much of a fan of Talking Heads' music (and God knows, I got over my subsequent obsession with them). From David Byrne's hopeful, intellectual-at-summer-camp rendition of "Psycho Killer" all the way to the manic version of "Crosseyed and Painless", it builds and builds and grips your attention. The most striking thing about it, watching it again 20 years later, is just how much this foursome of uptight preppies could rock. Their enjoyment of their own music is genuine, unforced and palpable. Byrne cheerfully admits on the commentary that he was going through a "dictator" phase at the time, to the point that he wouldn't even allow plastic cups of water onstage, because it would spoil the visual effect; if ever a band needed them, it was this one. In the studio, they could sound clipped and filtered to a fare-thee-well, but live, they had a real swing. The extra musicians are superb (it's worth watching just for Lynn Mabry and Ednah Holt's wacky dance moves) but the drama of the film is in the sequencing of the songs, the passion of the performances, and the care with with Jonathan Demme registers the interactions between the musicians.

The commentary is fun (Tina Weymouth's sardonic remarks about her shapeless stage costume are priceless) and if you happen to have digital audio, I'm sure it sounds fab. Even on my analogue telly, it's a beauty; all the evidence you need to refute the idea that Talking Heads were too clever and not a real band. I could still wish that the Dolette McDonald/Nona Hendryx/Busta Jones/Adrian Belew lineup was caught on film, but until they see fit to rerelease "The Name of This Band is Talking Heads" on CD, this is, as stated above, a guaranteed cure for the blues and the closest any of us will ever get to being there. Outstanding.

If only more bands bothered to put this much thought into their live shows... ;-) Highly recommended