One simple (if not oversimplified) way to judge music is to see if you want
to hear it again.  A related consideration is if it gets better with
repetition.

On both accounts, Jonathan Demme's uncompromising concert film of David
Byrne's Talking Heads, `Stop Making Sense,' came up a winner today.

Although I saw it when first released 15 years ago, and last month,
I attended the remixed/remastered 35mm release screening at the SF
International Film Festival, I went to see it again today at Dolby
Laboriatories Hq.  -- as good a place to *hear* a film as there is.

Not only did I appreciate the music even more, but I heard a few things I
never heard before, in a rather peculiar context.  The very, very promising
SF Symphony/MTT Stravinsky Festival is coming up next month, and I'll be
darned if I didn't hear the powerful, jerky syncopation of `Les Noces' in
the middle of `Burning Down the House'!  Besides having a similar taste in
jackets, Byrne and Stravinsky certainly share an overwhelming rhythmic
sense, and a certain creative, charming insanity in their preference for
text.

I am *not* even dreaming of making a case for equating the two, but I am
not just kidding around either:  I strongly recommend, especially to those
not familiar with Talking Heads, to see and *hear* `Stop Making Sense.'

It's a terrific concert -- filmed directly, without any annoying narration
or audience-reaction shots as every other pop concert film would.

The concert has a powerful structure.  Byrne begins by himself, with just
an acoustic guitar and a tape player as the rhythm section, then Tina
Weymouth joins him for a duet, Chris Frantz makes it a trio, Jerry Harrison
a quartet, until the entire band build and build to the grand climax of
`Take Me to the River' -- and the Stravinsky comparison stops here because
(Balanchine notwithstanding) the great composer can always be heard in a
sitting or prone position, but when Talking Heads is in gear, there is
dancing in the audience, of necessity.  (As it was at the 1984 premiere in
the Castro Theater, where the re-release too will be screened.)

Byrne is possibly the greatest singer in the world without a singing
voice.  He has a mesmerizing delivery (even when you don't see his
raw-energy-in-motion), a Sinatra-like diction, and a force that's
irresistible.  His catatonic-to-spasmodic dancing (right out of `Rite of
Spring' or `Petrouchka') and the constantly intriguing text (so innocent
and `clean' against what rock has become) provide extra-musical values that
-- think Stravinsky again -- enhance the total experience without ever
overshadowing the music or taking attention from it.  If only Robert Wilson
and Peter Sellars would manage to do the same!

The pulsating tone clusters of `Once in a Lifetime and `Life During
Wartime' stay with you long after the concert -- isn't that what a musical
experience is about?

In case you find this case being made for Talking Heads as Music a little
(or a lot) irritating, consider that while you may be feeling sorry for the
pop-rock folks missing out on the wealth of `classical music' you love so
well, *you* may be missing out on something the `other half' (four-fifths
is more likely) treasures.  Why not have it all? There is so much to enjoy
in these and other Talking Heads songs, the Beatles, the Grateful Dead,
`Pet Sounds,' etc., etc.  So, remember:  Byrne in the Castro, Igor in
Davies Hall.  Let 'em all bloom (but no dancing at the Symphony, rats!)

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