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San Francisco Chronicle, March 14, 2004 CD REVIEWS The last time we heard from David Byrne, he was shaking maracas, making screwball techno records and threatening to sue the other Talking Heads for trying to re-form the group without him. Now he's pulling a gloomy Phil Collins pose on the cover of his latest album while making the best music since he wore an oversize suit and stuttered, "Psycho Killer/ Qu'est que c'est?/ Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better/ Run run run run run run run away." Not really -- although with "Grown Backwards," Byrne finally manages to put all his strange obsessions -- Latin funk rhythms, dramatic strings, alien lyrics -- into colorful, wondrous songs like "Glass, Concrete, Stone" and "She Only Sleeps." It's as if he finally realized he had it right in the first place and then was all, "Wow, I can't believe how much I've grown backward. Wait, I should call my album that. Where's my lawyer?" -- Aidin Vaziri DAVID BYRNE |
