David Byrne- Love has Come to Modena

A couple of weeks ago my parents visited me for a few days to celebrate my mum's 60th birthday. And what better gift from a loving son than a surprise trip to Modena's Teatro Communale to see David Byrne in concert? An entirely selfless act which I noblely endured without too much grumble: it was possibly one of the best concerts I've seen.

The setting was spectacular; a 19th century theatre shaped like a giant cylindrical sponge cake whose height exceeded its width. The lights went down. A 57-year-old Byrne promptly strutted to the microphone to discuss 'tonight's 20 course menu'. As he stood before a theatre-full of Italians he paused and quipped that 'you must excuse me; my English isn't very good'. He also made it explicitly clear that if emails had to be sent, phone calls had to be made, texts had to be sent, then go right ahead. It was all ironically formal. Then without further ado he struck up the band.

There's no point writing at length because it'll be painfully dull compared to what it was in the flesh. But it was electric. Cherry picking from the 3 Talking Heads collaborations with Brian Eno as well as the latest Byrne/Eno project, every song was a joy. A lot of personal favourites came up as well; 'I Zimbra' from Fear of Music, 'Strange Overtones' from the new album and an unbelievable version of 'Houses in Motion' from Remain in Light. The attitude is basically punk; forthright, sometimes a little obnoxious, sometimes sarcastic. Byrne is a lyrical genius. There are sardonic narratives, adapted anecdotes, pop philosophies, but he has also said that he likes to choose lyrics not with the idea of constructing a narrative, but simply because he likes the sound of the word. This is the joy of 'I Zimbra'; an adaption of Hugo Ball's Dadaist poem 'Gadgi beri bimba'. None of these words have specific meanings, but with the punchy polyrhythms, chanting and driving riffs, for me 'I Zimbra' conjures a tribal African dance sung in maybe a fictional Nigerian dialect. The music is fantastic in the true sense of the word.

It's music which captures the hips as well as the imagination. This was a sit-down concert in a formal setting, a throwback to the 19th century aristocracy. But the urge to dance still conquered the hearts and minds. First the heads nodded, then people were clapping, sometimes singing, and before long people were leaning right out pounding their fists and boogeying around the booths. It was like a compartmentalised gallery of dancing styles; some concetrating on the arms, others going for the legs. And this wasn't a young audience! But everybody seemed to feel so. The stroke of genius was the use of 3 dancers who were fully integrated into the show. The songs weren't just hacked out for the sake of a tour. There was a full choreography which Byrne himself weaved in and out of with his guitar. Spirals; jumps; twirls; handstands; integrating props; throws; sometimes swopping with the backing singers; taking over the stage for dance solos: a treat for both the eyes and the ears propelling bodies out of seats and arms into the air.

This is all getting embarrassingly carried away. But it's the effect of the music. It embodies Byrne's inexhaustible lust for life which goes into all that he does, whether that be in music, in the art studio, running his radio station or designing bike racks for New York. Modena is a very sleepy little middle-class town in Emilia-Romagna, but that evening in the Teatro love had come to town.



(subsides after foolishly writing at length)