When I was younger, I was wild about Talking Heads’ third album, Fear of Music. And it is certainly a great album. But I have to admit to not enjoying it as much now as I did then. I think it is because it is a transitional album. The best example of that is “Life During Wartime.” That song points directly to by far the greatest Talking Heads album, Remain in Light.
I’m not doing any research for these posts, so forgive me for just telling you what I remember. But I recall an interview with Tina Weymouth where she said that while they were working on the song, at least three of them were aware that there was a collaboration going on. It seems that David Byrne was resistant to giving anyone else any credit. But given the later history, we know with some certainty that Byrne is something of a horse’s ass — maybe not as bad as Lou Reed, but also without all the drugs to explain the behavior.
Anyway, the song sounded very new. It seemed the first time that funk and punk really merged together to create something greater. And the lyrics are funny, although I don’t think they are meant to be. David Byrne as a lyric writer has always reminded me of David Lynch as a director: someone very interesting, overly serious, and never quite aware of what he’s doing. That has led to greatness for both men, but also some of the most pretentious nonsense I’ve ever encountered.
“Life During Wartime” features prominently in Stop Making Sense. And it works really well. But it also loses its essential punk feel and becomes more funk with an edge. I don’t think I can explain it. But the album cut is better.
Last year, I decided that 16 March would from that day forward be 
All of these innovations have allowed the economy to decarbonize quickly without imposing noticeable costs on consumers. The coal industry is in a state of collapse. In just the last year alone, its share of US electrical generation fell from 36 percent to 28 percent. The four largest American coal-mining firms, which were worth a combined $34 billion five years ago, are now worth $150 million — a loss of more than 99 percent of their value.
I got a message from my publisher (and nominally “editor”) today. After 28 chapters have been submitted and typeset, I am told, “Need to have 2-3 call outs in chapters that are all text.” It made me think that it would be a good idea to discuss what editors do and what writers do. But first I should explain to you what “call outs” are. In the publishing industry, a “call out” is nothing at all. There is no term. The phrase is idiosyncratic: the result of a tiny publisher cut off from the rest of the industry — and one that really doesn’t know anything other than what it does.
On this day in 1956, My Fair Lady premiered on Broadway. I have two things to say about this. The first is that when I was 17 years old, I was part of a concert band that toured Europe. It was interesting. But the band was filled with people from the south. There were only two people who were at all from the west coast: a guy from Alaska and a gal from Arizona. Now the guy turned out to be my best friend on the trip. He was the only one who was willing to crawl out of windows and go roaming around the great cities of Europe drinking wine. Really: most of those kids were real duds.
On this day in 44 BCE, Casca and Cassius were making their final plans for the assassination of Julius Caesar, which would occur the following day. And you might ask, why didn’t I just wait until tomorrow to talk about the assassination? For one thing, I don’t care about the assassination. I’m much more interested in the plays about it than the actual event. That’s the thing about power: there always other powerful people who want to kill you. This is why I like my quiet little life.
In remarks as sharply critical as he’s ever been about the state of the 2016 GOP presidential race, Obama called the GOP presidential debate a combination of “fantasy, and school yard taunts, and sellin’ stuff like it’s the Home Shopping Network.”
I hate power politics. I’m old enough that I’m pretty comfortable with who I am. I’m poor. I’m physically weak. I’m not handsome — I look old for my age. Intellectually I’m reasonable, but certainly not a standout. But I have a fair collection of skills. I don’t doubt that I have a place in the world and that the world, on the whole, values me. So it amuses me when people play power politics with me. They think they are putting me in my place, but all they ever do is just establish that they have some advantage over me in some minor area.
On this day in 847, the bones of St Nikephoros I were interred at the Church of the Holy Apostles. As far as I can tell, this was a big deal. Nikephoros had died almost 20 years earlier. But saint bones were a very big thing back in the day. People thought that by being near them, they could be healed and stuff like that. Those were the days my friend!
