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Friday Funk #19 – ‘Moon Rocks’ by Talking Heads
Friday Funk #19 – ‘Moon Rocks’ by Talking Heads
Friday Funk #19 – ‘Moon Rocks’ by Talking Heads
Today’s funky Friday celebrates Talking Heads. May is a celebratory month for the Heads – happy birthdays to Chris Frantz (8 May) and David Byrne (14 May).
In 1977, Brian Eno introduced Fela Kuti’s Afrodisiac to Talking Heads singer, guitarist and leader David Byrne the same day they met. It proved a crucial intervention. The band were about to get groovy.
Drummer Chris Frantz called James Brown a “tremendous influence on Talking Heads”, and Frantz and Byrne have both talked about the band’s love of P-Funk. (Bernie Worrell was a de facto member of the band in the ’80s). Byrne has also name-checked King Sunny Adé as an influence.
‘I Zimbra’ from 1979’s Fear of Music was a sign of things to come: the dual guitars, the bass hitting the One, and the emphasis on groove over melody.
But it was the following year when the band’s love of groove-centric music really shone. Remain in Light mixed the polyrhythms, syncopation and scratchy guitar of Fela and Brown with the melodies and synthesizers of new wave and Byrne’s agitated lyrics and singing.
Though Eno had departed by the time of 1983’s Speaking in Tongues (he’d later return) and the band self-produced for the first time, the band’s compositions followed a similar groove-over-melody philosophy after a three-year hiatus.
As mentioned in the second part of our discussion of Brown and Fela, Aaron Leitko made a shrewd observation of Fela’s music for Pitchfork: “The music is constantly moving and mutating, but [it] also conveys a sense of stasis. Unlike jazz, the songs aren’t shaped by chord changes or modulations, but the gradual accumulation and subtraction of melodic and rhythmic gestures.” Listening to Fela demands an attention “less concerned with events like verses and choruses and more attuned [to] gradual build-ups and changes in density.”
These characteristics are evident in ‘Moon Rocks’, even if the accumulation and subtraction isn’t as apparent as in Fela’s music. (Talking Heads didn’t have as vast a band, even after they started working with more musicians.) In a similar vein to Fela’s Afrobeat and James Brown’s early funk (such as ‘Cold Sweat’), the focus on groove means ‘Moon Rock’ has minimal chord changes. Variations of E minor and B minor take care of pretty much the whole song.
In the introduction, synth noises come and go in the space unoccupied by vocals. When Byrne’s main vocal begins, the synths disappear allowing him to take centre stage. In the slightly more frantic section starting with “So take your hands out of your pockets”, an additional guitar part enters, sounding like a chirping bird crossed with a beeping, underwater computer. That bubbly energy takes a backseat again as the previous vocal melody returns with “Protons, neutrons.”
Tina Weymouth was the Heads bass player, though Byrne was also credited as playing bass on this album. The playing on this song is certainly typical of Weymouth: minimalistic funk, managing to do an awful lot with few notes. The main line always plays on the One, and balances sustained notes with short stabs.
If every note is the same length, the funk would be minimised. There’s something magic about balancing staccato notes with occasional doses of more sustain. Bass tutors Scott Devine and Ian Allison have talked about this.
The rhythm guitar part, likely played by Jerry Harrison, is like a more jittery, anxious cousin of one of Jimmy Nolen’s. There’s an intriguing balance between the guitar and the bass: the bass is playing the One, and every other bar the guitar leaves that crucial beat alone. It’s about the only sixteenth note the guitar doesn’t play.
Not joining in on the One seems to add to a sense of unease. When Brown’s and Fela’s bands hit the One the hardest, often those moments of relief were so joyous they were comical. You can laugh at the horns on ‘Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag’ or ‘Teacher Don’t Teach Me Nonsense’. ‘Moon Rocks’ is less exuberant. It’s fun, but it’s not jolly. It’s like a comedian who makes great jokes but never laughs. Much of this is due to Byrne’s melodies with uneasy resolutions – even the more softly delivered “I don’t mind / Let me go” is tense.
The unease of Byrne’s melodies is matched by his lyrics: almost as soon as the first lyrical section has finished with “So get up, write it down / You better wait for a while” he seems to contradict that instruction with the bouncy “So take your hands out of your pockets / And get your face adjusted”. The chorus is more playful: “I ate a rock from the moon / Got shocked once, shocked twice / Let’s see what it can do / Man in the moon, moon in the man / I got a rock in my throat”. The sense of adventure mixed with discomfort seems to match the music’s jitterbug energy.
Frantz’s drums on this song are actually pretty straight: his main beat is built on a two-and-four snare part and the drums verge on sounding robotic. Syncopation is left to the bass, the scratchy guitar, and the synthy, squeaking, burbling lead guitar (probably played by Alex Weir, one of the album’s additional musicians). In the agitated “Proton, neutrons” sections, two guitars (possibly Byrne and Harrison) play variations of the scratchy part ever so slightly out of time with each other, adding to song’s twitchiness.
Though six tracks from Speaking in Tongues were part of the setlist for the band’s legendary Stop Making Sense film, ‘Moon Rocks’ was not one of them. The song often goes unmentioned in talk of the album. It’s a mystery – as crazy as flying saucers and levitation.
Today’s funky Friday celebrates Talking Heads. May is a celebratory month for the Heads – happy birthdays to Chris Frantz (8 May) and David Byrne (14 May).
In 1977, Brian Eno introduced Fela Kuti’s Afrodisiac to Talking Heads singer, guitarist and leader David Byrne the same day they met. It proved a crucial intervention. The band were about to get groovy.
Drummer Chris Frantz called James Brown a “tremendous influence on Talking Heads”, and Frantz and Byrne have both talked about the band’s love of P-Funk. (Bernie Worrell was a de facto member of the band in the ’80s). Byrne has also name-checked King Sunny Adé as an influence.
‘I Zimbra’ from 1979’s Fear of Music was a sign of things to come: the dual guitars, the bass hitting the One, and the emphasis on groove over melody.
But it was the following year when the band’s love of groove-centric music really shone. Remain in Light mixed the polyrhythms, syncopation and scratchy guitar of Fela and Brown with the melodies and synthesizers of new wave and Byrne’s agitated lyrics and singing.
Though Eno had departed by the time of 1983’s Speaking in Tongues (he’d later return) and the band self-produced for the first time, the band’s compositions followed a similar groove-over-melody philosophy after a three-year hiatus.
As mentioned in the second part of our discussion of Brown and Fela, Aaron Leitko made a shrewd observation of Fela’s music for Pitchfork: “The music is constantly moving and mutating, but [it] also conveys a sense of stasis. Unlike jazz, the songs aren’t shaped by chord changes or modulations, but the gradual accumulation and subtraction of melodic and rhythmic gestures.” Listening to Fela demands an attention “less concerned with events like verses and choruses and more attuned [to] gradual build-ups and changes in density.”
These characteristics are evident in ‘Moon Rocks’, even if the accumulation and subtraction isn’t as apparent as in Fela’s music. (Talking Heads didn’t have as vast a band, even after they started working with more musicians.) In a similar vein to Fela’s Afrobeat and James Brown’s early funk (such as ‘Cold Sweat’), the focus on groove means ‘Moon Rock’ has minimal chord changes. Variations of E minor and B minor take care of pretty much the whole song.
In the introduction, synth noises come and go in the space unoccupied by vocals. When Byrne’s main vocal begins, the synths disappear allowing him to take centre stage. In the slightly more frantic section starting with “So take your hands out of your pockets”, an additional guitar part enters, sounding like a chirping bird crossed with a beeping, underwater computer. That bubbly energy takes a backseat again as the previous vocal melody returns with “Protons, neutrons.”
Tina Weymouth was the Heads bass player, though Byrne was also credited as playing bass on this album. The playing on this song is certainly typical of Weymouth: minimalistic funk, managing to do an awful lot with few notes. The main line always plays on the One, and balances sustained notes with short stabs.
If every note is the same length, the funk would be minimised. There’s something magic about balancing staccato notes with occasional doses of more sustain. Bass tutors Scott Devine and Ian Allison have talked about this.
The rhythm guitar part, likely played by Jerry Harrison, is like a more jittery, anxious cousin of one of Jimmy Nolen’s. There’s an intriguing balance between the guitar and the bass: the bass is playing the One, and every other bar the guitar leaves that crucial beat alone. It’s about the only sixteenth note the guitar doesn’t play.
Not joining in on the One seems to add to a sense of unease. When Brown’s and Fela’s bands hit the One the hardest, often those moments of relief were so joyous they were comical. You can laugh at the horns on ‘Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag’ or ‘Teacher Don’t Teach Me Nonsense’. ‘Moon Rocks’ is less exuberant. It’s fun, but it’s not jolly. It’s like a comedian who makes great jokes but never laughs. Much of this is due to Byrne’s melodies with uneasy resolutions – even the more softly delivered “I don’t mind / Let me go” is tense.
The unease of Byrne’s melodies is matched by his lyrics: almost as soon as the first lyrical section has finished with “So get up, write it down / You better wait for a while” he seems to contradict that instruction with the bouncy “So take your hands out of your pockets / And get your face adjusted”. The chorus is more playful: “I ate a rock from the moon / Got shocked once, shocked twice / Let’s see what it can do / Man in the moon, moon in the man / I got a rock in my throat”. The sense of adventure mixed with discomfort seems to match the music’s jitterbug energy.
Frantz’s drums on this song are actually pretty straight: his main beat is built on a two-and-four snare part and the drums verge on sounding robotic. Syncopation is left to the bass, the scratchy guitar, and the synthy, squeaking, burbling lead guitar (probably played by Alex Weir, one of the album’s additional musicians). In the agitated “Proton, neutrons” sections, two guitars (possibly Byrne and Harrison) play variations of the scratchy part ever so slightly out of time with each other, adding to song’s twitchiness.
Though six tracks from Speaking in Tongues were part of the setlist for the band’s legendary Stop Making Sense film, ‘Moon Rocks’ was not one of them. The song often goes unmentioned in talk of the album. It’s a mystery – as crazy as flying saucers and levitation.
Today’s funky Friday celebrates Talking Heads. May is a celebratory month for the Heads – happy birthdays to Chris Frantz (8 May) and David Byrne (14 May).
In 1977, Brian Eno introduced Fela Kuti’s Afrodisiac to Talking Heads singer, guitarist and leader David Byrne the same day they met. It proved a crucial intervention. The band were about to get groovy.
Drummer Chris Frantz called James Brown a “tremendous influence on Talking Heads”, and Frantz and Byrne have both talked about the band’s love of P-Funk. (Bernie Worrell was a de facto member of the band in the ’80s). Byrne has also name-checked King Sunny Adé as an influence.
‘I Zimbra’ from 1979’s Fear of Music was a sign of things to come: the dual guitars, the bass hitting the One, and the emphasis on groove over melody.
But it was the following year when the band’s love of groove-centric music really shone. Remain in Light mixed the polyrhythms, syncopation and scratchy guitar of Fela and Brown with the melodies and synthesizers of new wave and Byrne’s agitated lyrics and singing.
Though Eno had departed by the time of 1983’s Speaking in Tongues (he’d later return) and the band self-produced for the first time, the band’s compositions followed a similar groove-over-melody philosophy after a three-year hiatus.
As mentioned in the second part of our discussion of Brown and Fela, Aaron Leitko made a shrewd observation of Fela’s music for Pitchfork: “The music is constantly moving and mutating, but [it] also conveys a sense of stasis. Unlike jazz, the songs aren’t shaped by chord changes or modulations, but the gradual accumulation and subtraction of melodic and rhythmic gestures.” Listening to Fela demands an attention “less concerned with events like verses and choruses and more attuned [to] gradual build-ups and changes in density.”
These characteristics are evident in ‘Moon Rocks’, even if the accumulation and subtraction isn’t as apparent as in Fela’s music. (Talking Heads didn’t have as vast a band, even after they started working with more musicians.) In a similar vein to Fela’s Afrobeat and James Brown’s early funk (such as ‘Cold Sweat’), the focus on groove means ‘Moon Rock’ has minimal chord changes. Variations of E minor and B minor take care of pretty much the whole song.
In the introduction, synth noises come and go in the space unoccupied by vocals. When Byrne’s main vocal begins, the synths disappear allowing him to take centre stage. In the slightly more frantic section starting with “So take your hands out of your pockets”, an additional guitar part enters, sounding like a chirping bird crossed with a beeping, underwater computer. That bubbly energy takes a backseat again as the previous vocal melody returns with “Protons, neutrons.”
Tina Weymouth was the Heads bass player, though Byrne was also credited as playing bass on this album. The playing on this song is certainly typical of Weymouth: minimalistic funk, managing to do an awful lot with few notes. The main line always plays on the One, and balances sustained notes with short stabs.
If every note is the same length, the funk would be minimised. There’s something magic about balancing staccato notes with occasional doses of more sustain. Bass tutors Scott Devine and Ian Allison have talked about this.
The rhythm guitar part, likely played by Jerry Harrison, is like a more jittery, anxious cousin of one of Jimmy Nolen’s. There’s an intriguing balance between the guitar and the bass: the bass is playing the One, and every other bar the guitar leaves that crucial beat alone. It’s about the only sixteenth note the guitar doesn’t play.
Not joining in on the One seems to add to a sense of unease. When Brown’s and Fela’s bands hit the One the hardest, often those moments of relief were so joyous they were comical. You can laugh at the horns on ‘Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag’ or ‘Teacher Don’t Teach Me Nonsense’. ‘Moon Rocks’ is less exuberant. It’s fun, but it’s not jolly. It’s like a comedian who makes great jokes but never laughs. Much of this is due to Byrne’s melodies with uneasy resolutions – even the more softly delivered “I don’t mind / Let me go” is tense.
The unease of Byrne’s melodies is matched by his lyrics: almost as soon as the first lyrical section has finished with “So get up, write it down / You better wait for a while” he seems to contradict that instruction with the bouncy “So take your hands out of your pockets / And get your face adjusted”. The chorus is more playful: “I ate a rock from the moon / Got shocked once, shocked twice / Let’s see what it can do / Man in the moon, moon in the man / I got a rock in my throat”. The sense of adventure mixed with discomfort seems to match the music’s jitterbug energy.
Frantz’s drums on this song are actually pretty straight: his main beat is built on a two-and-four snare part and the drums verge on sounding robotic. Syncopation is left to the bass, the scratchy guitar, and the synthy, squeaking, burbling lead guitar (probably played by Alex Weir, one of the album’s additional musicians). In the agitated “Proton, neutrons” sections, two guitars (possibly Byrne and Harrison) play variations of the scratchy part ever so slightly out of time with each other, adding to song’s twitchiness.
Though six tracks from Speaking in Tongues were part of the setlist for the band’s legendary Stop Making Sense film, ‘Moon Rocks’ was not one of them. The song often goes unmentioned in talk of the album. It’s a mystery – as crazy as flying saucers and levitation.