As an artist, David Byrne has spent decades dazzling listeners with showy theatrics, while subtly disguising his role as a commercial popsmith. Byrne‘s latest record, Who Is the Sky?, does a great deal to rectify this transgression by showcasing a work rippling with commercial and colorful sensibilities. It belongs to a burgeoning genre of music that could be classified as “Post-COVID Rock”, considering the themes of society, family, unity, and general togetherness swim through this fine album.
Take “A Door Called No”, a gentle Scott Walker-esque ballad painted from head to toe in optimism and bouncy guitars. It’s swiftly followed by the mariachi-inflected “What Is the Reason For It?”, in which Byrne espouses the virtues of love through his best Arthur Lee impression. Having purportedly spent much of the coronavirus outbreak preparing meals, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that cuisine plays a significant role in “I Met the Buddha at a Downtown Party”, backed by a bass hook that delightfully echoes the sunnier patterns Bill Wyman performed on Their Satanic Majesties Request.
Byrne is ably supported by Ghost Train Orchestra, tastily fleshing out the world-building with a flurry of shimmering strings. By the time the erstwhile Talking Head singer addresses the avant-garde on “The Avant Garde”, it’s done with tongue very firmly stuck in cheek. “For a life that’s exciting if one wants to go far,” he croons, suggesting that the lines between rock genres exist in the minds of the trendy press alone.
Occasionally, the general sunniness and bonhomie can come across as disingenuous, particularly the overtly jovial “Everybody Laughs”. “Everyone we know, and everything you want,” come the chirpy words, with little of the intelligence commonly heard in Byrne’s catalogue. Mercifully, things quickly correct themselves with “When We Are Singing”, the album’s most succinct and successful hybrid number. It packs a number of ideas, tempos, and genres into the three-minute runtime; a gesture that will surely please fans of the Remain in Light period.
Byrne pushes his vocal abilities on “My Apartment Is My Friend”, a frenzied power ballad that combines acoustic textures with techno-laden passages. In typical Byrnesque fashion, he lets nearly 30 seconds of instrumentation wash over the audience before the vocals return, and he lifts the spirits with jocular sing-along humor.
Byrne, now a septuagenarian, can deliver pathos with greater conviction than previously, and this is apparent on the yearning grooves of “I’m an Outsider”. Sung in an almost whispery vocal, the guitarist-turned-conceptualist delivers a forlorn melody in which the protagonist searches for an entry in a domain where the doors are permanently shut.
By contrast, “She Explains Things to Me” seems much more purposeful and hopeful, a pop piece bolstered by jiving guitars and orchestral flourishes. It wouldn’t be too hard to interpret the number on one level as a tribute to Brian Wilson, given how much the Beach Boys bassist’s fingerprints can be heard during the chorus.
While “Everybody Laughs” is the one out-and-out stinker, “Moisturizing Thing” similarly feels a little too clever for its own good, developing an arch arrogance that has become too commonplace in Wes Anderson cinema in recent years, as seen in The French Dispatch. Even the addition of an arbitrary f-bomb barely makes the track listening as an exercise in despair or desperation. Instead, it’s ham-fisted and glib, but two tunes scarcely spoil an otherwise strong album.
The closing track, “The Truth”, showcases Byrne going down in flames, a jazz-flavored aria that explores the full range of contradictions within the singer’s arsenal. For all the quirkiness, he is, like most singers, an artist floating on nerves and truth, and when he gets it right, he really gets it just right.