Sunday Morning Music: Flashback 1984
Consider, the greatest love song of all time:
I am tempted to post all of the lyrics along with this, because it is my personal philosophy made manifest. You should just listen to the song a few dozen times instead of me breaking it down and likely ruining it for you.
As I've been feeling ill all this weekend, taken down by some mysterious stomach virus probably contracted from the Pittsburgh Transit System, I haven't been able to do much but lay around and complain.
But one should never underestimate the power of David Byrne.
I put Stop Making Sense into my DVD player, made sure it was on the beautiful 5.1 remastered version, and halfway through I'm already feeling better. Perhaps it's just me that finds obtuse pictures of hotel rooms, Byrne flopping around on the floor, twitching, and harsh lighting under faces to be comforting. Yeah, it's probably just me.
If you're lucky, I may someday reveal my theory and proofs about how David Byrne is actually an alien sent here to observe humans. This is why he gives the best life advice.
(And just so it's on the record: Chris, Tina and the Tom Tom Club, you can suck it. That rift simply proved where the genius lay. I would suggest that you skip the Tom Tom Club song while watching SMS, but it's cruical to know how very terrible they are without David Byrne. Don't skip it. Simmer in it. Be afraid.)
Kristin
Addendum: I just found one of the special features of Stop Making Sense in entirety on YouTube, wherein David Byrne interviews himself. I cannot convey how much I love this man.
