HETERO, GUN TOMORROW
When word first leaked that Talking Head honcho David Byrne was slated to produce the new B-52�s album, it made about as big a splash as Cartoonland�s first mute penguin. Pairing Barney Google with such an impeccably trashy, intentionally fun outfit sounded like the snorestorm of the year.
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LIKE ARCHEOLOGY, DIG?
B-52�s
Mesopotamia
(Warner Bros.)
Rick Johnson
by
When word first leaked that Talking Head honcho David Byrne was slated to produce the new B-52�s album, it made about as big a splash as Cartoonland�s first mute penguin. Pairing Barney Google with such an impeccably trashy, intentionally fun outfit sounded like the snorestorm of the year. B-52�s fans everywhere took Shirley Feeney�s advice and said grace under the table.
I think it�s OK to come out now. Byrne has pretty much kept his mitts off the merchandise, sticking to separating and defining activities as though he had one monstrous orb on the charts.
No problem there. The most popular fear—that he�d riddle the product with jungle jelly or Bush Of Ghosts scare tactics—turned out to be dud fear. There are some extra percussion sounds and special effects, but not enough to make you feel like you�re at a pygmy acidhead reunion.
The runner-up fear sprouted from the press release that announced the $5.99 list price of this disc. Amid the economic flak and �groundswell of demand� figures was a seemingly harmless closing remark by group mgr. Gary Kurfirst that appeared in many publications: �(The $5.99 list) allowed them to be more experimental from a musical standpoint.�
More experimental is one of those phrases you don�t like to hear applied to a record, like �bold and uncompromising� or �as long as your arm.� It usually means the artist, like California growers, is awash in avacados.
No need for panic though, as Mesopotamia veers little from the group�s previous efforts. The big beat is still in confident control. Cindy still wails as if her application to chiroforestry school has been unjustly denied. Kate washes her keyboards regularly and guitar man Wilson scratches for his Tender Vittles.
These bombers do dance this Mesopotamia around, applying their trademark snakey rhythms strongly enough to rattle the frames of all six cuts. Byrne�s juggled the outfield a bit, sketching in percussive intros and leaving more airspace for oddball noises, including a heartfelt zzznni, the beloved yonk-patooie and the previously thought to be extinct zeet^eet-zeet.
Biggest difference, though, is the unaccounted-for disappearance of vocalist Fired Schneider. No sense mounting a Fred-is-dead campaign yet—he still gets his licks into �Throw That Beat In The Garbage Can� and manages some of his patented advice-to-grade-schoolers tongue in the title cut. I can see now that Herman Munster must have been referring to Fred in his famous �no water-cooler Casanova� speech.
On Mesopotamia, then Kate and Cindy are the stars of the show, Kate .as writer and Cindy as singer. Their additional two-ply harmonies on �Nip. It In The Bud� sound good enough to be their first really big hit, if somebody would go kill a lot of program directors. And their wacko conversation about devil-or-angelfood in �Cake� carries enough sex appeal to guarantee more than casual �round laundry� status.
Undeniably cost-effective at $5.99. Dealers: pitch to B-52�s pigeons and similar ilk; others deserve a singing Ford dealer.
