As Talking Heads (Briefly) Re-Unite: My Early Encounter

In the studio in 1976 and helping pick their first publicity photo.

Greg Mitchell is the author of a dozen books and now writer/director of award-winning films. He was also the longtime executive editor of the legendary Crawdaddy. And see his popular new newsletter devoted to The Bomb in the wake of “Oppenheimer.” His two newsletters remain free when you subscribe.

A few weeks back, I revealed here that a remixed and 4K version of Jonathan Demme’s Stop Making Sense was in the works. Last night, it dropped at the Toronto International Film Festival, with all four members of the Talking Heads on stage (photo above) to talk about it with Spike Lee. He called it the greatest concert film ever, though The Last Waltz fans will surely disagree. The Heads have not exactly seen eye-to-eye or danced cheek to cheek for quite some time, so the “reunion” was noteworthy in itself. Here is a full account at Rolling Stone today, and one at The New York Times, and new trailer for film:

Demme, until his sad passing, was my homeboy here in Nyack for many years, but I have another surprising Heads connection. So I will, below, tell my little tale of going into the studio with the just-emerging Heads, as they recorded a demo for a little thing we like to call “Psycho Killer.” Enjoy, then subscribe, it’s still free, for this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no foolin’ around.

Out in California in mid-1976 there was a new indie label called Beserkley, based in, well, you can guess.  Their first release was a collection of tunes—more “power pop” than punk--by several artists who had not yet released full albums, including Greg Kihn and Earthquake, titled Chartbusters.  Their most intriguing comrade was Jonathan Richman, who was viewed as more in the punk vein because of his earlier work with a cult group called the Modern Lovers, sort of Velvet Underground wannabes up in Boston. 

The Lovers’ only album—which featured an ode to “Pablo Picasso” (he was “not an asshole/not like you”) quickly disappeared and Jonathan had been silent for awhile.  So his re-emergence on Chartbusters, with three tunes, including an updated and very rocking version of his best known song, “Roadrunner,” was kind of a big deal, at least for the cognoscenti.  Here’s the original “Roadrunner” on the Lovers’ album:

Since I loved the Jonathan stuff, I decided to interview the reputedly eccentric owner of the new label, Matthew King Kaufman, with hopes of getting to Richman.  Over the phone, Kaufman—who hailed from Baltimore and claimed to have dropped out of law school--was highly entertaining, boastful, mysterious about Jonathan, but cooperative enough to supply plenty of fodder for an interesting little Crawdaddy piece.  Beserkley would be re-releasing that early Modern Lovers album and a new solo lp from Richman in the near future.

When Kaufman came to New York, he invited me to run around town with him in a limo.  First stop: a recording studio out on Long Island, in Great Neck.  The band: a two man, one woman, arty sort of assemblage called the Talking Heads.  We had just written about them opening for The Ramones at CBGB, with wide-eyed bassist Tina Weymouth explaining:  “We have to raise the volume when we do, or we’ll sound like mosquitos.”

Kaufman, a skinny guy with short hair who had just turned thirty, was thinking of signing the Heads and they’d agreed to cut a demo.  So I sat by as they recorded a song I’d never heard (not being an early CBGB devotee), the catchy and freaky “Psycho Killer,” and two other tunes, “Artists Only” and “First Week, Last Week.” Here’s a demo from that year probably from another source, and then the Heads at CBGB in 1975:

How they had been doing it live at CBGBs before that:

In the control room afterward, the group’s hyperactive lead singer, David Byrne, had a request.  They’d just had photos taken for their first publicity photo.  Would I mind looking at the contact sheet and help them pick a winner?  I guess they were asking for professional advice.  I had selected dozens of magazine cover photos in my life so why not help?

So I looked over a glossy sheet of maybe two dozen shots of the three preppy-looking members (David, Tina and drummer Chris Frantz) and made a choice, although it was not clear-cut: They had a nice mix of faces. As I recall, this was it, or very similar:

Byrne thanked me profusely, and off they went with my best wishes. 

Done with that heavy lifting, Kaufman hauled me off to Belmont Park to catch a couple of late horse races.  Then, back in the limo—he was playing mogul all the way, wearing shades the whole time--and a return to Manhattan. “Ever hear that banned Phil Spector record?” he asked.  Well, no.  Kaufman took out a cassette.  It was the infamous “He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)” by Phil’s group The Crystals, co-written by--of all people--Carole King.  At that point it wouldn’t have surprised me if Kaufman brandished a pistol but at least he wasn’t snorting coke off the back seat. 

The upshot: Talking Heads did not sign with Beserkley as Kaufmann felt they needed more time to develop before cutting an album. But Seymour Stein grabbed them.  I never did chat with Richman, but I started to lose interest anyway when it became clear that his musical tastes had turned, how to put it, childlike, with sing-song songs like “Ice Cream Man.”  One of my friends at the time, Bob Spitz (later a bestselling author),  promoted Jonathan’s first concert in New York at Town Hall and it was a charming if lightweight affair.   A few years on, Jonathan sang between scenes in the hit film, There’s Something About Mary, boosting his career, and Greg Kihn had a couple of top-40 hits for Beserkley. 

Talking Heads were now clearly on their way to the big time, at first using the P.R. photo that I had picked out. But they soon switched to a different Heads shot: ex-Modern Lover guitarist Jerry Harrison had joined the band.