Still hot. Here’s a song for a summer’s day.
The Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense may be the greatest concert movie ever made. It’s just so much fun. I don’t think I’ve seen any band have such an obviously brilliant time on stage as the late-period expanded line-up of Talking Heads – a 9-person group, black and white, male and female. Not even Sly & the Family Stone before Sly’s drug use got heavy. When, at the end of Burning Down the House, David Byrne and Alex Weir begin running on the spot together while playing their guitars, it’s such a perfect little moment of childlike enthusiasm that it makes me a little misty. It’s so great that music can feel so good, be so uplifting. The joy is infectious; unlikely fans of band and film included the 65-year-old Pauline Kael, grande dame of American film critics, who called it “close to perfection”.
By the time of Stop Making Sense, Tom Tom Club – the band formed by Talking Heads’ husband-and-wife rhythm section Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth to tap into the same kind playful joy as Stop Making Sense – had already put out their first two albums, including their beloved debut, with its even more beloved singles, Wordy Rappinghood and Genius of Love.
As great as both of those are, though, I’d never heard the rest of the album until a couple of summers ago when Mel and I were having breakfast in the Soul Café in Liverpool. They were playing some really cool music (I mean, really cool) – great disco and soul and rare-groove stuff – and then they started playing what sounded like Tom Tom Club covering Under the Boardwalk.
It was Tom Tom Club covering Under the Boardwalk, and really, this band and this song are a very good match. Tom Tom Club were founded on the idea of music as an inclusive exercise (that’s why they called themselves Tom Tom Club, says Weymouth – the idea being that anyone could join), and music doesn’t get more inclusive or more fun than Under the Boardwalk.
The drum sound from that first Tom Tom Club album (and that of Genius of Love specifically) is so frequently sampled that it’s now just an ever-present part of pop culture; whenever you hear Mariah Carey’s Fantasy, Mark Morrison’s Return of the Mack or Ice Cube’s Bop Gun, you’re hearing Chris Frantz. It’s an instantly addictive combination of sound and groove. Under the Boardwalk marries that loping beat and Tina Weymouth’s unaffectedly childlike vocal to even a better song than Wordy Rappinghood or Genius of Love. No wonder this became the first version of Under the Boardwalk to reach the UK Top 40 singles chart.
While you’re here, can I trouble you to listen to this? It’s my new EP, available now (that’s NOW) from Bandcamp, iTunes, Spotify, Tidal, Google Play, Apple Music, and wherever you stream/download your music.