1978: The Year After Punk

If ’77 was the year British and American punk rockers challenged the status quo, 1978—the year after punk—was a more complicated time. First of all, music producers, record companies and radio stations were frothing at the mouth for something new after the surprise popularity (and infamy) of groups like the Ramones and Sex Pistols. Deals were signed with groups that had very little time to develop their musicianship, but also with artists that didn’t quite fit the punk stereotype: wayward proggers, pop songsmiths and R&B new wavers. Not a lot of people could tell the difference. That’s why a person like Elvis Costello was long categorized as part of the punk movement in spite of his debut album sounding more like Hank Williams than Johnny Rotten.

A lot of the greatness of ’78 comes from its placement at the apex of several competing movements in popular music, which just happened to coincide with a generally conservative turn in society. Artists that burst onto the scene in the late seventies thanks to the punk rollout could see that the ‘70s life of free experimentation, national liberalism, and musical diversity was coming to a quick close. As documented in Simon Reynolds’ award-winning book, Rip it Up and Start Again, the post-punkers made a decidedly apocalyptic stab at changing the direction of pop music before it was too late. But what we call post-punk doesn’t do justice to all that was up at the time. 1978 saw the debut of one of America’s greatest songwriters, Prince, as well as one of Britain’s most celebrated and derided synth-heroes, Gary Numan. It witnessed the continued and divergent experiments of the American underground idol, Lou Reed, and one of the true geniuses of electronic music, Larry Fast of Synergy. ’78 also gave us the second album from a New York band teetering on the brink of making avant-garde rock something anyone could dance to.

Over the next few weeks, I’m going to survey the work of these artists during this crucial year, and I hope you’ll share your favorite albums from ’78 with us. So, to get a move on:

Talking Heads, More Songs About Buildings and Food

By 1978, Talking Heads had already released an album that secured their place in pop music history. Their debut album, 77, backed by a snazzy photo of very serious-looking nerds who just happened to be the band, is doubtlessly one of the coolest things ever. But they hadn’t yet garnered a hit, and it was their second album, More Songs About Buildings and Food that proved their lasting power as they dug in their heels and really started to define where their sound would be going in the years to come. Together by this time for four years, the Heads added an unofficial member to the group, the ubiquitous genius of seventies experimental rock, Brian Eno. It may have been Eno’s influence that pushed the band toward a more atypical, peculiarly challenging sound, but the original Heads were already a tight, forward-thinking group that embraced new rhythms, complicated structures, and good old-fashioned neurosis — so it’s hard to tell who is to credit for the shift taking place on this record.

For all its strangeness, it’s good to think ahead that the album (and the Heads themselves) became part of popular consciousness with their hit cover of Al Green’s “Take Me to the River,” a tune that Byrne still plays live to this day. Supremely palatable, “Take Me to the River” brought a lot of people on board for a ride they may otherwise have never given a chance. During the troubled race relations of the latter ‘70s, when the largely African-American neighborhood of the Bronx was going up in flames, many former black leadership groups devolved into street gangs, and suburban whites increasingly railed against social programs, busing, and inner city crime, the musical spectrum was as divided as ever along race lines. Long gone were the rock-and-roll days of interchange between black and white songwriters. Along came this tune, a famous soul tune, played with passion and honesty by an arty white band from New York.

From the rave-up start of “Thank You for Sending Me an Angel,” and the restrained funk of “With Our Love,” the group sounds like it is still feeling out the territory of their first record. The jangled, hopped-up ramble of David Byrne’s lyrics come off as a tape recording of an upper-middle class so-and-so yammering at his psychoanalyst. But it sticks. There’s something distant and voyeuristic about the way these early Byrne characters approach the world, and it gives the listener the feeling that we’re all in on some kind of joke together.

Then the production begins to take center stage. “The Good Thing,” a song that juxtaposes lilting, sing-song verses with a dark, haunting chorus, gives the impression of a child on a sugar-rush dancing to James Brown. “Warning Sign” spills over into a sweeping, cartoon neurosis that prefigures their later hit, “Once in a Lifetime.” The jumpy “Girls Want to Be With the Girls” is followed by one of my all-time favorite songs, the let’s-make-our-own-TV-shows march of “Found a Job.” By the end of side one, they’ve mapped out the course of new wave music: challenging, intellectual, and more often than not, danceable.

Side two features the songs “Stay Hungry” and “Artists Only,” a pair that are quintessentially Talking Heads. It’s hard not to see the influence of these songs in recent albums by The Killers, Arcade Fire, and TV on the Radio. “I’m Not in Love” features more of a thrash spirit than any other tune on the album. Finally, “The Big Country” maps out the dreamy territory that many of their later songs (like “Heaven” and a few off their last albums) would inhabit. But what most stands out through the record is the bubbling-up of new tendencies: a sharper focus on taking chances, the arrival of the synthesizer as a part of the group’s sound, and a surprising pop sensibility.