Talking Heads always trucked in alienation and subversion, but here the message is less about shaking things up than about an insidious injection of perspective.
Perspective comes in the form of eroding heaven's appeal, in chipping away at human superiority to animals, as reminders about the first-world nature of our problems, at undermining escapism's promise of change. Little by little, you're lowered into the warm bath of existence as it is, even as it grows cold. Even album-opening I Zimba's non-Wester polyrhythms, while musically a red herring, are decidedly in line with this theme, dropping you outside your comfort zone, if just for a moment.
Musically, the mix is dark and rich, with few of the popping new-wave angles, settling into a simmering region of post punk, grappling rather than punching, pulling you to the mat, and blurring the line between a submission hold and a firm spooning, as you drift off to a tough love sleeper hold slumber 4/5
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