Dear David Byrne,

Let it be known that I resisted your music for quite a long time. That one summer when I worked at a potpourri-scented Hallmark was enough to make me turn away from you forever. Each time a customer walked in and the Singing Billy Bass would wake up, I wanted to drop-kick that fish and curse you. “Take Me to the River,” at least 15 times a shift.

Coincidentally, that summer job paid for my first computer in college, the computer on which your song “Look Into the Eyeball” was part of the Windows Media Player package. Only a lame musician would get mixed up in that marketing arrangement, I surmised.

Then, a complete change of opinion - or a new pair of ears. A mere two years after poo-pooing all that you contributed to this world, I was sitting in a friend’s living room and he put on an old Talking Heads album. All he had to do was to turn up the volume, and my entire perception of you changed. With those African rhythms backing voices calling out peculiar lyrics, we were soon putting down our fruit punch and pretzels and all three of us in the room were up on our feet, dancing around. I couldn’t tell you which album it was, but the point is...

 

THERE I WAS last Thursday, clapping and whooping and smiling. And you - in a tutu! And I will never forget it, and I am

Forever yours,
Elizabeth