I approached Byrne's latest with a little trepidation, due to a less than stellar NY Times review, and due to the number of people in the music industry (notably his own former bandmates in Talking Heads) who feel somewhat mistreated by Byrne. I was ready to read something that might be a bit arrogant, but was pleasantly surprised to read a folksy, fun, and exuberantly-written series of essays about how the 21st-century music industry operates, how the disappearance of the physical artifact (CD or LP) will affect that industry, and how the arguments over how live and recorded music should be presented, processed, and marketed have antecedents stretching back into the 19th century.
There are aspects of arrangement of the book's material, and how certain material is presented, that would be less than optimal from my own point of view, but Byrne scores enough grand-slam home runs to merit this book an easy five-star ranking. He approaches some topics with a detached and Zen air that will drive some passionate music lovers crazy, but that is sort of Byrne's point. And his conclusions are usually ones I agree with.
Byrne really is trying to write two books, interspersing dual narratives. He is writing about the history of live performance and the advent of music recording a century ago, and he also wants to provide a partial memoir of his own work with Talking Heads, and as a solo artist. For the latter task, he elected to break the story up into live-performance history, recording-studio history, and scene-making (CBGBs, primarily) history. This may be a little maddening for those who want to sort out a linear history of Talking Heads, but it allows his memoir material to dovetail with his analytical material more effectively. (It also makes it easier for him to avoid talking frankly about how his collaborations with others sometimes dissolved in anger and recrimination - I will give Byrne points for quoting Pitchfork that "Byrne will collaborate with a bag of Doritos," and for titling a subsection "Plays Well with Others" - but he doesn't speak frankly enough about why he sometimes flunked the plays-well-with-others report card).
When talking about the Edison/Victrola recorded device wars of the early 20th century, he shows that the dispute between CD and LP fans over which medium sounds "warmer" is nothing new at all, but decades old. In analyzing the sound qualities of the cathedral and the juke joint, he shows how decisions about the musical instruments to use, the timbre, volume, and pitch, had everything to do with the performance space. In so doing, Byrne utterly rejects the idea that there is a "high art" (symphony hall, opera theater) vs. "low art" (barn dance or Irish pub) distinction to be made - in fact, he rejects the concept that there is "evolution" in music at all (except for the addition of electronic representation), insisting instead that there is only an ebb and flow. The African drum circle is as advanced as Stockhausen, in Byrne's eyes.
This struggle for egalitarian ears and a sense that "it's all good" may outrage some musical purists. Byrne admits that lossy compression such as MP3 has made consumers "crappier listeners," but then goes on to say that the result certainly isn't as bad as the 1960s transitor-radio sound, and that many people may make emotional attachments to music they hear in MP3 format. Similarly, he says that the tendency to initially sample musical phrases and later sample entire musical instrument sound libraries, may lead to vast archives of electronic music made entirely from a laptop, with no "real" musical instrument present. This can outrage traditional musicians, he says, but also allows a flexibility in the portfolios of Girl Talk, DangerMau5, etc. (though it may make it harder for the latter breed of musician to perform in a "live" concert).
What Byrne most adamantly rejects is the notion that a musician or a recording is more "authentic" because it was a scratchy field recording of the Alan Lomax variety, a lo-fi recording of the Pavement/GbV variety, or a live recording of real instruments in an Irish pub. A new kind of authentic behavior is built from inauthenticity, Byrne says, so we should be careful about rejecting anything. (A folkie musician at a live show in my home town had to put up with a woman in the audience constantly putting down hip-hop, and he finally said, "Maybe you just need to grow a new pair of ears.")
Byrne provides technology chapters to explain how music itself, and the task of recording it, was digitized and formatted in a way that was bound to eliminate the archival devices, just as the online world is slowly making the printed book fade from memory. He makes few technical mistakes in describing this, and scores wonderful observations regarding how technology changes both the emotional response to music, and the sense of music's texture and layering. He also provides an extended chapter on the business of being a musician in an era where the record label is disappearing. In the process of discussing six contractual business models, he is remarkably frank about the costs he entailed in making some of his own recent recordings, and which business methods proved profitable. He holds up Aimee Mann as an example of someone willing to try unusual business models for marketing and distribution, though he warns that an extreme DIY (do-it-yourself) model can be very expensive for the emerging musician, particularly if the musician is a business neophyte.
The chapters following the hard-headed 21st-century business analysis were a bit of a letdown. I loved the intent of his chapter on amateur music-festival presentations and funding models for getting amateur music underwritten, but the examples he chose seemed scattershot. What made the 'Amateurs!' chapter such a pleasure to read, even if only a partial success as a guide, was its denunciation of the arts-council aristocracy that only wants to legitimize the "high art" of concert hall. (Byrne loves to point out that the original Italian and German opera audiences were comprised of a bunch of uncouth loudmouths, often less polite than the moshers in the worst punk clubs.)
The final chapter, 'Harmonia Mundi,' had a great intent in pulling together global music trends, but I think he could have opted for a more analytical study of cross-cultural resonances. The analysis of Kepler's "music of the spheres" seemed a bit dated and almost alchemical, if not hippie-dippie. But he included a section on mirror-neurons and the rise of the empathic consciousness, so the book does not conclude in a full fizzle.
The most satisfying aspect of the book was not merely that Byrne likes all kinds of music from all kinds of cultures. Many writers on music agree with that. Byrne goes a step farther by discussing all aspects of music presentation, music recording, and the false claims of authenticity raised by many curators. The penniless blues musician sought by Lomax in the Mississippi Delta, and the billion-selling dancey-pop artist relying on all-electronic music libraries, both display different forms of authenticity in Byrne's eyes (and ears). This will be the aspect of the book that drives music purists mad. Maybe they just need to grow a new pair of ears.