David Byrne’s Who Is The Sky? Tour: A Gleeful Display of Politicized Whimsy
Design by Kristen Lee
By Mimi Newman
A lot of artists love to talk a big game about spreading joy, but few (if any) have managed to embody that message as wholeheartedly as David Byrne does on his Who Is The Sky? tour. Now 73, Byrne has certainly had a couple of trips around the block when it comes to touring and is no stranger to creative staging, so maybe it’s unsurprising that Who Is The Sky? does such an excellent job of balancing a polished, high-concept production with a true sense of human intimacy, but it’s an impressive feat nonetheless. The whole two hour show, and the album of the same name, are ultimately cut from the same cloth as the rest of Byrne’s numerous projects: cheerful nonsense with a heartfelt message.
Clearly inspired by Byrne’s 2018 American Utopia tour, the staging of Who Is The Sky? is relatively simplistic: the band and backing dancers, as well as David himself, all emerge onto the stage of the Wang Theater dressed in what looks like bright blue construction work uniforms; the percussionists all hold their instruments marching band style, and Byrne himself wears a wireless mic, so that not a single performer is stuck in one place. It all feels remarkably democratic, with Byrne often blending in with the other performers and everyone on stage having at least one moment in the spotlight, which in and of itself feels like a political statement. Bassist Kely Pinheiro was a particular standout, being met with resounding applause every time she took center stage. There seems to be a complete lack of egotism on stage; every performer, Byrne included, is on equal footing, and they all just look to be having a genuinely good time. Between the bright blue outfits and the background visuals displayed on floor-to-ceiling screens, ranging from a field of wheat to roughly-sketched cartoon characters to the inside of Byrne’s own apartment, the whole scene has the feel of a rather strange, yet undeniably charming, children’s TV show.
As for the music itself, the most whimsical moments on Who Is The Sky? make up for the album’s slower, more self-indulgent second half. The album tracks that make it onto the setlist are expertly chosen, peppered in amongst Talking Heads classics and some of the highlights from Byrne’s previous solo projects, so that the set neither drags nor feels like a money-grab nostalgia fest. After opening with a stripped-back rendition of Heads’ “Heaven”, the full 13-member ensemble emerges and launches into “Everybody Laughs,” the delightfully upbeat opener to Who Is The Sky? What follows is two hours of pure joy, with even the more subdued album tracks being accompanied by such engaging visuals that the audience’s attention never wavers—even if a lot of them have probably only given the album a cursory listen, and are really there for the old stuff. Fan favorites like “And She Was” and “This Must Be The Place” make an appearance earlier on, but Byrne really indulges the audience with the epic three-song run of Heads’ greatest hits that closes out the set: A slowed-down, spooky “Psycho Killer,” followed by an explosive rendition of “Life During Wartime” (a strong contender for the show’s best moment), and the much-beloved “Once in a Lifetime” ending the show with the whole seated-tickets-only crowd on their feet. It’s a cacophony of post-punk guitars, flawless funk baselines, and the kind of delightfully weird art-pop lyricism that David Byrne clearly still has a gift for.
For the most part, Byrne lets the music speak for itself, but the moments when he does talk in between songs add a surprising amount of intimacy to an impressively polished production. His monologues about COVID self-isolation, attending Quaker meetings in New York, and pondering if LSD really is the path to happiness all feel personal and genuine enough to make you feel like David Byrne is just your loveably strange friend, rather than a world-famous rockstar.
But while Byrne never explicitly preaches to his audience, the message of his show is resoundingly clear, and summed up perfectly by Byrne’s declaration that “love and kindness are the most punk things you can do right now.” As cliché as it is, the space that Byrne creates for those two hours truly does feel like an escape from all the doom and gloom of the real world. Even in its heaviest, most politicised moments—such as the final chorus of “Life During Wartime,” when footage of protesters clashing with police flashes on the screens—the audience and performers alike seem alight with glee. The idea of joy being a politically radical act somehow doesn’t feel cliché when you’re fully immersed in the bizarre, colorful world of David Byrne’s genius. Maybe there’s no way to explain the power of it that isn’t utterly eyeroll-inducing, but through some strange parasocial magic, you are left with a sense that Byrne is simply a nice guy—that he truly cares about making the world better, and truly believes in the power of his art to do so. That maybe it’s possible for everything to be slightly less terrible than the world outside would have you believe. While his audience demographic at the Wang Theater may be a stark change from his CBGB days, the manic whimsy and heartfelt messaging that made Talking Heads great is still alive and well in David Byrne.