Before buying this collection of "Popular Favorites" (a play on the standard "Greatest Hits" that's an important semantic change for a group this heady and iconoclastic), I'd only been aware of the Heads late-seventies/early-eighties weirdness through their less-than-accessible singles. I remember growing up, I absolutely hated 'Burning Down the House'. Besides the fact that the video scared my then 8-year old eyes, the song was more jarring and disturbing than what was on the radio in those days. It made me avoid the Heads for a long time after that. Too bad, because there's a lot here that I've since learned to get behind, namely, a preponderance of bleak pop influenced by seventies funk.

First and foremost, the Heads were a post-punk band. Tracks such as 'Memories Can't Wait' and 'Love For Sale' offer proof of this. The former sounds like early-era Seattle grunge, with the inclusion of vocal effects that help David Byrne's voice become more and more pleading as the song moves along. The latter is awash in Clash-style guitar and anger.

But thinking of them only that way is doing this versatile group of musicians a disservice. Sure, the first dozen or so tracks on this collection sound like the work of a more adventuresome and musical innovative punk band. Bassist Tina Weymouth has some huge melodic moments on tracks like 'Psycho Killer'. Drummer Chris Frantz shows his shining but simple skills on 'I Wish You Wouldn't Say That' and 'Warning Sign'. Keyboardist Jerry Harrison exhibits his flair for textures on 'Don't Worry About the Government' and 'Once in a Lifetime'. But that's not nearly the extent of their powers.

They're also a pretty potent jangly pop band. This can be heard all over tracks such as 'Wild Wild Life' (R.E.M. style power pop), 'The Big Country' (which echoes that same band's 'Man on the Moon' and its plaintive country chording and instrumentation), and 'And She Was' (which wouldn't seem out of place on an XTC albums).

But more than anything, Talking Heads are a fine example of post-soul, filtered through a white boy's perspective, tempered with an art schooler's edge. 'This Must be the Place (Naïve Melody)' mines the same regatta de blanc that made the Police a fortune in their heyday (not to mention Men at Work). '(Nothing But) Flowers', with its fretless bass work and happy Afro-rhythms, sounds like "Graceland"-era Paul Simon. But besides sounding like other soul-derivatives, the Heads can sound like authentic soul, and, most surprisingly, like old-school funk.

Beginning from the beginning, the Heads go back to mine gold from African rhythms. Tracks such as 'I Zimbra' and 'Mr. Jones' exemplify this. The latter even mixes in a hot salsa-fied horn section, especially prevalent in the breakdown. They then move on to vintage sixties soul, with songs like 'Blind', which, except for Byrne's distinctive vocals, could easily be mistaken for early James Brown. Throw in a cover of Al Green's 'Take Me to the River' and mention the gospel intro on 'Road to Nowhere', and we're starting to see where the Heads' roots are. Finally, we get to a plethora of examples that show their hardcore funk devotion. 'Crosseyed and Painless' features some meaty slap-and-pop bass. The aforementioned 'Burning Down the House' has a chant-with-me chorus that was written after Frantz attended a particularly hype P-Funk show. And 'Girlfriend is Better' features some Moog work by frequent Heads collaborator (and P-Funk All-Star) Bernie Worrell. In their lighter moments, they even manage to parody eighties-style R&B. The falsetto chorus, harsh bass work, and opulent imagery of 'Gangster of Love' typifying this.

Lyrically, David Byrne seems to have one thing on his mind (or at least this is what *I* got from his words): suburban banality, nihilism, and paranoia. He tells stories that at first listen make you squirm (remember what I said about 'Burning Down the House'?), but like the great lyricists of his era (I'm thinking he stands just a rung below Elvis Costello on the new wave poet's ladder), he fashions images that will haunt you once the song is over. "The band in Heaven they play my favourite song," he wails on 'Heaven'. "Play it once again, play it all night long." It's a good example of the religious traps we set for ourselves. "You may ask yourself, how do I work this?… where is my large automobile," he sings on 'Once in a Lifetime', typifying the confusion and futility of the goal of consumerism (this song, more than any other, makes me realize why the Talking Heads chose such a name; Byrne here sounds like he exists only on a TV screen, shouting platitudes at the audience). The famous refrain from 'Life During Wartime' ("this ain't no party / this ain't no disco / this ain't no fooling around") was taken as a condemnation of disco's banality. But as previously shown, this band's fondness for dance music renders that point moot. Later on in the song Byrne declares that he has "three passports, three visas" but he "doesn't even know [his] real name". The nihilism of the global man, at its peak. My favourite lyrical work has to be 'Stay Up Late', a seemingly innocent poem about a family doting over a new baby, that has destructive undertones: "Now he's comin' to me / Crawl across the kitchen floor / Baby, baby, please let me hold him / I wanna make him stay up all night". It's chilling, that one.

One of the most surprising things about this collection is the intense and intelligent packaging.

The liner notes of disc one feature four essays, one each by the four members of the band. David Byrne's notes include this nugget, which typifies his (and my) views on where the Heads fit in the history of music: "this 'American' aesthetic… belongs to anyone who claims it… who sees the deep zen poetry in James Brown's lyrics, in a juke box, a suburban split-level, a wild hairdo." Would you expect anything less profound from noted Renaissance man Byrne? Later, he talks of his band's early cohabitations, his love for soul music, and his distaste for (but not moral opposition to the general use of) drugs. Chris Frantz' notes talk mostly about the band's formative years, including a story about how they got their name, and then one about how they kept it, even after some failed unsolicited street-side focus grouping. Jerry Harrison writes a very heart-on-his-sleeve essay, thanking the rest of the band for their patience with him during the period after he left the Modern Lovers, when he wasn't sure if another band was a better idea than grad school. Tina Weymouth's piece is an extended list of thanks to those who helped her on the road to stardom, including Bernie Worrell, Brian Eno, "Stop Making Sense" director Jonathan Demme, Muddy Waters, and James Brown.

The liner notes of disc two features credits for each track on the album, as well as a mini anecdote concerning the song's origin. "When I started writing this," Byrne writes about 'Psycho Killer'. "I imagined Alice Cooper doing a Randy Newman-type ballad. Both the Joker and Hannibal Lecter were much more fascinating than the good guys." All the recollections are relevant and fascinating.

While probably two long by half to be a relaxing and enjoyable listening experience (the album is such a marathon of paranoia, you can't get comfortable listening to it), I'd say that wasn't its intended purpose. It's more of a document, outlining the career of the Talking Heads, for better or for worse. Far from your standard 'Greatest Hits' package, indeed.

Recommended: Yes