Hello! Thank you for signing up to, or stumbling on, this no-news-newsletter written by me, Ashley Clark. If you do choose to subscribe—and it’s free—you’ll receive bulletins about whatever’s on my mind: usually some combination of art/film/music/literature/football. If that sounds good, hit the button!
Last week it was announced that film distribution/production company A24 would soon theatrically re-release Jonathan Demme’s classic Stop Making Sense (1984), a thrilling and inventive documentary record of Talking Heads in concert. I’m looking forward to seeing the film on a big screen again.
Reading the news reminded me, though, that there is another excellent Talking Heads concert movie, Talking Heads in concerto (1980), filmed in Rome, Italy shortly after the release of the band’s LP “Remain in Light”. The touring line-up at that time included the four core members of the band—David Byrne, Tina Weymouth, Chris Frantz, and Jerry Harrison—alongside guitarist Adrian Belew, second bass player Busta Jones, backing vocalist Dolette McDonald, plus percussionist Steve Scales and keyboard maverick Bernie Worrell, who would both appear in Stop Making Sense. (As I’ve previously written about in this letter, Worrell’s 1978 solo LP “All The Woo in the World” contains one of my favorite songs of all time.)
YouTuber TenaciousBasterd kindly uploaded the film over a decade ago, and I recommend giving it a watch. It’s a great companion piece to Stop Making Sense—rawer, more aggressive, more businesslike, but equally invigorating. My favorite cut here is the expansive rendition of “Drugs” from “Fear of Music”, in which Dolette McDonald's backing vocals really shine through. (A similar version can be heard on Talking Heads’ essential live LP “The Name of This Band is Talking Heads”, recorded across 1980 and 1981.)
I’d like to keep on a vague Italy x music theme, but to do that, I first need to reintroduce you to the once-ubiquitous Fabio, the Italian male model who, in 1999, was famously struck in the face by a goose while riding on the Apollo’s Chariot rollercoaster in Virginia’s Busch Gardens theme park:
You probably knew that already—and poor guy, by the way; poor, dead goose!—but did you know that Fabio, in addition to his sterling work as a cover star of erotic literature and being the face of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, also released a 17-track LP called “Fabio After Dark” in 1993?
It’s really, really strange stuff: a collection of stilted, spoken-word ponderings from Fabio laid over blocky, smooth jazz backing music that sounds like it’s been lifted straight from the Streets of Rage 2 soundtrack, interspersed with romantically-inclined songs licensed from other musicians, including Billy Ocean’s “Suddenly” and Kenny G’s “Songbird”. For just one example, try “On Films”, in which Fabio offers his thoughts on the erotic potential of a medium then in rude health:
“I wish there were more romantic films
Because romantic films can lead to…
Beautiful adventures
After we’ve left the theatre”
Listen closely, and you can hear a leering grin curl upwards on Fabio’s mouth as he says “the theatre”, while in the background the keyboard player throws in a little pitch-bent, orgasmic widdle.
Or here he is “On Tropical Islands”:
“We seem to have it all to ourselves
Just me, and my special lady
There are noooooo phones to intrude on us
Fish from the water, fruits from the trees, and wonderful silence”
It would be tempting to write off “Fabio After Dark” as Worst Album Ever material—and many have—but for me, it’s weird and singular enough to deserve more than mere derision. What else sounds like it? What else could possibly strike this ultimately inscrutable combination of lascivious, innocent, and inane? (It certainly foxed Al Roker, who interviewed Fabio about the album upon release.) In this respect, “Fabio After Dark” is not entirely unlike Tommy Wiseau’s 2003 film The Room, which has become a comic-cult item at which audiences line up around the block to cackle, but that is actually deeply odd, and more than just a bad movie—a friend brilliantly described The Room as resembling a very earnest alien’s take on heterosexual male-female relationships.
“Fabio After Dark” was marketed as the “soundtrack for a perfect evening with a special lady,” and maybe—who knows?—it did the trick for some. For me, it’s a high-level curiosity where even the cover art is slightly off (why is it shot in broad daylight?); a lightly Lynchian, lightning-in-a-bottle landmark of a more innocent era.
I have to “run” now, but I can’t leave you without throwing in a couple more variations on this week’s very loose theme—Italy and music—that, in case you hadn’t guessed, emerged only moments before I sat down to type.
Here is a song that I became obsessed with during the first pandemic lockdown, “no14” by tha Supreme (ft. Dani Faiv), a simultaneously twinkly and thumping Italian rap track that featured on the soundtrack of FIFA 21, a video game I played incessantly for months on end when we weren’t allowed to go outside. I still have no idea what the song is about, and it took a while to grow on me. Give it a go, and see what you think. You might end up liking it as much as I do, or as much as this guy in this very entertaining reaction video does:
And last but not least, here’s a laid-back, drive-time banger from “Keeping Up” favorite Lucio Battisti, “Con il nastro rosa”, the closing track from 1980 LP “Una giornata uggiosa”. Enjoy, and I’ll see you next week!
Thank you for reading. Please consider subscribing to this newsletter if you’ve yet to do so, or, if you have, spreading the word. I appreciate it!