Slippery People

Built around a guitar lick that sounds like it was borrowed from a church that had been fundamentally altered by something, "Slippery People" channels the spiritual architecture of gospel and soul into something altogether more slanted and strange. The rhythm is deep and insistent, with bass and drums creating a physical gravity that the guitars ride on top of rather than anchor. Byrne's vocal here is one of his most physically committed performances, full of sudden emphases and an almost preacherly urgency — he's inhabiting the role of someone who has something important to tell you but isn't entirely sure the words will be adequate to the task. Al Green's influence hovers over the track without being imitated; rather than copying soul, the band seems to have internalized its structural logic and then run it through their particular filter of displacement and intellectual anxiety. The production is clean but not clinical, with enough space in the mix for each element to breathe without losing the collective momentum. The lyrics deal with the fundamental unreliability of people, the way trust is built on a surface that won't hold still, but the framing is more exhortation than complaint. It's one of the moments where Talking Heads most successfully made the conceptual feel embodied. This is music for a warm night when you want something that moves both your body and the part of your brain that won't stop asking questions.