David Byrne arrived at the Rhode Island School of Design in the mid-1970s, a Scottish-born transplant who'd already hitchhiked across the country, and there he found Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth and a stage waiting at the Bowery club CBGB for a band strange enough to matter. Talking Heads specialized in what Byrne later called "twitchy, angsty songs" — nervy, declamatory, visually spare — sharing punk's do-it-yourself defiance without sounding remotely like it. The turn came in 1980: recording Remain in Light with producer Brian Eno, the band rebuilt its songs around African polyrhythm and funk, trading verse-chorus tension for looping, ensemble-built grooves. Byrne kept absorbing new material afterward — Japanese Noh theater for his stagecraft, Baptist trance and Santeria ritual for his choreography — until the band's art-school jitters had become something closer to a world band that happened to sing in English.
Brian Eno kept Fela Kuti's 1973 album Afrodisiac in constant rotation while the band prepared Remain in Light, and passed his enthusiasm straight to Byrne. Byrne later admitted the connection outright: on "The Great Curve," he said, "we tried to do a Fela-type groove and then kind of take it in another direction — there are some sections that are straight Afrobeat riffs and stuff." The debt runs deeper than one track — a shelved studio jam later released as "Fela's Riff" borrows its keyboard figure directly from the horn line that opens Afrodisiac's "Alu Jon Jonki Jon."
listen forFela Kuti's "Alu Jon Jonki Jon" locks an insistent horn riff against layered, interlocking percussion, never settling on a downbeat you can predict in advance. "The Great Curve" runs the same trick with guitars and voices standing in for horns: interlocking rhythm-guitar parts, chanted backing vocals, and Byrne's own vocal entering off the beat, all stacked into one circling groove built to run for minutes rather than build to a chorus.
Lou Reed started turning up at CBGB to watch the band before almost anyone else took them seriously, and one night after a set he invited them back to his Manhattan apartment. He'd fixated on "Tentative Decisions," loving the words but hating the speed, and played it back for them at half the tempo, closer to a Velvet Underground dirge. Byrne never stopped naming the debt: "His music, with and without the Velvets, was a big influence on myself and Talking Heads," he said after Reed's 2013 death, adding that Reed's work "was a big reason I moved to NY."
listen for"Venus in Furs" rides one droning chord under Lou Reed's flat, matter-of-fact narration of pain, refusing to raise its voice no matter how extreme the lyric gets. "Psycho Killer" borrows that discipline: Byrne's clipped half-sung, half-spoken delivery — most bluntly on the French-language bridge — sits over a spare, circling bassline and clean guitar stabs that never resolve into a chorus, building dread through repetition and restraint rather than volume.
Byrne and drummer Chris Frantz were sneaking into Parliament-Funkadelic shows as art students in Providence years before the band existed — a habit keyboardist Bernie Worrell, recruited to tour with them in the early '80s, only learned about after joining. "The Talking Heads wanted to funk," he said. The debt turned literal in February 1979: Frantz left a Parliament concert at Madison Square Garden still charged from the crowd's chant, and, as bassist Tina Weymouth remembered it, "kept yelling 'Burn down the house!' which was a P-Funk audience chant, and David dug the line, changing it to the finished version."
listen for"Flash Light" hangs almost the entire song on Bernie Worrell's rubbery, endlessly repeating synth-bass figure, horns simply commenting around its edges rather than leading. "Burning Down the House" borrows that same discipline — a tight, minimal synthesizer riff looping under call-and-response vocals — and it was Worrell himself who later drove that riff live, the P-Funk keyboardist folded into the very song whose title started life as a Parliament crowd's chant.