Review: David Byrne, American Utopia World Tour, Leeds First Direct Arena, October 21; Echo & The Bunnymen, York Barbican, October 22

STOP Making Sense, Jonathan Demme’s account of New York post-punk art-pop pioneers Talking Heads at the Hollywood Pantages Theatre in 1983, is the gold standard of concert films.

When shown on the late-night screen at the Edinburgh Film Festival last summer, the entire audience felt compelled to stand and applaud after each electric song.

Could frontman David Byrne, now 66, ever match that performance, the one in the big white suit? He has called his American Utopia World Tour “the most ambitious show I’ve done since the shows that were filmed for Stop Making Sense”, whetting the appetite for the opening night of his second round of British dates in Leeds.

The suit is still there, this time grey and tightly buttoned, and just as he did all those years ago, he opened Sunday’s show on his own. Last time, it was David, a tape machine, white pumps and an acoustic guitar for Psycho Killer. This time, David, bare footed, seated at a table with a skull, like Hamlet, for Here.

We had watched the stage taking shape meticulously to the accompaniment of bird song. The grey drapes on three sides formed a clean, beautifully clear backdrop through which Byrne and his 11 fellow musicians/singers could walk; five cameras followed their every step, and I do mean every step.

Each song is choreographed with wit, zest and imagination by Annie B-Parson, Byrne leading his musicians, all in grey, all without shoes, through brilliantly conceived performances. Nothing gets in the way; keyboards are carried, no speakers or guitar leads clutter up the stage.

Talking Heads songs sit side by side with Byrne’s solo works, Once In A Lifetime rivalled by Everybody’s Coming To My House for exhilarating impact. This is an arty party way beyond the boundaries of conventional rock gigs, musicians employed like never before, with a mesmeric phalanx of percussionists kicking up a storm. David Byrne, 66 but so what, is still the future, now.

York Press:

"A distant Echo of better, crystal day"s for Ian McCulloch at York Barbican

It was almost unfair to attend another concert the next night, the night after the Lord Mayor of Lord Mayor’s shows. Nevertheless, the prospect of seeing Echo And The Bunnymen reinterpret their Liverpool psychedelic pop in the manner of their “strings and things” new album, The Stars, The Oceans & The Moon, was intriguing.

Alas, the Bunnymen had come with strings detached, a missed opportunity to show off Ian McCulloch’s crooner voice in fresh livery. Instead, with stalwart Will Sergeant at arm’s length to his side, looking professorial in his glasses and working his gilded way through myriad guitars, McCulloch preferred to chase past glories in the company of a prosaic keyboards player, drummer, bass guitarist and rhythm guitarist, beneath a low-lit chandelier, behind the trademark McCulloch shades.

Why do this? Why do it when there is no apparent stage chemistry? The Somnambulist was the one new addition, a sleep-walking song that did pretty much that. The Cutter, The Killing Moon and Ocean Rain rallied at the last, but this night was a distant Echo of better, crystal days.