We couldn’t avoid talking about some of the people we used to talk about this morning. It was funny about the timing of some of the whimsy about the latest war that made us think of an earlier one. Not a hysterical response, mind you, but the mid-1970s were years we shared at the start of our life roads with the art-rock band Talking Heads. The founding energy for that band is attributed to vocalist David Byrne, assisted by two classmates from the Rhode Island School of Design.

In 1974, they pulled out of the RISD (pronounced “Riz-Dee”) in Providence, Rhode Island and moved to New York City. RIZ-Dee has had a reputation for riding several social issues since its founding after the American Civil War. One early demonstration of independence was the adoption of the phallic-shaped mascot named “Scrotie.”

The band that arrived in New York was determined to express the same spirit as they paddled into cultural conflict. Byrne and his band-mates harnessed the ironic sensibilities of that decade to subvert the rock with which we inundated ourselves. The tunes of Talking Heads featured lyrics peppered with anxiety and irony, and that is why we talked about them this morning. We were doing the waiting thing again, the only sort of activity appropriate for waiting for reports from the War.

We heard it was “Day 600” of the war in progress in Europe. The UKR offensive much talked about all summer seems finally to have run out of steam, but there are blasts in the background. The one that derailed the day was another horrific story, quickly turned around to distribute derision and doubt. This was a spectacular inversion of meme-war messaging. The story from Hamas was that the Israelis had organized, planned and executed an attack on the Al-Ahli Baptist Hospital in Gaza. The resulting devastation caused fierce dispute. This time the story was not about Hamas fighters who were responsible, but the Israeli Defense Forces.

It is what prompted some of the discussion about the nature of truth and conflict. Sources in Gaza claimed there were 500 civilian casualties around the hospital parking lot. The numbers reported were about half of what the alternate truth had been. Israel declared war on Gaza and was preparing to move south. The reporting insisted that the big assault was about to happen.

David Byrne knew the frustration of waiting around for something that sounded true enough to be actionable. But since the truth was the first casualty, we were left with the words to his evocative song “Life During Wartime:”

Heard of a van that’s loaded with weapons
Packed up and ready to go
Heard of some gravesites, out by the highway
A place where nobody knows
The sound of gunfire, off in the distance
I’m getting used to it now
Lived in a brownstone, lived in a ghetto
I’ve lived all over this town
This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco
This ain’t no fooling around
No time for dancing, or lovey-dovey
I ain’t got time for that now
Transmit the message to the receiver
Hope for an answer someday
I got three passports, a couple of visas
You don’t even know my real name
High on a hillside, the trucks are loading
Everything’s ready to roll
I sleep in the daytime, I work in the nighttime
I might not ever get home
This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco
This ain’t no fooling around
This ain’t no Mudd Club, or CBGB
I ain’t got time for that now
Heard about Houston? Heard about Detroit?
Heard about Pittsburgh, PA?
You oughta know not to stand by the window
Somebody see you up there
I got some groceries, some peanut butter
To last a couple of days
But I ain’t got no speakers, ain’t got no headphones
Ain’t got no records to play
Why stay in college? Why go to night school?
Gonna be different this time
Can’t write a letter, can’t send no postcard
I ain’t got time for that now
Trouble in transit, got through the roadblock
We blended in with the crowd
We got computers, we’re tapping phone lines
I know that that ain’t allowed
We dress like students, we dress like housewives
Or in a suit and a tie
I changed my hairstyle, so many times now
I don’t know what I look like
You make me shiver, I feel so tender
We make a pretty good team
Don’t get exhausted, I’ll do some driving
You ought to get you some sleep
Burned all my notebooks, what good are notebooks?
They won’t help me survive
My chest is aching, burns like a furnace
The burning keeps me alive

Those are the words that made sense to the Talking Heads as they considered a different conflict. This one had a raw and unforgiving look when it showed up. We anticipate that will continue, even as we hope for a ceasefire or some kind of peace. Our chests are burning, you know?

Copyright 2023 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com