This timid compilation suffers from the eternal failing of dance's left field in mistaking an imitation of Eno, Reich etc for a genuine response. And where Herbert is a maverick provocateur, making music from McDonalds wrappers or lurching into revisionist big band music, his prodigies are more faint-hearted. The majority of cuts (including those from Herbert himself) are sleepy and heavy-lidded-boring, even. There's nothing wrong with this LP if you like smoochy post-dance or cocktail jazz, but it's hardly sensual or murderous.
From art-damaged garage to cosmic avant jitterfunk; a box set containing 54 tracks and 13 videos charts the weird musical journey that took Talking Heads from CBGB's to MTV