I heard via Slicing Up Eyeballs on Facebook that David Byrne has a book coming out: Bicycle Diaries.
Just imagine, the impeccably silver-coiffed Byrne, apparently, chooses to rent, hire, or acquire a bicycle when he reaches the various towns and locales he visits on the occasion of performing as one of the most revered and creative musicians ever.
Yes, not one to rest on being at the forefront of the punk and new wave musical genres – gracing CBGB’s with Blondie, Television and the NY Dolls – or to bask in being one of the original White Guys Who Do World Music (ago gratias tibi Alfredi Garcia), or to simply enjoy being a buddy of the entire country of Brazil, Byrne grabs a velo or a fiets, eschewing those quotidian concerns of drugs and ribaldry, and bikes around, thinking Byrne-y thoughts – thoughts that in lesser (talking?) heads would be the kind of thing they build a musical career on, but which he tosses aside disinterestedly as he pedals on noting that the cantaloupes are ripe.
I’m completely going to read it.