Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” is more than just a catchy tune; it’s a cultural touchstone. While I personally lean towards Talking Heads’ funkier, Afrobeat-infused tracks, ignoring this archetypal song would be impossible. “Psycho Killer” occupies a unique space in their discography, and indeed in popular music, deserving a closer look at its construction, meaning, and enduring legacy.
“Psycho Killer” belongs to a distinctive family of Talking Heads songs, sharing kinship with tracks like “And She Was,” “Cities,” and “Don’t Worry About The Government.” These songs are characterized by a collage-like structure, juxtaposing seemingly unrelated musical ideas. This approach creates a listening experience that is both comfortably familiar within each section and strikingly unusual in its transitions. The shifts between sections can be jarring, contributing to the song’s overall unsettling and innovative feel.
The chorus of “Psycho Killer” is particularly noteworthy for its paradoxical nature. It’s undeniably catchy, practically begging to be sung along to, yet simultaneously off-putting. There’s a strange discomfort in belting out the words, especially in front of others. The inclusion of the French phrase “qu’est-ce que c’est,” meaning “what is it,” seems less about semantic depth and more about sonic texture, adding to the song’s quirky and somewhat detached character. The iconic “fa-fa-fa” vocalization, as Songfacts points out, draws inspiration from Otis Redding’s “Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa (Sad Song),” further highlighting the song’s eclectic influences. The French bridge, penned by Tina Weymouth, adds another layer of intrigue, translating to phrases like “What I did that night, what she said that night, achieving my dreams, I’m going for it, towards the glory.” This juxtaposition of seemingly random phrases and intense declarations amplifies the song’s unsettling narrative.
Beyond the original, “Psycho Killer” has inspired numerous interpretations and performances, showcasing its versatility and lasting impact. An alternative arrangement featuring goth cello by Arthur Russell offers a darker, more melancholic take on the song. This version underscores the underlying tension and unease within the track, highlighting its potential for diverse sonic explorations.
Talking Heads performing Psycho Killer on The Old Grey Whistle Test in 1978
Live performances of “Psycho Killer” further cemented its status as a dynamic and captivating song. A 1978 performance on The Old Grey Whistle Test captures the band in their early, raw energy, almost appearing disarmingly young despite the song’s mature themes.
A 1980 live rendition featuring Adrian Belew’s guitar shredding injects a frenetic energy, transforming the song into a high-octane performance piece. Belew’s guitar work adds a layer of intensity and virtuosity, demonstrating the song’s capacity for reinvention and adaptation in a live setting.
Talking Heads performing Psycho Killer on The Old Grey Whistle Test in 1978
The iconic opening of Stop Making Sense, featuring David Byrne alone on stage with only an acoustic guitar and a boombox (actually a Roland TR-808 drum machine), is perhaps the definitive visual representation of “Psycho Killer.” This minimalist yet powerful performance underscores the song’s inherent drama and Byrne’s captivating stage presence. Its impact is so profound that it was flawlessly parodied in an episode of Documentary Now!, a testament to its cultural resonance.
In stark contrast, a 1998 performance of “Psycho Killer” by David Byrne in a Visible Man suit takes a decidedly more unsettling turn. This performance, described as possibly terrifying, highlights the song’s darker undercurrents and Byrne’s willingness to push boundaries in his artistic expression.
To cleanse the palate after such a potentially disturbing image, a mashup of fifty songs from 1977 offers a lighter, more nostalgic counterpoint, showcasing the broader musical landscape of the era in which “Psycho Killer” emerged.
Classical interpretations of Talking Heads songs are rare, but Eric Lyon’s “Variations on Psycho Killer” for violinist Pauline Kim Harris stands out. This piece not only reimagines the song in a classical context but also subtly references the score of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960 film), adding another layer of cultural intertextuality to the song’s legacy.
Selena Gomez’s song “Bad Liar” directly interpolates the distinctive bassline of “Psycho Killer,” demonstrating the song’s enduring influence on contemporary pop music and its ability to be recontextualized for new audiences.
Musically, “Psycho Killer” is intriguing in its construction. Unlike the complex rhythms of songs like “Crosseyed And Painless,” “Psycho Killer” relies on simpler, more predictable rhythmic patterns. However, the harmony presents a captivating ambiguity. The question of whether the song is in A major or A minor is a valid one, with online chord charts offering conflicting interpretations. The intro section is particularly ambiguous; Tina Weymouth’s bassline, with its A, G, and E notes, could imply either A7 or Am7. David Byrne’s guitar enters with twelfth fret harmonics, which could be interpreted as Em/A, A9sus4, or Am11(no 3rd). The subsequent A and G power chords, followed by the alternation of A5 with D#°7 at the intro’s end, create a skewed, unsettled version of the A7 and D7 progression found in blues music.
The first verse resolves this ambiguity somewhat with clear A7 chords, suggesting an A Mixolydian mode. Yet, the chorus shifts gears again, firmly establishing itself in A natural minor and C major. This major/minor interplay is a common feature in rock music, often stemming from blues influences. While “Psycho Killer” stands at an oblique angle to the blues tradition, this connection is still discernible. The bridge, in B natural minor, introduces another harmonic shift, with a hilariously abrupt transition. Adding to the song’s musical eccentricity is David Byrne’s completely atonal guitar solo during the outro, further defying conventional song structures.
The timing of “Psycho Killer”‘s release, coinciding with the Son of Sam killings, is a frequently noted detail. However, this connection is purely coincidental; Talking Heads had written the song four years prior in art school. While the band wasn’t thrilled about the association of “Psycho Killer” with David Berkowitz in the public consciousness, their label recognized the promotional potential, highlighting the often-uncomfortable intersection of art and real-world events.
Released fourteen years before Bret Easton Ellis’s American Psycho, “Psycho Killer” nonetheless evokes a similar unsettling character. It’s easy to imagine a nerdier iteration of Patrick Bateman as the song’s narrator, a connection apparently shared by many, evidenced by numerous fan-made music videos using clips from the movie.
The cultural fascination with “psycho killers” extends beyond music and literature. As Professor Austin Sarat explored in his popular Amherst College course “Murder,” this fascination is deeply rooted in American culture. Sarat’s thesis posits that Americans are drawn to murderers not out of fear, but out of a secret envy of their perceived “existential freedom.” From Appalachian murder ballads to gangsta rap, killers have long been a recurring trope in American pop music. However, songs about random serial killer violence are less common. Johnny Cash’s line about shooting “a man in Reno just to watch him die” in “Folsom Prison Blues” stands as a rare example within mainstream music.
“Psycho Killer,” despite its unusual subject matter for a song, is not an anomaly within the broader landscape of American culture. Characters like Patrick Bateman, Hannibal Lecter, Dexter, and Nicole Wallace from Law and Order: Criminal Intent are all manifestations of this cultural fascination. Even the popularity of first-person shooter video games, allowing millions to simulate acts of killing, speaks to this complex cultural phenomenon. While “psycho killers” are statistically rare in real life, with most murders occurring between individuals with close relationships, their outsized presence in our collective imagination, exemplified by figures like Hannibal Lecter, remains a compelling, if unsettling, aspect of the American psyche. The enduring appeal of “Psycho Killer” lies in its ability to tap into this fascination, musically and thematically, in a way that is both unsettling and undeniably captivating.
