After the second chorus of Once in a Lifetime on “Stop Making Sense,” David Byrne pulls away from the mic and starts shaking like a gelatinous thing from outer space, some astral slug, and it’s just wonderful, and then, suddenly, Alex Weir moves into the shot, straight vamping on this tight scratch psychedelic riff, goddamn shredding this chord, and he’s all obscured in shadow, like and then he starts shaking too, echoing Byrne’s movements, crazy frantic, twin wildernesses blooming in moonlight and all that, true ecstatics, and Tina Weymouth’s bass is pounding the foundation of this brief moment, earth-thudding, like the sky splitting open and heaving onto the shore of every note you’ve ever heard, every song you’ve ever loved, the bass line itself a sort of stand-in for god, in the rhythmic sense of the word, a spoken symbol of groovy communion with the everlasting present, one with everything else.
To me, that’s what 420 means.
Sandy 