At seventy-three, the former front man of Talking Heads is still asking questions about what it means to be alive. "When you step onstage, it's a very artificial situation," Byrne said. "To pretend it's not--that isn't being authentic." If you spend enough time wandering around downtown Manhattan, the odds are that you'll eventually encounter the musician David Byrne riding a bicycle. One day this past June, pedalling alongside Byrne from his apartment in Chelsea to the Governors Island ferry, I watched at least a dozen New Yorkers clock his profile, whipping around to squint, softly pinching the arm of their companion and whispering, "Was that . . . By then, Byrne was gone, a tuft of white hair whizzing toward the horizon. Spotting Byrne on two wheels has become a New York City rite of passage, like sussing out the best halal cart in midtown, or dropping something important onto the subway tracks. During the few months that Byrne and I spent together, I never saw him traverse the ...

When it first opened in theatres, in the fall of 1984, "Stop Making Sense," directed by Jonathan Demme and starring the rock group Talking Heads, was quickly recognized as one of the finest concert films ever made. Reviewer after reviewer settled on the word "exhilarating" to describe the experience of watching an expanded nine-member iteration of the four-piece group perform sixteen of their best-known songs in an uninterrupted sequence of dynamically staged and photographed musical vignettes. In the pages of this magazine, Pauline Kael praised the film as "close to perfection," and described the Heads front man, David Byrne, as "a stupefying performer." "He's so white he's almost mock-white," Kael wrote, "and so are his jerky, long-necked, mechanical-man movements. He seems fleshless, bloodless; he might almost be a Black man's parody of how a clean-cut white man moves. But Byrne himself is the parodist, and he commands the stage by his hollow-eyed, frosty verve."

Robot squid that move to a rhythm can match the power efficiency of the real animals, a trick that could be useful for designing next-generation submarines. Real squid have small fins that they use for careful manoeuvring, but when a big burst of speed is required they suck in and expel water to propel themselves. Researchers have tried to build robots that mimic this jet-like behaviour, but now a team led by Gabriel Weymouth at the University of Southampton, UK, has discovered a way to boost their efficiency. Weymouth and his colleagues created an umbrella-like robot with eight 3D-printed plastic ribs covered by a rubber skirt. It flexes outwards to suck in water and contracts to expel it, providing thrust.