David Byrne remembers 1977 at Eric's Club in Liverpool with something close to envy.
The Ramones had leather jackets when they got spat on. Talking Heads did not—and in Byrne's telling, this is a story about armor, about the visual codes that protected one band and left the other exposed to the indignity of the punk circuit.
The Ramones looked dangerous. Talking Heads looked frightened, with art school anxiety written across their faces. Yet Talking Heads' vulnerability was not a bug they eventually overcame—it was the feature that made them commercially possible in 1980.
MTV launched in August 1981, and the network needed musicians who could exist in the domestic space without threatening it. The Ramones were too illegible to the suburbs, too committed to the idea that punk was a threat. They looked like they might actually rob you. Talking Heads looked like they might apologize for it.
The absence of protection was not a vulnerability to overcome through success.
Blondie understood this too, and both acts dominated MTV's first five years. Both were marked as art-school, cerebral, faintly foreign to working-class American life. Both became, against the logic of punk credibility, the actual victors of the punk era. Byrne's anecdote contains its own refutation—he was mourning the wrong thing. The absence of protection was not a vulnerability to overcome through success.
It was the exact posture that would make success possible once the medium shifted. The bands that looked toughest in 1977 could not translate to television. The bands that looked too intelligent, too careful, too clearly out of place—those were the ones who fit the new economy.
This is not nostalgia for the superiority of art-school thinking. It is an observation about how the medium selects for its own logic. The thing that marked you as unmarketable in the punk underground became the thing that made you inevitable once the market moved. You do not overcome your disadvantage. The rules change, and suddenly you were never at a disadvantage at all.