Of all the factors that make them a fascinating force, the most engaging is that they always sound like an unhinged house party. The B-52’s never judge us. They’re merely our crazy art school friends who announce, “Just thought we’d drop in!” as they crash through the door, raid the icebox and guzzle the punch. And, who’s to blame when parties get really out of hand? Usually, they are. The super-slick Fleetwood–Frampton blueprint was becoming stale and predictable — boring. And something had to give. Current pop music needed a shot — something new — fresh, but fun. Apparently consumers were craving untamed party songs punctuated by dissonant vocals, accented by bare-bones drumming, glossed with psychedelic keyboards and fueled by surf-inspired guitar riffs. A bi-gender collective def...