Three Albums: R.E.M.

Perhaps the band most associated with the "College Rock" gene, R.E.M. navigated a path where they could be true to their artistic impulses and also become indie rock superstars. Join me as I do a deep dive on three of their best albums (Reckoning, Green, and New Adventures in Hi-Fi) while giving some love (more or less) to every album in between. 

Note: This episode was recorded late last fall (I wanted to get several episodes recorded before releasing), so some time-related personal mentions will be off by a matter of months. Since R.E.M. hasn't recorded anything new since their breakup in 2011, that doesn't affect much content here.

Transcript

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I’m Greg Martin, and this is three albums (cue sound clip— Begin the Begin).

Welcome to 3 albums, where each episode I do a deep dive on three albums that are connected by artist, year, theme, or genre. For my inaugural episode, I’m taking a look at one of my favorite bands, REM. Perhaps the band most associated with the “College Rock” genre— heck, they practically invented it— REM  navigated a path where they could be true to their artistic impulses and also become indie rock superstars. I haven’t always loved every step in their evolution, and actually abandoned the band at the height of their popularity, but I could never stay away for too long—the best of REM has a power and an allure that demands rediscovery. Over the course of their 15 album career, REM managed to cement a legacy as a true original, an alternative rock stalwart, and one of the most important American rock bands of the 20th century. 

While every REM album is worth exploring, the three I want to focus on today are their amazing second album Reckoning, 1988’s double platinum smash Green, and what I consider to be their last true masterpiece, New Adventures in Hi-Fi. Along the way, I’ll touch on all of the albums in between, paying special attention to the different threads that make up REM’s sound: the catchy melodic indie pop, the relentlessly cheerful, upbeat annoying numbers that I sometimes refer to as Shiny Happy Songs, and the odd, moody, haunting songs that are usually my favorites. 

Ready? Let’s get started. (1,000,000)

I was introduced to REM, fittingly, in college. They were the favorite band of one of my school friends, and he made them sound so appealing I had to check them out. That would have been around the time of their fourth album, Life’s Rich Pageant. But REM’s story started six years earlier, in an old converted Episcopal church in Athens, Georgia. Michael Stipe had met Peter Buck in a record store in Athens in 1979, while Mike Mills and Bill Berry were introduced during a jam session put together by fellow University of Georgia classmates. Like like-minded souls everywhere, they ended up in each other’s orbits, and started playing music together, developing their signature sound throughout the first few months of 1980, leading to their first gig in that aforementioned church in April. It was a covers-heavy performance, but one song that will be familiar to the REM faithful was played that night, “All the Right Friends,” which eventually ended up on the Vanilla Sky soundtrack over two decades later. It’s a pleasant enough song, (although the Vanilla Sky version kind of sounds like an older, more serious sibling to The Rembrandts “I’ll Be There For You,”) and it doesn’t really hint at the great songs REM would be releasing soon after. (All the Right Friends)

REM’s real introduction to the world came a year after that first gig. After an earlier recording session had not gone well, REM went back into the studio with production whiz Mitch Easter in April of 1981, with much better results. “Radio Free Europe” was REM’s first single, but it was more than that. It was a mission statement, a coming out party, a shot across the bow. After this song, the landscape of alternative rock would be forever changed (Radio Free Europe— Hib Tone)

You can already hear some of the elements of REM’s classic sound—Mike Mills’ harmonies on the chorus, Michael Stipe’s unintelligible lyrics, which wouldn’t make sense if you knew what he was singing, and of course, that rhythm section. Mills’ propulsive bass and Bill Berry bashing on the drums gives the song a drive and a verve that sets it apart. It most reminds me of another early alternative rock classic, Mission of Burma’s “Academy Fight Song,” which was released one year earlier. Like “Radio Free Europe,” it charges out of the gate and demands you pay attention to it. (Acedemy Fight Song)

Interestingly enough, REM covered Academy Fight Song in 1989 on their annual Christmas single for their fan club members, which Spin magazine listed as one of the 35 "worst cover songs of the last 35 years. And yeah…it’s pretty bad. The curious can find it on YouTube.

The original 1981 version of Radio Free Europe is great…but the 1983 version recorded for their first album, Murmur, is even better. It starts with the opening. The first thing we heard on the original Hib-Tone single is a weird synthesizer noise that always reminds me of the sound they use to signify when a cartoon character screws up or has something bad happen to them. The Murmur version, on the other hand, starts with accidental system hum caught on tape that has the same sprightly boing boing sound of a jews harp, then immediately catapults into a slowed down take on the song that feels both richer and more controlled than the original. The band disagreed— Mike Mills and Peter Buck both commented on their love of the original Hib-Tone version. I know it’s hard to improve on a classic, and I’m sure my bias is partially because this was the first way I heard the song and fell in love with it, but I still think the Murmur take is the winner (Radio Free Europe— Murmur version)

The success of “Radio Free Europe” led to the release of the ep Chronic Town in 1982. Of all the music REM has ever done, Chronic Town has to rank near the top. REM was able to distill in five songs the essence of what would make them great. Every song is a tightly-constructed earworm— well, maybe the last song, Stumble, goes on a bit too long— but it astounds me how REM was able to put out such an appealing, polished product right out of the gate. My favorite track on the ep, Gardening at Night, is a good example. It starts with a little acoustic guitar riff repeated four times quickly before the jangly guitars kick in— much cleaner sounding than anything on Murmur, which wouldn’t be released until April of 1983. I love Peter Buck’s oddly tuned guitar, I love Stipe’s vocal (which isn’t as mumbly as he’d be accused of later on), and I love the obtuse lyrics, which were inspired by the habit some had of urinating by the side of the road at night (hence, night gardening). Even during those odd moments where I was indifferent to REM’s charms, I have never grown tired of this song. For me, this is where the magic first happened (Gardening at Night)

Finally, three years after that first gig, REM released their first full-length album. Murmur is frequently listed in any rundown of the greatest debut albums of all time, and I get that. I'm guessing a lot of those critics didn't hear Chronic Town first, and this was their first major exposure to the Early REM sound. I think Murmur is an excellent, well-constructed album, anchored by a couple of absolutely classic songs. One of those was the second single, as the re-recording of Radio Free Europe was the first. Talk About the Passion is probably the song I most identify with early REM. The band kills it here. I love how the verses seem wound so tight and how angular the guitar figure before the chorus is…and then the song just opens up on the choruses— it gets this dreamy feel, especially because the harmony is so reminiscent of 10CC’s “I’m Not in Love” or Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are” with this gentle guitar strum accompanying it. It’s a tension/release  trick that REM mastered that I'm sure every other band would kill to copy. This is easily one of REM’s five best singles, even if it never charted (Talk About the Passion)

The rest of Murmur is even hazier than Talk About the Passion. Murmur is one of those albums that is tonally consistent, which is both a strength and a drawback. Mitch Easter’s production feels different here than his work on Chronic Town, and his and the band’s production choices really define the album. The drums on Murmur are muted. The heaviest percussion are noises that aren't made by any drum kit. The song choruses are more buried in the mix than Stipe's vocals on the verses. Stipe’s singing on this album has been labeled as muddy or mumbling, but I don’t totally agree— I can hear the verses fine, I just can't understand a damn thing Stipe’s saying! Reviews of Murmur frequently refer to it as mysterious, murky, or dreamlike, and those descriptions certainly fit. I like murky and dreamlike, and I really like this album. But it is all of a piece, a little slow, a little less catchy than the EP that came before it or what would come right after. Side one is especially sedate, with only Moral Kiosk interrupting a four song string of very pretty, but somewhat sleepy songs. It probably will come as no surprise, then, that my favorite song on Murmur is on the livelier, if not as consistent side 2. 9-9 might be the richest song on the album, and is certainly the hardest rocking. The guitars on the verses sound like the early 80’s postpunk band Gang of Four, but the darker choruses point toward REM’s sound several years in the future (9-9)

I really like the bridge here— especially Stipe’s spoken word mumbling, which again, sounds like it is part of a song much later in their catalog (9-9, bridge)

Murmur also introduces us, unfortunately, to a recurring element in REM’s discography the Shiny Happy Song. REM have always had a weakness for poppy, upbeat numbers, backed with a sense of almost childlike optimism. My dislike of this sort of thing is largely my fault— I am frequently allergic to relentlessly cheerful, uptempo pop— but I thought I would catalog and rate  these songs as we stumble across them. We Walk shows up near the end of side 2 of Murmur. It’s  sing-songy, repetitive, and pleasantly dull, but it doesn’t make me want to throw things, and I like the rich sound of Mike Mills’ bass on this one. Let’s give it a 5 (We Walk)

Which brings us to album #1 in our three albums journey (album 1). Reckoning is the first album by REM that I bought, back when my college friend convinced me to give them a chance. Reckoning takes everything good about Chronic Town and Murmur and makes it more direct, catchier, janglier. It punches up the choruses, picks up the tempo, sharpens the harmonies. And in doing so, REM created their greatest album, and my pick for the greatest sophomore album of all time (Harborcoat). 

That’s the album’s opener, Harborcoat. REM has a penchant for great album openers…they have more problems with closers, but we’ll get to that eventually. This is REM’s best opener. The insistent, jangly guitars and the harmonies would be enough to make it a good song, but the layered vocals on the verses goose the song into great territory. It’s a startling effect, one that was used by Gang of Four (yeah, them again)  on their 1979 feedback-drenched classic, Anthrax (Anthrax)

On Harborcoat, Stipe and Mills share the vocal duties. It’s unclear what Mills is singing— REM never printed the background lyrics— and Mills himself once admitted in interviews that he wasn’t always sure of exactly what Stipe was singing — and vice versa — and the band liked it that way. The bright, memorable chorus is a nice counterpoint with the odder verses, and the harmonies at the end get even brighter and more infectious, bringing the song home…even if the end is abrupt. REM is upping its game here, giving you a opener that doesn’t hide in the shadows like so much of Murmur did (Harborcoat, ending)

The first side of Reckoning is a Murderer’s Row of great songs (and one not so great one). After Harborcoat, Seven Chinese Brothers is a perfect track two, and a personal favorite. I read the children’s book Five Chinese Brothers when I was in first or second grade, and was so enamored with it I told my parents I wanted to write Chinese fairy tales when I grew up. Claire Huchet Bishop’s book about five brothers who possess unique powers— being able to swallow the ocean, say,  or hold their breath indefinitely—might be a strange choice for a song subject, but that's the point: it is a strange song, one that feels both unknowable and emotionally powerful at the same time. Stipe employs the lyrical device on this album that Morrissey of the band The Smiths used---just repeating the lyrics from the first verse again and again until the song ends— but it works here, especially that chorus: Seven Chinese brothers swallowing the ocean/seven thousand years to sleep away the pain/she will return. You might think it’s goobletygook, but listen to the way Stipe sings it. And while you’re at it, check out Peter Buck’s percolating guitar riff (Seven Chinese Brothers) 

South Central Rain (with I’m Sorry in parenthesis) is a favorite track of many fans and critics. Steven Hyden, one of my favorite music critics, called it the greatest REM song of all time. And I would agree that this is a song where all of its elements are perfectly in sync with one another. Stipe’s vocal performance here shows an increased confidence and mastery. The piano is a great add. Mills harmonizes excellently. Peter Buck has another great jangly riff, but this song doesn’t rise and fall on Buck’s guitar figure. There is a greater than the sum of their parts vibe here, imbued with a sense of melancholy that grows as the song progresses (South Central Rain)

I have to be honest…it really wouldn’t matter if the first two and a half minutes of this song were ordinary…bland, even. Because the outro, the last 45 seconds of South Central Rain reaches a crescendo that paired with Stipe’s wail gives me chills every time I hear it (South Central Rain outro)

Pretty Persuasion is a wagon—  it has a headlong, kinetic energy to it unlike anything else on the album. It is an early song in their catalog— they’d been playing it live in concert since 1980 or 1981.. Maybe that’s why it sounds so self-assured. The song is all singalong harmonies and that forward rush, powered by Buck’s Rickenbacker guitar (Pretty Persuasion)

I’m not going to clip Time After Time. I could…I could mention it’s probably my least favorite song on Reckoning, and point out the guitars have an eastern feel, but I liked this sound better on their later albums. I could even let you know that the best part of the song is the bridge, which sounds very much like the guitar solo in The Cure’s “Plainsong.” No…the best thing about Time After Time is that the band Pavement dissed it in their song The Unseen Power of the Picket Fence, while raving about the rest of the album. Pavement's song manages to be a loving tribute and totally hilarious. Oh…and we will have to do a deep dive on Pavement someday (Unseen Power of the Picket Fence)

Side 2 of Reckoning might not have four classics back to back, but it is very strong nonetheless. Second Guessing opens the side. It’s a rave-up, but doesn’t quite have the energy of Pretty Persuasion. I enjoy the pell-mell nature of the track, Berry’s frenetic drumming, and the harmonies. Camera has guitar work on it that is moodier than anything on this album but the outro to South Central Rain. The icy Procol Harum-like organ bits also help with that. The chorus has a very 70’s classic rock feel too. It’s almost Free Bird. Seriously. And Don’t Go Back to Rockville has a rousing chorus and sounds a lot like Wilco to me. If you like Alt-Country, that’s probably going to be your song.

The two songs I want to highlight on Side 2, however, are Letter Never Sent and Little America. “Letter Never Sent” is R.E.M's “Hello Goodbye”: like the Beatles classic,  it’s early on side two of it’s respective album,  deals with obstacles in communication, and is really, really underrated. I love the guitar riffs on this more than any other song on this album. To my ears, there are three main guitar riffs on this song— we start with this up and down the scale riff that becomes this staccato thing on the chorus, and then becomes this lugubrious squiggle that sounds a little darker. Don’t care about the guitars? Then check out the harmonies on this one, because they’re stunning (Letter Never Sent)

Little America is the album’s closer. Only about half of REM’s albums end with a great closer, but all three albums I’m going to highlight in this episode do. What makes Little America a great closer? The chorus and the lyrics. This song has my favorite chorus on the album— it’s super sticky, and hard to get out of your head once you hear it. The memorable lyrics are also my favorite on Reckoning, even if at first glance they don’t make much sense: The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest The consul a horse, Jefferson, I think we're lost. It helps when you know Jefferson Holt was REM’s former manager, and the song is presumably about touring the South, but either way, it’ll have you singing along in no time (Little America)

It was going to be next to impossible for R.E.M to follow up Reckoning with anything close to its excellence, and Fables of the Reconstruction (or Reconstruction of the Fables— both titles are listed on the album) is a step downward. It’s an easy album to overlook— you have the early albums that cemented REM’s quintessential jangle-pop sound, and we haven’t yet reached those more mature albums where the band became a hit factory while still putting out ambitious material. This is part of the mushy middle, where REM was changing their sound, expanding their audience, figuring themselves out. I like Fables more than the two albums that will come after it— there’s still a lot of Reckoning DNA kicking around here, even if the album is a gloomier, messier affair (Old Man Kensey)

Fables is an album with a unified sound— maybe more so than any other album in REM’s catalog except Monster, which we’ll talk about in a while. Many of the songs here have a similar vibe— moody, minor key, vocals with a lot of echo. If you like what they’re doing, you should like the whole album. One thing Fables has going for it are its two singles— one on each side—which anchor the album. Can’t Get There From Here charted higher, getting to number 14 on the Mainstream Album chart. It sounds much different than the other songs on Fables— Stipe sings in a much more affected manner, we have horns, a hoedown on the chorus, and Mike Mills squawking in the background like someone stepped on his foot. The guitar riff sounds spastic. I’ve always liked it, even though it borders on being a Shiny Happy Song, partially because it isn’t as precious or corny as those usually are. Hell, let’s say it is shiny and happy and give it a rating. I give it a 7 (Can’t Get There From Here)

Driver 8 was the other single on Fables. To me, this is the closest REM got to writing a 60’s style folk song. The song refers to a passenger train called the Southern Crescent, that was operated by the Southern Railroad until 1979. Michael Stipe thought it was one of his better songs, calling it “a beautiful song with incredible imagery.” He’s right. I love the arpeggiated guitar at the end of the chorus, Stipe’s direct but heartfelt delivery, and Mills’ bass work. There's a world-weariness to this song that really appeals to me. The lines We can reach our destination/but we’re still a ways away has a pensive feel, much like the miles to go before I sleep line at the end of Robert Frost’s poem Stopping in the Woods on a Snowy Evening. This is an REM classic, and the best song on Fables (Driver 8) 

After buying Reckoning while I was in college— and loving it— the next REM album I purchased was 1986’s Life’s Rich Pageant. That one I didn’t love. Life’s Rich Pageant is the first REM album that feels like a dry run for the hit-sprinkled Warners Brothers albums, but the songs here aren’t as catchy or as intricate as the ones on Green or Automatic for the People, those later bellwethers. Yeah, everything here is clearer and more direct than their earlier, Bryds-tinged, surreal campfire songs, but there’s something you lose when you take away the murk. I liked the inscrutable, unknowable nature of REM in the early days, and that’s gone for good by this point. This does rock harder, though…if you like that sort of thing. (These Days)

Fall on Me was the “big” single on Life’s Rich Pageant, and did get to number 5 on the mainstream rock chart (even if it tanked on the Billboard chart). Michael Stipe said the song was about oppression, even though the original lyrics appeared to be about acid rain. Either way, it’s a bright and inviting song, tinged with the signature melancholy we’ve come to expect from slower tempo REM tunes. It feels a little like two songs stitched together, as the choruses are much more open and pleasant than the moodier verses. It was probably the first REM song I heard in the wild— presumably on a college radio station— and I’ve always liked it fine. It set the template for much better— and more popular—  singles that were coming very, very soon (Fall on Me)

Life’s Rich Pageant did have a Shiny Happy Song on it-the album's closer and second single, Superman. A cover of the 1969 song by The Clique, REM’s Superman is smoother (and better sung) than the original, but it loses some of its silly charm. I do like the divng bell synth noise, or whatever it is, and find Mills’ first turn as a lead vocalist fairly endearing. Remember that when we get to Out of Time. I’ll give it a 6. (Superman)

Document was REM’s last album on IRS Records, and their commercial breakthrough. It was their first album to go platinum, first album to finish in the Billboard top 10, first album to have a top 10 single. And I like it even less than Life’s Rich Pageant. It’s not the big singles— they’re excellent— and there is a deep cut on this album that’s very important to me. But everything else underwhelms. Finest Worksong is another rocker for an opener, and it does sound like where REM wanted to go, but it doesn’t capture me like Begin the Begin from Life’s Rich Pageant or Maps and Legends from Fables. Strange is a cover of a great Wire song, but’s it’s not a great cover, unless you like doo doo doo harmonizing and handclaps. And the Shiny Happy Song on this album, Exhuming McCarthy, is way too jaunty, complete with orchestral hits that do not work for me. I give it a 4 (Exhuming McCarthy)

Like I said, the hits on Document are deserved hits. The One I Love is a staple of modern rock radio, and one of the great alternative anti-love songs, right up there with the Police’s Every Breath You Take. The other single, It’s The End of the World as We Know It, is even better. It’s a classic— come for the breakneck lyrical pace, stay for the gorgeous Mike Mills harmonies. There’s only two other things I can say about It’s the End of the World as We Know it. 1. It’s one of the very hardest songs to karaoke. 2. It might be the most chipper apocalyptic song ever recorded (It’s the End of the World)

The last song on Document is an odd number— literally. Oddfellows Local 151 is a gloomy dirge-like rocker about homeless men who hung around firehouses that immediately captivated me the first time I heard it. That was on a cd mix my brother burned for me. I never knew him to be a big REM fan— it’s the only song I really knew (other than It’s the End of the World as We Know It) by the band that he liked. When my brother passed away after a battle with cancer five years ago, I couldn’t hear this song without thinking of him. I miss him everyday. (Oddfellow Local)

Which brings us to album 2 in our three album deep dive (album 2)— 1988’s Green. Green was REM’s major label debut, their first album with Warner Brothers. One of the reasons the band chose Warner Brothers was that the label offered total artistic freedom, and you can hear that freedom in this album. Green was where REM really started to level up— experimenting with styles, tempos, and instrumentation. It certainly didn’t slow their commercial trajectory any, as this was REM’s first album to go double platinum. If Reckoning is the REM album that made me really notice the band, Green is the album that made me start paying attention again (World Leader Pretend)

Side one of Green is the poppy-catchy single side, so much so that the first song is named Pop Song 89. There might be a whiff of irony in the name, but Pop Song 89 is a toe tapper, with an insistent guitar riff and a memorable chorus.  Is it a shiny happy song?  Maybe, but it works— it has a clever, knowing edge to it (almost sarcastic) that makes it more than the typical bubbly REM song. Add the NSFW video, with features a bare-chested Stipe dancing with a trio of semi-naked women, and this isn’t “Stand.” (Pop Song 89)

Pop Song 89 looks at the vapid nature of pop lyrics and the trite, ultimately meaningless conversations we frequently engage in, a theme it shares with the wonderful song Beautiful Blue Sky by the Montreal band Ought. While REM approach the topic with good-natured cheerfulness, Ought take a bit of a more desperate tack (Beautiful Blue Sky)

The song Stand, of course, you know. It is the monolith of Shiny Happy Songs, a tune that starts as a carnival and becomes a children’s song not unlike the hokey pokey, complete with instructions. The surprisingly muscular guitar work on the song saves it, but just barely. It’s still my least favorite song on the album. Let’s give it a 5 (Stand)

You Are the Everything and World Leader Pretend have memorable melodies, but pepper those melodies with accordions and mandolins and pedal steel guitars, widening the band’s musical palette. They are very good songs, but the side’s closer, The Wrong Child, is even better. The Wrong Child is suffused with Peter Buck’s mandolin and Stipe’s haunting multi-tracked vocal, presumably created by tape delay. Stipe tells the story of a lonely child, trying to fit in, to quash his internal terror. Until now, REM’s moodier songs always had a certain arms-length feel to them, a carefully curated distance. I don’t feel that here. Stipe totally inhabits his character, puts you on that playground with this sad, frightened little boy. Stipe’s repeated howl of “It’s okay” might be my favorite moment on the album. It’s definitely one of Green’s standouts (The Wrong Child) 

Orange Crush opens side 2. It was the first single released from Green, and the first thing I heard from the album— MTV ran the video for the song all the time. Until you get to the chorus, Orange Crush doesn't really sound like REM. The guitars are edgier and darker. The vocals are more insistent. Sonic Youth's Daydream Nation and The Pixies Surfer Rosa were both released the same year as this song, and while Orange Crush doesn't have the manic postpunk energy of those albums, it's nudging closer here than REM ever had before. This song and I Took Your Name off of Monster are both songs that sound like they could have been influenced by U2. The lyrics, which reference the Vietnam War and are partially told from a soldier’s perspective, also feel U2 inspired. REM metamorphosed from a College Rock band to an alternative rock band at the end of the eighties, and this is the first evidence of that transformation (Orange Crush)

Side 2 of  Green is sequenced well— a pair of rousing tracks followed by a stunning ballad, segueing into a moody rocker that feels like the album’s closer. Turn You Inside-Out is the second rocker, another song with crunchy guitars and an aggressive vocal by Stipe. Mills’ backing vocals are low in the mix, giving them a bit of an otherworldly feel. It’s a fine song. It’s also the worst song on side 2, which is saying something. Hairshirt is the ballad. It’s another song that is heavy with mandolin, but it’s Mills’ subtle bass beneath the melody that immediately draws my attention. Stipe gives one of his most nakedly vulnerable vocal performances, topped by only one other song I can think of (we’ll talk about it on the next album). The lyrics of Hairshirt have been explicated and debated, with many saying it’s about guilt, or a meditation on emotional discomfort and the longing for connection. I call bullshit— it’s a love song, and a beautiful one. Just look at the last two passages: It's a beautiful life/ And I can hang my hairshirt/

Away up high in the attic of the wrong dog's life chest/Or bury it at sea/All my life I've searched for this/Here I am, here I am/In your life/It's a beautiful life/My life/ It's a beautiful life/Your life.  It’s one of two REM songs that can often surprise me into tears (Hairshirt)

I Remember California is a moody number, an Oddfellows Local Part 2, if you will. This is the opposite of Stipe’s emotionally raw delivery in Hairshirt— this is distant, mysterious, alien. The minor key, feedback-heavy guitars, and droning nature of the choruses add to the distance. I Remember California feels like a closer because it tips its cap towards the REM sound of the future, the REM of Monster and New Adventures in Hi-Fi, still years away in the future. (I Remember California)

I Remember California uses an interesting lyrical template for most of the song, listing what feels like random items— redwood trees, bumper cars, wolverines— clumped together, creating a surreal sense of meaning via association. It’s the same template used by another moody song at the end of an album, Time Bomb by The Cars front-man Ric Ocasek, off his criminally underrated solo album Beatitude. It too uses oodles of feedback, and punctuates it all with a searing guitar solo (Time Bomb)

Like I said, I Remember California feels like a closer, so much so that the actual last song on Green, Untitled, comes across like a secret track. The band members must have felt it too, because they didn’t name the song and didn’t put it on the album’s track listing, letting it catch the listener unawares. It’s yet another example of the dreaded Shiny Happy Song…but this one hits different. So many of REM’s happy songs feel artificial, the gaiety forced, the smiles too tight, like a birthday party for a cult leader’s grandson. But this song has real joy in it. Stipe said he wrote it for his parents, expressing his love for them and desire they be safe when he is gone for long periods of time on the road touring. You can hear that love in his voice and in the music, the zigzag guitars, the bright stabs of Mills’organ. Mike Mills’ harmonies sound to me like that most childlike of song forms, the round. It all adds up to the best Shiny Happy song REM ever did. It’s at least a 9 (Untitled)

If, for me, Green saw REM morphing their sound and hitting the jackpot, then Out of Time saw the band throwing handfuls of loose change down a well. Out of Time was an album where a lot of people got on the REM train— it was the band’s first album to hit number 1 on the charts. Me? I was stepping off. Despite its popularity, Out of Time felt like an album where REM took the template for Green and sanded down the edges, removed the mystery. There are a few good songs on Out of Time— and one absolutely great one— but so many of the tracks are mediocre at best, and two are legitimately bad. The band continues to experiment with styles and instrumentation, but not all of those choices work. Mike Mills sings lead vocals on two tracks. Mills is one of my all-time favorite harmonizers, but he is no lead singer. KRS-One delivers a ham-fisted rap on Radio Song that is more DJ Khaled than Boogie Down productions. And Kate Pierson, who I love in the b 52’s, feels miscast on her contributions to this album. I especially hate that Shiniest of Happy songs, Shiny Happy People, where REM attempts a They Might Be Giants turn without that band's quirky smartass bona fides. In addition, the damn guitar riff is catchy enough to get stuck in your head. I hate the keyboard interludes, the du du du background harmonies, the whole damn thing. I give it a 1 (Shiny Happy People)

It’s ironic, then, that my all-time favorite REM song is on one of my least favorite REM albums. No, not Losing My Religion. That megahit has always left me cold, which is more a me thing than an REM thing. No…the best song REM ever did, Country Feedback, is buried near the end of side 2, a droning, feedback-drenched, unconventional ballad, with the most raw emotion Michael Stipe has ever put on tape. The lyrics take a pell-mell approach to describe the end of a relationship— just listen: A paperweight, a junk garage, a winter rain, a honey pot /Crazy, all the lovers have been tagged/ A hotline, a wanted ad, it's crazy what you could've had. When Stipe sings “I need this,” I believe him. REM had never taken a song this musically arresting before and coupled it to such an emotionally vulnerable vocal performance.  This is a masterpiece (Country Feedback)

I was so disappointed by Out of Time I didn’t really pay attention when Automatic For the people came out. My loss, because Automatic for the People is maybe REM’s most well-constructed album. The hits are so much more memorable, the deep tracks more effective. If much of Out of Time had a distant, chamber music energy to it, Automatic for the People is warmer, more tonally diverse, with sharper songwriting. And the emotionally vulnerable, more lyrically direct Stipe sticks around for a whole album this time, to far greater effect (Nightswimming)

Automatic for the People is brimming with singles, and I like all of them. Drive is pretty slow and gloomy for a single, but it was the highest charting one on the album. I like slow and gloomy, and I like the accordion-like keyboard sounds here, as well as the John Paul Jones-led string arrangement. Man on the Moon is a pleasant country ramble, with thoughtful lyrics delivered well. But it’s Everybody Hurts that I have the most affection for. REM’s only gospel song, Everybody Hurts strikes a universal chord that resonates— it feels like the type of song that’s been around forever, sung by groups of people huddled around a piano, trying to make the pain they’re carrying a little lighter. I love the line “Now it’s time to sing along.”-- Very meta. I love Stipe’s delivery, the warble in his voice. It’s a beautiful song, and one of the album’s best (Everybody Hurts)

 My favorite song on Automatic for the People, and one of my favorite REM songs, is Sweetness Follows. A haunting examination of grief set to strings, organ, and acoustic guitar (and later, coils of guitar feedback),  Sweetness Follows, for me, is a reminder that all of the petty bullshit we occupy ourselves with doesn’t matter, that the time we have is short, and even in the midst of death and pain there is still relief. There is still comfort. There is still sweetness. As Michael Stipe says: .Live your life filled with joy and wonder/ I always knew this altogether thunder

Was lost in our little lives/ Oh, but sweetness follows. I’ve lost someone I loved very recently, and the calculus of this song is one I understand well (Sweetness Follows)

I could talk about 1994’s Monster all day…but I have a podcast to finish. Monster was REM’s deliberate attempt to rock out, to craft an assortment of noisy, stirring songs that would go over well in concert. Many fans (and some critics) saw this album as a failure— it’s probably as famous for its garish orange cover and how many copies ended up littering used cd bins as it is for the songs contained within. My reaction was quite the opposite: Monster got my attention, made me sit up and take notice. Since Out of Time I had tried very hard to ignore REM— I was over them, I thought, I’d moved on. But the Monster singles paraded their way across MTV in all of their grungy glory, and, well…I couldn’t help but get sucked in (What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?)

 The ringing guitars at the beginning of the opener, What’s the Frequency, Kenneth, announce that things might be a little different this time around. And from that first tremolo-soaked single, Monster presents its thesis statement: This is not your father’s (or your older brother’s) REM. This is going to be darker, messier, fuzzier, more distorted. Oh, and louder. Definitely louder. (Circus Envy)

Bang and Blame is a good example of what REM is trying to do on Monster. One of the er, quiter songs on the album, the verses have lots of space in the sound— but even here, the guitars are fuzzy, the drums thick. Stipe is in Country Feedback mode as far as the emotional timbre of his voice, but he’s more subdued, distant, controlled. That fits the lyrics, which hint at the aftermath of a breakup, complete with hard feelings and pointed fingers. And then the chorus kicks in, the guitars rev up, and we are in grunge territory again.  Monster acts like a palimpset laid over the top of the bestselling REM sound—  you can still hear those great melodies, but they’re wrapped in dirty strips of noise and feedback. And I love it. A confession: the three albums I have chosen to highlight on this episode are my three favorite REM albums. But if I had to pick a fourth, and with all apologies to Murmur, it would be Monster. (Bang and Blame)

At last, we have reached the third and final album on our REM journey (album 3), 1996’s New Adventures in Hi-Fi. Recorded on the road during a chaotic, stressful, and ultimately band-transforming tour, New Adventures in Hi-Fi is REM’s White Album, without that album’s occasional goofy charm and throwaway experiments. REM sound weary here, but they also sound deadly serious— which makes sense. Bill Berry had an aneurysm on the tour and nearly died, and both Mills and Stipe had emergency surgeries. The band deliberately fashioned New Adventures in Hi-Fi after Neil Young’s definitive statement on tour exhaustion, 1973’s Time Fades Away. But this is no set of sleepy, boring songs. This is an album that crackles with energy and intention, even when the tempos slow (How the West Was Won)

That was New Adventures in Hi-Fi’s opener, How the West Was Won and Where It Got Us. If the Beatles White Album starts with the rousing Chuck Berry parody/Beach Boys homage Back in the USSR, REM’s White Album starts with…bongos. And a repetitive, minor key piano lick. And a noise in the background that sounds all the world like a dial tone, made by an electronic device attached to Peter Buck’s guitar. We even get an atonal jazz piano break on the bridge, which I’m all about. Mike Mills, who played the solo, said he just banged on the piano; Quote: “It’s just chaos.” (How the West Was Won, bridge)

This is an even more unconventional opener than Automatic for the People’s “Drive,” and sets the listener up for the unpredictable nature of this album. Weird, moody songs with unconventional instruments, like Green? Check. Squalling alternative rock guitar numbers, like Monster? Check. Tight, melodic songs with sharp songwriting, like Automatic for the People? Of course! New Adventures manages to be a multiple choice final exam of sorts for REM, a demonstration of everything they have learned and mastered on their way to stardom. (Departure)

By 1996, CD sales had overwhelmingly conquered the music market, and New Adventures in Hi-Fi is a CD album. At over 65 minutes, it is REM’s longest album. I own the album on vinyl— I bought the remastered 25 year anniversary edition—and I must tell you, certain aspects of the album take center stage when listened to in this format. When listened to on vinyl, there are three songs on side 2 of New Adventures— Undertow, E-Bow the Letter, and Leave. All three are edgy, odd, and unconventional. Undertow leads off the side. It manages to take Stipe’s keening singing style from the chorus of  “Me in Honey” on Out of Time and graft it on to verses that sound like something from the prog metal band Tool. Here’s Undertow (Undertow)

And here’s Sober, the lead single from Tool’s album titled— wait for it— Undertow (Sober)

REM's Undertow manages to sound like the music of both REM’s peers and itself, and then collapses at the end into coils of guitar noise that remind me of both Mission of Burma and the end of my favorite Styx song, Queen of Spades. I love this (end of Undertow)

Ebow the Letter brings back Peter Buck’s electric guitar doodad, the ebow, and gives it center stage. The drone of the instrument is a perfect accompaniment for Stipe’s vocal— he sing-speaks his lyrics, partially based on a letter he never sent. Rumor had it that it was to his friend, the actor River Phoenix, but Stipe denies this. Lines jump out at you— “aluminum tastes like fear” is one,  “will you show me something that nobody else has seen” is another. These lyrics are brooding and pensive, and put a spotlight on the alienating nature of fame, the psychic cost of stardom. Stipe was able to enlist the assistance of his idol, Patti Smith, to provide backing vocals. I admit I have never been a big fan of Smith’s work, but her singular voice works well here. This is a great song, but I have no idea why the powers that be thought this was a good choice for the album’s first single. (Ebow the letter)

Leave almost sounds like one of the darker songs on Automatic for the People, or maybe one of the few quiet ones on Monster. Stipe’s vocal is direct and clean, occasionally reaching for a few high notes, projecting a little emotional yearning. The guitars crunch nicely on the choruses, and Buck’s lead guitar figure is taut and memorable. Berry’s drums have a nice snap to them, driving the song forward. A solid tune…except all of it takes a back seat to the car alarm noise that runs through all seven plus minutes of this song, save the keyboard intro. I figured Buck’s ebow was yet again the culprit, but the band said it was a whacked out synth making the shrieking noise that rides like a groove alongside the traditional instrumentation. I am always fascinated when artists deliberately muddy up their arrangements, throw clutter into their melodies. And it really works here. REM’s willingness to take risks takes Leave from a good song to a great one, and closes a wonderfully unpredictable side 2 (Leave) 

The second half of New Adventures in Hi-Fi has several standout songs. Departure, which I clipped earlier, takes Ignoreland as its template, mixing spoken verses, sung choruses, a rousing guitar/organ combo and great Mills harmonies. In an alternate universe, this could have been the opener of the album. Here it is again…because it’s so damn good (Departure)

Be Mine is one of the sweetest songs in REM’s catalog. Inspired by the trite sayings on candy Valentine’s Day hearts, Stipe pens a touching devotional, backed by fuzzy guitar and some keyboards, but no real percussion. The metaphors stretch here, from I wanna be your Easter bunny/I wanna be your Christmas tree to I’ll be the drawing of your breath/I’ll be the cup if you should bleed. It could be seen as a little, er, obsessive, but I’ve always found songs of obsessive devotion touching— I’m a sucker for Dylan’s Make You Feel My Love, too. Besides, listen to how heartfelt Stipe’s vocal is! (Be Mine)

Binky the Doormat is an interesting one. Taking it’s title from a line in a movie starring the comedian Bobcat Goldthwait, Binky’s verses are…fine. But just like the bulk of some short stories are a vehicle to get to a killer ending, the verses in Binky resolve with absolutely killer choruses. Stipe sings in his stadium voice—  Have you lost your place? /I wore my doormat face/ 

I hung my this or that/ I laid my welcome mat—  while Mills howls “go away” in the background. The Monster-like guitars add to the intensity. Some songs win you over in a holistic manner, everything working together for three to five minutes. And some songs can charm you in an instant, an incredible moment that colors everything around it. This is one of those songs (Binky the Doormat) 

Long albums often drag as they near the end, but New Adventures in Hi-Fi closes strong. Zither is one of only three instrumentals on an REM studio album. It rolls along nicely for a couple minutes on a melody played, naturally, on a Zither…sometimes REM can be a little too on the nose. Zither is a pleasant change of pace, not as good as New Orleans Instrumental No 1 on Automatic for the People, maybe, but much better than the irritating Endgame on Out of Time. So Fast, So Numb sounds a bit like the band Live—maybe it’s Stipe’s vocal phrasing, or the moment late in the song where all the music drops out except for an acoustic guitar— but there is a piano line buried beneath the main melody that keeps my interest. Low Desert is The Black Crowes meets Drivin and Cryin, and it’s buoyed by a swirling guitar, some slap bass, and some nice organ fills. Which brings us to the closer, Electrolite. A love letter to LA and the end of the 20th century, Electrolite runs on a beautiful Nightswimming-esque piano melody. I love the violin, I love the scritchy sound of the guiro, and I love the elegaic feel to the lyrics. And the wavery sound of Stipe’s voice when he says “I’m outta here” at the end of the song is one of my favorite musical grace notes. Thom Yorke of Radiohead says Electrolite is his favorite REM song, and it’s definitely one of mine. It is also my favorite REM closer. (Electrolite)

A little over a year after New Adventures in Hi-Fi was released, drummer Bill Berry announced he was leaving REM. Berry said he realized he no longer wanted the stresses of touring and recording. When recording and touring almost kills you, that makes a lot of sense. The other members of REM considered dissolving the band, but ultimately decided to soldier on. And soldier on they did, for 14 more years and five more albums. Those albums all have at least a few songs on them that are valuable, but even a listener with the quirkiest, non-conformist tastes would be reluctant to rank the post-Berry albums higher than most of the albums that came before them. I would recommend the 1998 album Up, which is REM's most electronic sounding album. There are a couple tracks on Up that remind me of the gauzy soundscapes of the electronic band Air. That's a compliment (Suspicion).

Which brings us to the end of our 3 album trek through REM's game-changing discography. There are many bands that were favorites of mine in my early twenties that have lost some of their luster, but REM is not one of them. Their music has aged incredibly well— indeed, they mean more to me now than they did during that first exciting rush of discovery in my college years. I especially admire how the band changed— not in some cynical way to fit the times, but organically, born out of their own artistic impulses. Artists who can chase their muse where it leads them and be successful in the process are usually my favorites, and REM did this better than just about anyone at the end of the 20th century.  I guarantee their best work will linger for a long, long time. 

I leave you with the last song on the last REM studio album, Blue off Collapse Into Now. It sort of feels like Country Feedback shaking hands With Ebow the letter, and again features Stipe's boyhood hero, Patti Smith. It's a perfect end to an often perfect band. Remember, you can buy all of the albums I talked about today at your local record store, at Amazon or other online retailers,  including the band's website, REMHQ.com. You can also stream them at Spotify, Apple music, You Tube music or the streaming service of your choice. Thank you so much for listening to the maiden voyage of this podcast. Script and all sound editing was done by me, Greg Martin. Art direction and design by Andrea Coussens— thanks, Andrea!   I'll be back again soon. Til then, try to be at least average to each other. (Blue)