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CosmicBen's Record Reviews
REM
TonyV: Are you a big fan or did you find their albums for really cheap?
COSMICBEN: hey!
COSMICBEN: both
I don't like writing introductions to band pages. Introductions tend to be long, and whenever I look back at a long piece of writing, it always seems diffuse and jumbled. Heck, I already can't stand to read that last sentence. I try to hit you with a short shot of a review, and that gets shot to hell when I have to introduce a band at the top of their page.
But here goes. I don't love REM, but I love a lot of their music. Their sound is quite basic, distinguished more by their unpretentious attitude than their Byrdsy jangle. When the songs aren't great, it doesn't make me very excited, whereas my definition of loving a band is loving the bad songs.
But that's the rub: REM has an inordinate number of great songs, and has released more good-to-great albums than any modern band I can think of. I want to be bored, but I wind up loving song after song. And sometimes, Peter Buck's guitar tone can sustain me through the mediocre stuff.
REM formed in Athens, GA in the early 1980's. They were favorites on the college rock circuit before getting big mid-decade and signing a major-label contract. As previously stated by Mark Prindle, they alienated plenty of old fans and won millions more.
Now they're a cult band, releasing softer and softer albums as they go on. It's all pretty enough, because they can still write great songs, but I think Reveal was pushing things, and I'm kind of scared to hear Around The Sun. Or maybe I shouldn't be scared; of the twelve previous albums, not a one has been bad.
Lineup: Michael Stipe, vocals. Peter Buck, guitar. Mike Mills, bass and backing vocals. Bill Berry, drums.
Chronic Town (1982)--REM's debut EP. It's only available on the rarities compilation Dead Letter Office, which I've never seen in the used CD bin.
* * * * Murmur (1983)--Years after REM signed a major-label contract, won millions of fans, and reverted back to a cult band, it's still possible to discover their debut for yourself. I found it twenty years after it was released, and I still got the giddiest feeling, wondering if anyone else knew about the great new band I'd uncovered. Murmur takes REM's unpretentiousness to disarming extremes and reveals that their sometimes labored sound has fresh, chipper roots. It's just four talented guys playing the music in their heads, music nobody else had ever heard in this exact form. Aside from the driving single "Radio Free Europe", the songs are similar, each a prettily harmonized burst of winter air and none seeming better or worse than another. In fact, the only major flaw is that the songs aren't designed to take over the world of pop radio. But who cares? I already feel like Murmur is the album I listened to during long-forgotten vacations and sensitive high school moments It's warm, jangly, and welcoming, the rare album that lets you into the club a little late.
* * * * * Reckoning (1984)--I'm not a diehard REM fan, but I love the heck out of Reckoning. It's as purely enjoyable as Murmur, and raises that album's unpretentious jangle to clattering, ballsy levels. Even on the ballad "Camera", Berry slams his cymbals while Buck make his watery riffs louder and louder. It's a neat trick that gives the morose song genuine resonance. Buck's brilliant, repetitive picking shines on the stark rocker "7 Chinese Brothers" and the impossibly pretty "So. Central Rain", while Mills' honky-tonk piano drives the fun country singalong "Don't Go Back To Rockville". There are straightforward rockers, like "Second Guessing" and "Pretty Persuasion", but they stand out because Stipe's somber vocals anchor the huge, sunny melodies. My favorite is "Harborcoat", with a shifting, ethereal chorus that envelopes me like a hypnotic fog. Only "Little America" is at all tuneless, and it still has energy to spare. Never merely catchy, Reckoning's pounding rhythms and subtext of sadness make it the rare album that causes me to feel from start to finish.
* * * 1/2 Fables Of The Reconstruction (1985)--Riding such a hot streak, REM simply couldn't have made a bad album in 1985. Damned if they didn't try, though. Buck's songwriting well is bone-dry, and song after song flies by without wrapping itself around a solid chorus. Even the fan-favorite "Driver 8" sticks out more for being propulsive than memorable. But it's all great anyway, brimming over with Buck's intricate jangling, Mills' rumbling bass lines, and Stipe's dreamy vocals. These aren't songs so much as vehicles for REM to show off how good they'd become at this kind of thing. The indistinct "Feeling Gravity's Pull" is a textbook example. On "Life And How To Live It", Buck and Berry lock into an irresistable groove, and "Green Grow The Rushes" features ethereal harmonies that pile on top of the minimal melody. My favorite, though, is the heartbreaking folk ballad "Wendell Gee", which spotlights Mills' wrenching backing vocals. You can argue that Fables is an unnecessary album and that they should have waited for more inspiration, but pointless albums don't get much better.
* * * Lifes Rich Pageant (1986)--This is a definite change in REM's sound, but a real step down in their songwriting. Buck's guitar now crackles with power, and along with Berry's triple-time drumming, it beefs up their sound considerably. Because of that, tracks like the opener "Begin The Begin" and "These Days" sound like classic rock songs, with a perfect blend of guitar, bass, drums, and forceful lead vocals. The sentimental "Cuyahoga" and frantic "Hyena" are similarly appealing. The problem is that none of them stand up to REM's catalogue of irresistably melodic rockers. The closest they come is the exhilirating "I Believe", with airy harmonies and a conviction that overcome the flat melody. They fare slightly better on the ballads, as on the gentle, layered "Flowers Of Guatemala". Best is the dark singalong "Fall On Me", easily my favorite REM song and one that makes my jaw drop from its sheer melodic power. But most of the time I'm underwhelmed by Lifes Rich Pageant; it's powerful, but lacking the subtle, sharp beauty of the band's first three albums.
* * * 1/2 Document (1987)--Here, the band tosses off a series of tuneless, frenetic rockers that play like a nerdy fever dream. Stipe shouts his clever lyrics, Berry pounds away, there's no melody to speak of, and damn it, that is not why REM was invented. "Fireplace" even applies that formula to a dirge-like ballad, complete with sax solo. Sometimes it sounds like a misguided stab at greatness, but it's usually smarmy enough to keep me from listening to the album in one sitting. So why the solid rating? Unfortunately for my bitter side, Document contains three of REM's greatest songs, and they're all must-owns. The mechanical, fiercely melodic "Finest Worksong" spotlights soaring harmony vocals in the chorus, and the moody, riff-driven hit "The One I Love" features an authoritative Stipe performance. "It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" would be memorable for its warp-speed verses, but the brilliantly harmonized chorus sends it into the stratosphere. For all of my complaints, any album with these three songs has to be solid.
* * * 1/2 Green (1988)--Green is more of the same. The high points are more goofy than classic, but at least the low points don't sound like an endlessly squawking parrot. That's good, because I was ready to kill the damn thing. There's one hard-hitting rocker, the thumping Vietnam protest "Orange Crush", and it was one of my favorite songs in high school. I'm also partial to the riffy, propulsive pop songs "Stand", "Get Up", and the free-association-crazy "Pop Song '89". Though not as profound as Document's best songs, they make for great radio candy. Unfortunately, the boys also fill the album with radio broccoli. The rockers "I Remember California" and "Turn You Inside Out" plod into meaninglessness, and on no less than three songs, Stipe wails over an indistinct, if pretty, mandolin line. It's not the power-drill-in-my-head effect of the last album, but it does slow down the album considerably. There is a great surprise at the end, a hidden track where Stipe and Mills trade affecting verses over a clopping beat. It ends this enjoyably workmanlike album on a rare emotional note.
* * * * 1/2 Out Of Time (1991)--This is as fun as REM gets, with Stipe's dour worldview tempered by the big, poppy songs. Even Stipe loosens up on the catchy rockers "Shiny Happy People", "Me In Honey" (both with beautiful Kate Pierson vocals), and "Radio Song" (with KRS-One rapping along). It's fun, like Frankenstein rocking out for a few minutes. Mostly, the album is just lovely, whether the band is being their usual morose selves or attempting to have a little fun. The bizarre spoken-word piece "Belong" seems like a tossoff, but the soaring harmonies on the chorus are among the band's best ever. Adding to the free-for-all atmosphere, Mills sings two songs: the shimmering, forlorn "Texarkana", and "Near Wild Heaven", with Beach Boys-style harmonies that actually match that band's emotional punch. The bouncy, mandolin-driven "Losing My Religion" is one of my dad's favorite songs, and Stipe wrings a lot of emotion out of the minimalist "Country Feedback". If not entirely meaty or consistent, Out Of Time is still a grab-bag full of dreamy, smile-inducing sounds, and one of my favorite albums.
* * * * Automatic For The People (1992)--By now, REM had morphed into a bunch of slick musicians, and without that college-rock clatter, the arrangements lose some punch. If anything, though, the melodies are more straightforward and affecting than ever. The lulling, circular "Try Not To Breathe" features a dreamy Stipe vocal, and he invests the melodically simple "Everybody Hurts" with substantial emotion. There are two incoherent rockers: the hard-edged "Ignoreland" and the gleeful "The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight", with affecting 50's-style chord changes and a hilarious falsetto vocal. The Andy Kaufman/Elvis tribute "Man On The Moon" has a textbook structure and an irresistable chorus. Finally, "Find The River" is as purely melodic as the band has ever gotten, just impossibly affecting without breaking a sweat. The album slows down in the middle, with several songs that are more atmospheric than memorable, and the pretty ballad "Nightswimming" does veer into melodrama. But if the band calculates a bit too much, they're still sincere, and uncannily good at moving me.
* * * Monster (1994)--I remember buying this when it came out and immediately giving it to my sister. It must have been pretty bad to inspire any acts of generosity on my part, and it was years before I bought myself another copy. Now I see it as a solid concept album based around Buck's guitar tone, which is loud and scraggly and sustains my interest even on songs without much purpose or melody. Further slapping my memory in the face, a lot of these songs are purposeful enough. The infectious "What's The Frequency, Kenneth?" was a deserved hit, and if "Bang And Blame" is slightly annoying, it's also catchy. Meanwhile, "Star 69" rocks ferociously, and "Strange Currencies" wrings a lot of emotion from the "Everybody Hurts" structure, without the cloying lyrics. My least favorite tracks feature Stipe burying his voice in echo to ugly effect, but his delicate falsetto and Mills' piano make the ballad "Tongue" surprisingly effective. Nothing on Monster is flat-out amazing, but it's a consistently listenable arena-rock album, and worth keeping the second time around.
* * * New Adventures In Hi-Fi (1996)--This was REM's first release after signing a multi-million dollar contract, and if I were a fat, sleazy music executive, I'd feel pretty ripped off. They didn't deliver bad music, just undistinguished; with no effort put into writing obvious hits like "Man On The Moon". It's dark and monochromatic, with lots of creepy, pensive songs going more for atmosphere than the obvious hook. On that level, they succeed. But there are almost no songs that jump out and grab me the way nearly all of Out Of Time did. It's a combination of willful obscurity and sputtering talent. Maybe I'm simplistic, but I think most bands would deliver a song like "Man On The Moon" if they were capable of writing it. Instead, we get a lot of small pleasures: Buck's fiery riffs on "The Wake Up Bomb" and "Departure"; the sublimely haunting "E-Bow The Letter"; the lengthy, experimental numbers "How The West Was Won" and "Leave"; and a lot of vaguely pretty ballads. It's an admirable break from expectations, but I still think their windfall should come with a side of guilt.
Up (1998)
Reveal (2001)
Around The Sun (2004)