Pilgrimage Has Gained Momentum:
The first time I saw R.E.M. was in Nashville in 1980 at a tiny basement club called Phranks'N'Steins. Maybe 5 songs into the first of their two sets, I concluded they were my favorite band in the world.
I went that night because my Vanderbilt law school pal Curtis had gone to U. of Georgia as an undergrad and spotted a poster for the show as we were walking on campus: "Appearing Friday From Athens GA - R.E.M." Curtis said something to the effect that he had not heard of them, but we had to go because if they were from Athens they had to be great, especially with such a cool name.
About 15 people were at the show. Turns out it was the 2nd show R.E.M. had ever played outside of Athens and one of the first shows they had headlined. They were raw and exciting and even then had a completely distinctive sound. Sure there were some touch points - The Byrds, The Ramones, Lovin' Spoonful, and 60's garage rock. But what struck me was the weird touch of Southern soul that was hinted at in the band's remarkable rhythm section, played by 2 Georgia boys - bassist Mike Mills and drummer Bill Berry.
At that point, Peter Buck was the visual center of their performances - all Pete Townshend kicks, windmills and jumps, with a propelling and infectious Rickenbacker guitar sound. The singer was shy, to the point of barely looking at the audience, but oh man, what a voice. And as somewhat reticent and completely unconventional as he seemed, there was a quality to Michael Stipe that you couldn't take your eyes off.
Something really special was at work, even though a third of the songs they played were covers and you could tell they were pretty new at this. I went home that night thinking - what a collective, 4 guys making their own new sound their own way, a real
band.
Curtis recognized Peter from Wuxtry Records in Athens where Peter had worked and we chatted between the sets. The next time they came through Nashville, Curtis threw a BBQ dinner for them and we dragged every cool person from the law school to see them that night at a larger club.
Soon I graduated and moved to Chicago, and helped them get their first show there (Club C.O.D. on Devon near Loyola). It was the night before Thanksgiving in 1981. They had a bunch of new songs, every one better than the one before. I couldn't believe how much they had improved in less than a year. Stipe and Mills' vocal harmonies were unbelievably great. And Stipe was now a whirling dervish on stage, shaking and shimmying his way through the set.
Here's an early live clip (with future sideman Peter Holsapple from The dBs sitting in):
An early TV performance - note how Stipe hides from the limelight:
I have tracked their career closely, followed them around the US and Europe, had some amazing experiences as a result of all of it, and through R.E.M. met some of my favorite people in the world.
Their decision to stop forever right now has hit me hard, feels like a transition in my own life, the end of something special. But of course it isn't the end because the music and experiences survive. I could spew my thoughts on various records, but plenty of writers will do a fine job with that.
I'd rather highlight something in R.E.M.'s history that I think gets a bit overlooked - they didn't just make music, they managed to build a movement and a community. And that community was a far better place than the world at large. You didn't just get to listen to R.E.M., you could join them. Which is a big reason why there has been such an emotional outpouring of love to the band this week.
Can't Get There From Here:Even though neither Peter nor Michael were natives of the South, the band wore their small town Georgia roots proudly. And they blazed a new path for Southern rock music and more importantly, for progressive and outsider kids in the South. As far from rebel flags, Freebird, wanky guitar solos, and dumbshit good old boys as you could get, R.E.M. instead were all well read guys, whipsmart, with a kudzu album cover, a song about Howard Finster, a love of Big Star and some super hip country twang on one of their most popular early songs "(Don't Go Back To) Rockville". They wore Future Farmer of America jackets in publicity photos and talked about Flannery O'Connor in interviews. They were both as Southern as, yet as far from, Lynyrd Skynyrd as one could be.
Their first LP
Murmur was and remains a masterpiece. It was the American
Astral Weeks - evoking Southern rather than Irish mysticism and literature - weird, soulful, oblique, timeless and utterly compelling. It was like Flannery O'Connor's version of jangly folk rock. Later,
Fables of the Reconstruction, though recorded in the UK, doubled down on the band's New South sensibilities and became the soundtrack to college life in the South for years afterwards.
The South was a lot of things in the late 70s-early 80's, but one thing it wasn't was cool. Yet seemingly overnight after
Murmur was released , R.E.M. was suddenly the coolest band in America, the one that the
New Music Express in the UK, the
New York Times, and perhaps more importantly, the most influential fanzines like
The New York Rocker and
Matter Magazine were fawning over in every issue. And R.E.M. served as a beacon, source of pride and a lifeline for many kids in the South - the artsy kids, politically aware types, gay kids, music nerds, and the smart kids who got bullied at school. R.E.M. gave the outsiders a place to belong.
Let's Start a New Country Up:Being a fan of R.E.M. early on was closer to joining a club than simply liking a band. Everything about this band was different, even their tee shirts with monkeys on bicycles, stick men or old maps. When you met someone at a party who liked R.E.M., you became friends with them. And it was a big deal when R.E.M. came to town, which in their extended barnstorming period of 1982-89 was maybe twice a year if you lived in a big city or many college towns. Every time they came back, they played a bigger club or theater, and very soon in some markets, arenas.
And when the band hit it big, they avoided and even spoofed the rock'n'roll cliches. With the help of a very shrewd and creative set of internal managers/advisors, Jefferson Holt and Bertis Downs, R.E.M. beat the industry at its own game, made the industry adjust to R.E.M. rather than the reverse. As Peter Buck once famously stated, R.E.M. was "the acceptable edge of all the unacceptable stuff."
R.E.M.'s first big arena tour, the magnificent Green tour of 1989, was as one friend of mine put it, more like German expressionist art than a conventional arena rock show. As Stipe unleashed his inner Iggy Pop, fans were treated to backdrop film by avant filmmakers or random words like "Hello", "Government" or "Hi, it's great to be be back in (your city here)."
R.E.M.'s biggest hit, and one of its very best songs, "Losing My Religion", prominently featured not a ringing guitar but a mandolin, while its ubiquitous video featured Caravaggio images. Somehow R.E.M. held on to their unconventional outsider art status even as they became one of the biggest bands in the world.
The band was well aware of its community-organizer influence and began to promote progressive causes, being among the first bands to set up information tables for social justice and environmental organizations in the lobbys of its shows. By 1986-87, the increasingly more confident Stipe began to speak out on various issues - the death penalty, environmental protection, local and national elections - flying in the face of the reactionary and sickening Reaganism of the mid-80s. As common place as that activism seems now, it was not then and especially not in the South.
But the band members spoke from their heart about the issues of the day and didn't fret the consequences (and there were some). But to the throngs of outsiders in its fan base, R.E.M mattered, and for many of its rabid followers, being a fan stood for something bigger than the music.
And as the lyrics became more decipherable and direct, so did the messaging. To this day "Fall on Me" is one of my favorite songs of all time, R.E.M. at the absolute top of their game:
There's Lots of Room for You on the Bandwagon:The center of R.E.M.'s new community was other musicians. A lot has been written this week about how R.E.M. essentially invented "alternative music" and "alternative radio" and paved the way much later for Nirvana and Pearl Jam, both of which adored R.E.M. All true. But while R.E.M.'s success certainly did send the record company lemmings searching for "the next R.E.M.", R.E.M. themselves were promoting their peers, always with their finger on the pulse of the best bands out there.
Starting on its earliest national tours in 1982 and continuing through the Accelerate tour two years ago, the band carefully selected its opening bands, not like everyone else picking bands who might help them sell more tickets, but instead selecting bands who had not played in such big rooms, deserved broader exposure and that R.E.M. thought their fans would appreciate. Here's a short list of what were underground bands when they opened for R.E.M. - 10,000 Maniacs, Husker Du, The Replacements, Sonic Youth, even Radiohead and Wilco, and most recently The National. I recall seeing the then unknown west coast band Camper van Beethoven playing "Take the Skinheads Bowling" in an arena in conservative Grand Rapids, Michigan in the mid-80s, and thinking, I can't believe this is actually happening.
And in every print interview, the band plugged other far less known bands. Peter Buck's impeccably tasteful year end Top 10 lists became a regular feature in magazines like
Rolling Stone, and his list generally consisted of bands that
Rolling Stone wouldn't write about for 2 more years.
And when a fellow musician was in need, R.E.M. was there to help. They never made a big deal out of their good deeds so I won't here either, but injured, sick and down on their luck musicians could count on R.E.M. for assistance.
The loyalty both to and from R.E.M. in the underground music community helped them greatly over the years. Almost never did you hear anyone grousing about R.E.M.'s success, instead it was a source of pride for the fans which included many many other bands. I was at countless backstage after parties at R.E.M. shows and many times it was a who's who of the local music scene in that city.
Time I Spend Some Time Alone:I'm still getting my head around this breakup announcement. Their comments were elegant and I accept them at face value:
http://remhq.com/news_story.php?id=1446.
Ironically the paradigm that R.E.M. successfully maneuvered despite their outsider and unconventional approach - record, tour, build base to sell records, get singles to radio to sell records, make a new record and repeat - toppled. To be a band now is to tour and license your music to commercials, TV, films and video games (kill me now). Other than touring, not much room for community building there. And I am exactly those guys' age, and the idea of riding on a bus (albeit a really nice one) for 5 hours or more a day, checking into a different hotel (albeit a really nice one) 4-5 days a week, being away from family and then jumping around on stage for 150 minutes seems somewhere between thoroughly unappealing and impossible.
After R.E.M. hit the big time, they continued to push the envelope and make challenging and distinctly original records, some of which people loved and some of which mystified people, but every one of which had some great songs. I listened today to both their first LP
Murmur and their 15th and now final one
Collapse Into Now, and both sounded fantastic.
So I reluctantly accept this unexpected decision of my favorite band and will continue always to love their music. I am so proud of them for their amazing 31-year career, and deeply thankful that they let me and so many like me come along for the ride.
Any other band in their position would take a victory lap "Farewell Tour" and the heartfelt goodbye from its fans and the huge multi-million dollar payday that would accompany it. But R.E.M., fittingly, walked out exactly as they walked in - through the back door. Right on fellas.
