R.E.M.: Giving It Away For Good

Just like every R.E.M. fan can effusively defend their favorite album, the same can be said about how they fondly remember really appreciating them for the first time. Besides previously knowing them for that “weird video” with a bunch of people dancing with black censor boxes covering their chests, or that colorful video with the B 52s chick, my first real discovery came a few years later.

Oh yes, I’m talking about Monster. Still completely disregarded by critics as that “blatant attempt at creating a pastiche grunge record”, I hadn’t the faintest clue what that meant. At the tender age of ten, my ears were still digesting the sick, sad world of grunge, mainly due to my consummation of heavyweights like Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and even Use Your Illusion II. Screaming Trees? I had seen their videos, but they were too clean for my taste. While I rethink about how inappropriate it was for me to own In Utero at such a young age (my parents gifted it to me on Christmas '93), my adulation was completely naïve; I didn’t understand the words, but I was completed fascinated with those sounds.

The privilege of having heard Monster is partly due to happenstance. My sister and I used to share one of these plastic boxes designed to store cassette tapes, which at the time was the equivalent to what those ugly Case Logic cases looked like once CD’s began their rise. While most of the content in there was meticulously counted (I think my sis had the complete Beatles Anthology, which unfairly took six slots to fill), I was surprised (and a bit ticked off) to see this bright, orange-y cover filling up what would eventually become my first musical misstep: Hootie & The Blowfish’s Cracked Rear View.

One afternoon, while waiting for MTV to finish its block of rap videos so they could start the rock ones, I instantly reacted to the opening riff of What’s the Frequency, Kenneth? Maybe it was Stipe’s really cool red star shirt, or Buck’s piercing guitar work, but my ears were beginning to discern the concept of interconnecting revolting noise with pop sensibilities. Perhaps it wasn’t the most fitting introduction to R.E.M.’s repertoire, but at the time, their most confounding record actually was the best way for me to gradually develop a taste for melodic chords instead of digesting rackety noise. As someone who usually preferred his grunge heroes going soft, like STP’s Pretty Penny, Soundgarden’s The Day I Tried to Live, or Pearl Jam’s Betterman, Buck’s arpeggiated chords were an astounding revelation.

Surprisingly, my adoration for R.E.M. was completely at odds with the expected norm of starting off with their I.R.S. period. The first songs I really fell in love with were the ones that came after Bill Berry’s departure – Daysleeper (I loved it so much, I mistakenly repeated it twice on a mixtape), Beat a Drum (my first foray into discovering Brian Wilson balladry), and the rockin', classic by design Bittersweet Me.  As much as that may scream “sacrilege”, unknowingly delving into R.E.M’s late period first meant my expectations were going to be guided by their so-called “clunky” period instead of their most renowned. Not a bad place to be in.

With an opposite frame of reference, I began to gain a deeper understanding of R.E.M’s mastery. As my ears began to abolish the noisier side of rock music (temporarily, at least), I had discovered that the real “me” actually was meant to love the soothing sounds of jangle. Having been exposed to a meatier side of their career, the simplicity of their first two albums really threw me off at first.  I instantly liked the ones with faster tempos, so Sitting Still and Harborcoat would stir me up into a dancing frenzy. But, at times, I really couldn’t correlate how the same band that wrote Lotus, Let Me In, or even The One I Love would pounce a blistering, same-y construct from beginning to end. At first, I actually preferred Polaris’ pristine, polished jangle; I would actually tune in to “The Adventures of Pete & Pete” with the sole intent of catching the chiming guitars of She’s Staggering every time the show would end. The fact that Michael Stipe cameod as the infamous ice cream seller on that show reassured me how I was in good hands. 

Even if they were never my favorites, R.E.M. would provide me further comprehension of other forms of music . But as they would creep into my musical consciousness in different periods of my life, I began to realize how "Athens Finest" actually was my life. And with time, they eventually cemented their rightful place into my heart – with such a comprehensive discography (and hardly any missteps), they paved the way for today's young collegiates, maintained their dignity, and still managed to sound just as relevant after thirty one years. You really can't say the same thing about long-standing acts such as The Stones, The Cure, or the The Who.

What I love most is why there’s always a time and a place to listen to R.E.M. – Nightswimming  cleanses my low spirits after a long day, E Bow The Letter paints the rural backdrop while I commute on a train, Good Advices always provokes me to look at stranger's shoes, The Wrong Child makes me think about my childhood, and Fall On Me always gives me hope for a new day. And when I arrive home to edit this, I'll revisit my first experience with the same sense of fervor and discovery. A song to every purpose, under what really feels like Heaven.