From The Vault: REM - MURMUR

MURMUR

R.E.M.

I.R.S. Records – 1983

 

In 1980, mainstream music was in a state of change. Disco and Prog-Rock were dead. Two years earlier, punk had been slowed down, reconfigured with new embellishments, and dubbed “post-punk” (clever, right?). Meanwhile, Michael Stipe, Peter Buck, Mike Mills, and Bill Berry met in college at Athens, GA and decided to form a band. They were all fans of post-punk groups like Mission of Burma and Wire, but also loved the melodic pop of The Byrds and The Beatles. The four art-school students called themselves R.E.M and managed to not break up (They outlive The Replacements by about sixteen years, who chose the “abject failure” path to mainstream success). In the twenty-seven years of their existence, they have released thirteen albums, moved to a major label, played to stadium-filled audiences, and sold millions of records. Recent inductees into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, they join the ranks of their idols including The Clash, Patti Smith and The Velvet Underground. The big hits are known: “Losing My Religion”, “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)”, “Everybody Hurts”, and “Stand”, but what of their humble beginnings?

The Chronic Town EP gave the world a taste of their sound, but their first album Murmur defined it. Michael Stipe begins the album and a career’s worth of obtuse lyrics with the single “Radio Free Europe”: Beside defying media too fast / Instead of pushing palaces to fall / Put that, put that, put that before all / That this isn't fortunate at all.

Even Stipe himself has said that the lyrics, while catchy, don’t always make sense. In lieu of Dylanesque wordplay, the album conveys its message through the music and production. A desolate mood is reflected (the album’s cover features sepia-toned plants looking like something out of an impressionistic nightmare). Present within the dense fog of songs on Murmur are Byrds-inspired vocal harmonies and jangly guitar courtesy of Pete Buck’s Rickenbacker. The folk-inspired playing complements Michael Stipe’s mumbled vocals, taking away the harshness of punk while keeping the pulsating rhythm and the econo-size; the longest song is 4:30. Bill Berry’s drumming has a machine-like quality to it that recalls Stephen Morris of post-punk poster boys Joy Division, and Murmur’s production resembles the cold, detached mood of their albums. Big Star gets a nod in “Sitting Still”, and Gang of Four’s influence is found in the bass riffs on “Laughing” and “9-9”. The latter song has a tape loop of Stipe’s vocals being played backwards, further entrancing you in the mysterious atmosphere. These disparate influences add together to create highly memorable songs.

Murmur is a spectacular album. Yes, it’s cerebral rock, and not listening for every mood. However, if you wish to take the trip that the album has to offer (a wholly different one from Dark Side of the Moon or others of that kind), I doubt you will be disappointed. The choruses are catchy despite you having no clue what they mean, which speaks for the quality of the songwriting. In recent years, both the creativity and cultural relevance of R.E.M. have waned. Most of their post-Automatic For The People work can be found in pretty much any record store’s used-CD bargain bin, and they haven’t had a big hit in eight years. Yet this first album reminds us of the potential this band once exhibited. Their big hits were extensions of the groundwork laid within these obfuscated tunes. R.E.M. helped create college rock, and in turn, spawned hundreds of alternative bands. Murmur shows why.