Why R.E.M. Doesn’t Suck As Much As One Might Think, part 1 of 2,008
R.E.M.: “Chronic Town” (IRS)
It’s pretty cool for a first try. A lot of the songs don’t make sense. Why does it sound like a foggy midnight? What is this beautiful music I’m listening to? How many hearts are this rhythm section made to palpitate? Wouldn’t it be cool if this was on the radio? Do you think it could be? Nah, I’m not sure it would fit.
No, but seriously, “Wolves, Lower” is one of the most harebrained, hair-raising agitpop hot tracks ever known to this fucking planet. It scared me as a child, and it hasn’t really stopped. The mystery unfolds itself every five seconds. Early R.E.M. isn’t scary because the devil might kill you, it’s scary because this band is now a weird millionaire three-piece who made this year’s weirdest surprise album. (Fuck you, Axl Rose.)
FAVORITE LIL KEY TRAXX:: “Stumble”, “Wolves, Lower”
UNFORGIVABLE SONGS TO AVOID:: You yankin’ my chain? Not a second wasted.
R.E.M.: “Accelerate” (Warner Bros.)
Who cares, right? Didn’t the R.E.M. brand dip in stock ten years ago? NO!
So, everyone who knows everything knows that even though these guys are worth millions and millions of dollars, and they’re still past-radio-peak and all, and they’re still kinda rock stars, right? So why should we care? Just like the crippling debt Americans find themselves in in twenty-minute hyper-realized chunks of despair, we need to bail out our rock stars in tandem. There’s no question Michael Stipe is a dabbler, a fashionista the likes of which do not exactly correlate with modern, glammy-destitute living. Money is a faint smell that doesn’t exactly come off, and whether or not you can tolerate that smell is up to you. To me, I don’t really mind it when these guys veer of course. To me, the music isn’t even half the appeal behind R.E.M.
The mystique of this band is more awesome for me than The Beatles or Nirvana without a doubt in my mind. Sure, the music might get crippled by an unimaginative arrangment here and there, and Michael S. isn’t as mush-mouthed and Elvish as he used to be, but, to butcher and paraphrase what Ian Mackaye told us Hot Topic fuckheads so many moons ago, at least they’re fucking trying. “What the fuck have you done?” You may have scoured the internet looking for the most authentic MySpace-base band that wears x amount of neon clothing so as to suit your preference, but you’ll never find a more fucked up and truly strange, but altogether bracingly honest band that is real and American without any of that pesky fascism. It’s like black coffee and heroin, you know, acquired tastes. You know, some people can’t take the fact that Stipe is a queeny celebrity, like a leprechaun crossbreed of John Wayne and Patti Smith. Personally, I sometimes get distraught over reading about Owen Wilson or Brad Pitt. They’s my boys. I am not immune, sadly and stinkily.
In other words, sure they once made a song with the line “Leaving was never my proud”, but now Michael S. is obviously getting jollies over the fact that he can sing the phrase “odious conceit” over a souped-up ‘roided rock backdrop. To understand why he is so very concerned with showing solidarity with the anti-war movement, you need look no further than the presidents he poked fun at in the 80s (hint: you know, those old pink shriveled assholes), the ease and FM airplay (remember that, too? Gosh, what a novel idea) of the Clinton administrations, and, unfathomably and unwaveringly, Bush Jr.’s eight-year Strangelovian vision quest. Michael Stipe is best when he is either sexy or political, and he can’t help but scrape cosmic gold when the two meet in an only slightly embarassing way. If we use this criteria, the first four and last two tracks on this sudden and playful album are indisputably some of his finest sleepy-contemporary engine chuggers.
The main thing to remember about this band is, like their distant bald cousin the Smashing Pumpkins, that they are at least trying to rescuscitate 90s alternative, wondering where the juice went, etc. The fakers of the nineties can now be safely identified. If they’re not making shitty rock, they’ve just switched over to shitty country.
I’m just saying. It’s not a flawless record, but who gives a shit? There’s some teensily-unflattering clunkers, sure but it’s R.E.M. kicking the bucket of “modern rock” and it sure as fuck don’t suck. Mike Mills is singing a bunch of cool b.g. harmonies on top of this. But, in the words of infectious first single from way back in March (remember March? You know March, that crazy old month before Barack?), “no one remembers and nobody cares.” And why should they? They’re neon people. Let the neon commies have their neon poseur noise bands. Just kidding, I love listening to noise. I play it all the time for my grandma, she just doesn’t understand it. One day everyone will love noise. I’m sure my kids will love it. I’m sure my kids will love noise. Hearing damage isn’t real.
FAVORITE LIL KEY TRAXX:: “I’m Gonna DJ”, a minature vamped-up faggy awesome riotous ”It’s the End of the World As We Know It”.
UNFORGIVABLE SONGS TO AVOID:: Sorry, but tracks 5 and 6 might have been better off not on the fucking thing. A 26-minute R.E.M. album in 2008 would have been powerful, punchy and ideal. Just my two cents.
Plus, they made this song. Can you honestly diss on this little tune?
