As the debut album ‘Murmur’ from American alternative rock band R.E.M. turns 40 years old on April 12th 2023, I was approached by a wonderful writer called Hugh Ogilvie who said that he had produced a review for a local fanzine and would I be interested in hosting it on the site? ANYTHING that Hugh produces is ALWAYS of such high standard, who was I to turn down such an opportunity?
Grab yourselves a nice cup of whatever takes your fancy, get comfy and prepare to have your mind blown…..
I remember Georgia…
Released in April 1983, this debut album proper by the shaggy-haired foursome - as they looked then - is calmly approaching its 40th anniversary. Just take that in, all you Coldplay and Ed Sheeran fans. This LP, along with early releases by The Db’s, Pylon and The B-52’s still holds up proudly and has acquired an almost mythical status. Listening to it now, the listener is transported to a place outside the realms of college rock, in a vaguely surreal setting that aches with longing and a sense of anticipation for what was to come, locked in its own capsule of perfection, yet waiting to unleash a nascent power upon the unsuspecting music world. What R.E.M. create across these 44 minutes and 12 seconds is close to miraculous, for they project passion through reserve, through an opaque lens, where honesty and humility exist as bedfellows, wreathed in nervous, slightly withdrawn smiles. And, like most of their subsequent output, they were already finding an allusive, elusive political voice - at this stage, intensely personal, yet acknowledging the reality of the wider populace : ‘and not, everyone, can carry the weight of the world’ [Talk About the Passion].
I remember Athens…
My own introduction to R.E.M. occurred when I was a late teenager, studying in America at a school in Massachusetts. Some kindly souls recorded tape cassettes for me of Murmur, Reckoning, Fables and Life’s Rich Pageant. I was sold, instantly, yet my love stuck more, at that time, with Pageant and its furious, declamatory lyricism. It took me a little time to embrace the subtleties of Murmur. When I returned to the UK, starting at University, I purchased the ‘Chronic Town’ EP, as well as ‘Dead Letter Office’ and everything started to make proper sense. You return to a song - more a hymn - like ‘Perfect Circle’, famously penned by drummer Bill Berry, and marvel at a deceptive depths of the line ‘Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room’, itself encapsulating the feeling of not being confident enough to assert your sense of self, a true identity, leading to a retreat. Sequentially, this is set against ‘Catapult’ where the protagonists are ‘cowered in a hole / open your mouth’. This is self-deprecation at its finest, poetic and imagery heavy. This song, like several others, rings in the ears with a ‘we’ refrain. Is Michael Stipe trying to convey that loneliness is acceptable and we need to hold onto each other, to thrust us willingly into an uncertain future?
I remember the streets, the trees, the quiet, echoing sounds…
It’s mildly amusing following the lyrics on Spotify while I write this. It encourages me to think too literally while it’s more crucial, here, to understand that the JOY of this album is the inability to truly work out what Stipe is trying to impart to an audience used to verse chorus verse hegemony. The inaudible parts of ‘9-9’ demand nothing more than an inhabiting of its prevailing mood, the soul of its core, the unsettling refrain of ‘conversation fear’ ringing in your ears for significant moments afterwards. This feeling would be replicated in Fables’ ‘Auctioneer’ several years later - uneasy, swallowing the darkness in a haze of anxiety, focused on the non-specific individual.
‘Ears that are still / children of today on parade’ - ‘Shaking Through’
The hope in these lines, the non-linear nature of the words : it becomes so entrancing to the untrained ear and makes you realise that, at this point, R.E.M. were almost a cult concern, a bunch of longtime friends who had this uncanny ability to condense a thought and feeling into music. There is nothing remotely commercial about this album. It is independent in the purest sense of that word - existing outside the sphere of major radio station replay. It doesn’t really care whether you like its plangent chord progressions or not. It simply invites you to experience its withdrawn worldview.
I remember the kudzu, its climbing, entangling, remorseless progression…
The cover of the LP, covered with those rampant weeds, clad in murky blues and greys, suffused with an alien-like, alienated presence. What might the image be imparting? Is the band hidden beneath these choking layers; is this some type of Southern Gothic, recalling the numbness and suffering of a William Faulkner novel, the struggle of Willa Cather? Is it about the microcosm of Athens itself, a town made bigger through having a University campus? Is it a protest about the emerging environmental crisis? This makes the album so appealing as it constantly invites these and other questions, allowing us to seek meaning in myriad ways, glorying in the non-obvious.
There is much beauty on offer here, a series of moods : some assertive, some reclusive ; a theme that would carry through all of their subsequent releases until Bill Berry retired from the fray. His influence is redolent here. It’s hard to depict his understated brilliance as a drummer. His direct, yet sensitive style, acts as a gorgeous counterpoint to the yearning vocals of Stipe on ‘Talk About the Passion’ and ‘Perfect Circle’. Yet, he can then change things up, becoming more tribal and sharp, with a post-punk timbre attached to the directness of ‘Catapult’ and ‘West of the Fields’. He and Mike Mills, bassist supreme, anchor the sound, allowing Peter Buck to riff away in the foreground, picking away at acoustic and Rickenbacker chords, sitting on the propulsive, insistent rhythms beneath. At times, the tone is almost celebratory, particularly on ‘Catapult’. You sense the band struggling with their identity : not too much, not too discernible, not yet realising the true extent of the impact their mythical music would have upon generations of disaffected teenagers and, now, erstwhile, still searching for meaning, purity, a return to innocence. You get this in the closing bars of ‘Shaking Through’ with the keening ‘opportune’ ringing in your ears, willing you to step outside and embrace life in its trembling glory.
‘Martyred, misconstrued’ - ‘Laughing’...
With this phrase, Stipe predicts his own persona, his unwillingness to reveal his true feelings and persona, for fear of losing hold of the elixir of youth, the rebellion that is not giving off pat answers in interviews, rather leaving it to the reader, listener, to work it out, to search for the degrees of truth behind seeming obfuscation. This isn't harmful or obtuse, confrontational even. Like all of the best music, it forces you to embrace doubt, blinking into the light, a light often wreathed in twilight shadows, to rekindle multiple interpretations. Celebrate the non-obvious. It’s why I start to balk at some of Stipe’s heavy-handed virtue signalling on ‘Automatic for the People’ where the incandescent beauty of ‘Nightswimming’ competes with the cod universality of ‘Everybody Hurts’ which has, over time, transformed - in a rather banal way - into an empty anthem for the disaffected. On the contrary, ‘Murmur’ embraces vulnerability, the getting it wrong, the finding life a struggle without ever patronising the listener.
I remember Athens, Georgia…
I’ve listened back to the album close to ten times in preparation for this appreciation. I must have listened to it countless times since 1987. I feel that I will never tire of it. There are layers, and more, to investigate. The possibilities of meaning are, thankfully, endless. These line stay, endure:
‘The pilgrimage has gained momentum / Take a turn / Take a Turn / Take a fortune / Take a fortune.’
Listen back to this song - it fosters celestial qualities. Stipe and Mills harmonising, the vocals growing and exploding into the clear blue, throwing possibility into the ether and not caring where it lands. The strumming of multiple guitars, the short pauses, Bill’s open-hearted drumming - it all JUST WORKS. Its spirituality is tangible and, remember, it is the second song on the album ; the second.
What remains is this: ‘Murmur’ does what the title suggests. It is tentative, yet declarative, withdrawn yet expressive, personal yet political, intimate yet universal. It will never become an artefact; it will always be more than the sum of its parts. It’s a stepping stone, the stepping off point for a band that, in 1983, did not yet fully realise their burgeoning potential, just how incredibly special and important they would become to the world.
Return to this. Return to forever. This, ‘Murmur’, will always be relevant because it decided to be itself, to be true, to express truth, raw beauty, honesty, complexity of emotion and, above all, humility. Always, a myth that becomes real. With ‘Murmur’ R.E.M. offer no compromise.
R.E.M. released a 25th Anniversary edition of Murmur in 2008 and I recall there being a few versions flying around, can I locate a copy anywhere on the web? what do you think, even the official REMHQ online store sold out many moons ago! Head to Discogs where you’ll find so many different versions of the album, you’ll leave as confused as I did! If you head to eBay, you’ll no doubt find a selection of albums on offer to suite every pocket….