There’s something rather embarrasingly music nerdy in thinking an EP is an artist’s best release - and double cliché hipster points if it’s their debut EP - but the format simply suits some artists nicely for one reason or another. Sea Wolf is an artist like this because the shorter format stops him from walking astray. Alex Brown Church is a decent songwriter who can write a really good, memorable song but who isn’t so strong that he could do it consistently for a full album. The closest he’s gotten is the debut Leaves in the River, but the oddly slick production is at odds with the material on it. So, a bite-sized chunk where every song matters, recorded in relation to Leaves in the River but in a less produced setting sounds like it could just be the exact right thing. And it is.
Get to the River Before It Runs Too Low doesn’t bring anything new to the table or even re-invent something, but it’s good. Church’s autumnal log cabin indie rock has a good sound, the melodies are strong and Church himself has a soft, calm tone that’s pleasant to listen to. That’s all the EP really needs. Part of Get to the River’s charm is that it doesn’t try hard to be a grand entrance or pull off any special tricks off its sleeve - it simply flows effortlessly without any hurry, gently strumming along so naturally it’s actually quite soothing to listen. Church falls squarely into a camp populated by hundreds of other songwriters like him, but for five songs he makes a really good argument to spare him some time.
“You’re a Wolf” is the obvious lead track - besides effectively being the lead single of the subsequent album, it’s got a punchier pace to the rest of the EP and is a little bit sharper with its hook. To put it short, it’s the most immediate of the bunch and serves as a fitting introduction to the world of Sea Wolf. On Leaves in the Riverit’s the easy highlight pick, but the rest of this release actually measures up to it pretty great in its own way. “The Garden That You Planted” is lush and autumnal, a pretty rainy day mood piece that says a lot with fairly few tricks. “I Made a Resolution” and “Ses Monuments” inject a little energy into the proceedings and follow in the footsteps of “You’re a Wolf”, though with a little less shine in their sound. Both could have been bombastically produced indie rock anthems in another lifetime: here, they are down to earth in their arrangement but those grand melodies are still there. The surprise ace in the sleeve of the EP turns out to be the closer “I Don’t Know If I’ll Be Back This Time”, though. It’s just Church and an organ for two minutes, but it’s a case where a simple arrangement ends up creating a spell-binding atmosphere: the two sounds form a mixture that has all the world’s content weariness on its shoulder, ready to be laid down as soon as the song finishes. It’s not quite a lullaby but it’s an effective farewell.
The 18 minutes goes by pretty fast and you could also say a bit too fast, considering how enjoyable the run through the five songs is. But as explained, the brevity helps to keep the EP a solid listen and if nothing else, it serves as a good segue to Leaves in the River. Even so, Get to the River Before It Runs Too Low isn’t a hidden treasure that would transcend its particular stylistic pigeon hole into something that’s a must listen - it’s the best Sea Wolf release, but not because it contains something unique and golden the subsequent albums didn’t have. It’s simply five consistently good, straightforward songs presented by a frontman who does his job just fine, and it doesn’t need to be anything more to warrant a spin.
1) Laura; 2) Take Your Mama; 3) Comfortably Numb; 4) Mary; 5) Lovers in the Backseat; 6) Tits on the Radio; 7) Filthy/Gorgeous; 8) Music Is the Victim; 9) Better Luck; 10) It Can’t Come Quickly Enough; 11) Return to Oz
Bold, outrageous and cunningly catchy - a whole lot of expert songwriting beneath the colourful exterior fuels one of the decade's most outstanding debuts.
The debut albums that tend to become cherished classics tend to have one or two things in common: they either break genre boundaries in a revolutionary fashion and/or they’re fueled by an almost arrogant ambition and passion. Scissor Sisters’ self-titled album belongs to the latter category. Like many great debuts it sounds like it’s on a mission to prove the world that there is a great hole in the music map and this band is there to fill it - that they’re needed to exist. Then they go out their way to prove this with youthful energy, a confident attitude and a certain level of audacity, sporting a belief that they can do no wrong. It’s no wonder that Scissor Sisters’ first album became huge - it sounds like that was the only choice that could ever possibly exist.
Talking about the Scissor Sisters in the present day tends to be a bit of a disappointing affair. Ignoring the fact that they’re effectively a pop act and one from an era before it suddenly became cool for hip music geeks to like pop music, they’re one of those acts who bear the downside of releasing a brilliant debut album: the feeling that all their inspiration was spent on that one initial explosion and ever since they’ve been left wondering what to do. The band’s career since has become a series of diminishing returns, difficult recording sessions, long periods of absence, underwhelming singles and lead singles that feel like they’re pandering towards the charts and which bear no similarity whatsoever to their parent albums. When the group announced in late 2012 that they were going on an undetermined hiatus, it was hardly a shock surprise announcement. They’re likely going to be delegated to footnote mentions in the greater annals of music history eventually - unfortunately - but there was a reason why for a while they did feel like a genuine event. And that’s the first album.
During the time their flame burned the brightest, the Scissor Sisters managed to create the perfect combination of songwriting and attitude, a package of incredible hooks fueled by world-conquering audacity. The audacity is arguably the most prominently visible: nevermind the salacious lyrics all over the record, the album’s most (in)famous moment is the cover of “Comfortably Numb”, a prog rock sacred cow ballad turned into a throbbing disco stomper seemingly aimed more to outrage classic rock fans than to pay tribute. But it also showcases the brilliance and the reason why the self-titled is so great: that this isn’t just a dull thump-thump take on a song done (solely) for the sake of attention. The production is cold and gloomy and despite the disco falsetto, the vocals are detached and melancholy. Its guise may be that of dancefloor filler, but the sound of the song and the way it has been realised bring it closer to melancholy original: the warm introspection has simply been switched into emotionless void of uncertainty. Our feet may tell that it’s something to dance to but it’s hard to really imagine the highlight of the party would be something this paranoid. And yet, it sounds playful - despite its gloomy underlinings, the Sisters know perfectly that they’re treading on sacred grounds and they find their fun from it, delivering the discotheque melancholia with their tongues firmly in their cheeks.
This delicate balance between fun and serious is the heart of the album. There is constant interplay of light and dark on the album, with both often making their presence know immediately after one-another. Make no mistake, it is a very extroverted album, filled with loud sounds and raucous energy, but time and time again it flips the coin on its other side and presents a different take on the band - one that goes into more personal depths and bares its soul on display. This fleshes out the band themselves, not only by offering variety but by underlining that underneath all the silly names (Ana Matronic, Babydaddy, etc) and fierce attitude there’s a group of people pouring their everything, their heart and soul, into this music.Tributes to lost and dead friends are scattered next to life-affirming optimism, the spectrum of life distilled into pop songs.
The big singles are still great, definitely - “Take Your Mama” and in particular “Filthy/Gorgeous” sound even better than ever now that they no longer play everywhere in the most inappropriate contexts, allowing the listener to re-evaluate them once more as the genuinely great tunes that they are (and in particular the brilliantly chaotic and busy production of “Filthy/Gorgeous” was completely lost in the background of whatever TV show that used it on any given moment years ago). But it’s the oft-unspoken album tracks that really show just how brilliant Scissor Sisters were at crafting songs in the mid-00s and why the debut is so great. In particular “It Can’t Come Quickly Enough”, hidden right near the end of the album, is the criminally unrecognised masterpiece moment of the album and arguably its grandest hour overall: a dramatic and dark half-ballad half-anthem that feels incredibly desolate and lonely as a complete opposite to how grand and stadium-filling it sounds, hitting those sweet evocative spots with killer accuracy. “Better Luck”, “Lovers in the Backseat” and the oft-forgotten debut single “Laura” are model examples of how to craft a perfect pop melody and if there’s one ‘outrageous’ moment I would have wanted the world adopt from this album, it’s the sexily bass-driven and deliciously attitude-sweating “Tits on the Radio”. The frequent nods towards popular music of yore brought to modern day add to the magic (the 80s-isms of “Better Luck”, the 70s singer/songwriter vibe of “Take Your Mama”, “Mary” being a loving tribute to every classic power ballad written, etc). The band’s stellar performance brings forth the final special touch. In particular Jake Shears’ performance here, both vocally and sometimes even lyrically, really brings to mind how he’s probably one of the best frontmen of his generation, even if just for one album.
When the S/T got big back in its day, it felt like one of those moments where the mainstream marketgot it, that a band who deserved success actually reached it: even back then I was positively surprised when something I really loved suddenly became big everywhere (insert your favourite token “I liked it before it was cool” phrase here). A decade+ later when the band’s public presence is at its minimum, listening to the debut now just confirms that it wasn’t your usual kind of trend-following pedestal-raising that happens time to time in public media to fairly unexciting acts. The material holds up excellently and in fact sounds completely fresh, and the album still feels like a gem that should be mentioned alongside the usual subjects in any sort of 00s retrospectives. It’s a brilliantly realised pop album that sounds like people poured their hard-worked sweat, tears and blood over it to make it the best damn thing they’d ever do. Sadly it turned out that’s just what they did but focusing on the downsides takes away from enjoying the positives and ultimately dampens the mood during the celebration. And despite its serious heart, that’s exactly what the Scissor Sisters debut feels like - a celebration of a band in their prime, their creative vein and their desire to be on top of the world.
1) Sphere; 2) The Afterglow; 3) Walls; 4) Communique; 5) At Your Enemies; 6) Surrogate People; 7) My Life
Frusciante and Klinghoffer dedicate an entire album to their chemistry, arm themselves with synths and loops and and forge something brand new to both, to rewarding results.
When reviewing Frusciante's 2004 albums, I've frequently called Josh Klinghoffer his brother-in-arms, co-conspirator, et cetera. The rush of releases Frusciante put out during the year was probably half thanks to Klinghoffer: not just with the obvious collaborative projects like this and Ataxia, but Klinghoffer was a frequent backing musician for Frusciante during these albums, even extending as back as before the official start of the project, on Shadows Collide with People - where Klinghoffer even got a co-lead vocal on one song and was immortalised in the promo photo in the liner notes. Klinghoffer's constant support is probably just as integral to the success of the project as Frusciante's seemingly endless creativity. A true collaborative project was inevitable and A Sphere in the Heart of Silence is a fitting culmination of the two men's shared work ethics, with both J's sharing equal amounts of airtime and space.
A Sphere in the Heart of Silence breaks away from the general genre umbrella of the release chain by going towards a more electronic route, but the relatively stripped down and raw aesthetics the releases share remain in place. The album is full of synths, programmed elements and drum machines, but it still sounds like two guys in the same room playing everything live - which is likely how it was as well - with little imperfections left in to retain the authenticity. The opening instrumental "Sphere" and its bubbling, eight-and-half minute analog synth jam is an appropriate demonstration. It's a steadily chugging soundscape where the two artists layer one element - from new synth riffs to a guitar solo - on top of another, transforming the piece from a brief intro sequence into a quietly colossal wave of gorgeous retro synth sounds that envelops the room within itself. You could have had an entire album full of free-form soundscapes like this and I could have been sold, but while it's the kick that starts the whole thing going and signals the drastic difference from the prior Frusciante albums, it's hardly the only trick it's got.
Where the rest of the 2004 set of Frusciante-lead albums each took a particular idea and ran an album with it, Sphere's only combining factor between its seven tracks is that they're all heavily based on those synthetic elements - after that starting point, they are free to go anywhere. The same variety goes for the vocals as well, where both of the dynamic duo get two songs each to lead as well as two further songs where they share the microphone. They all have emphasise certain elements of the overall concept and Frusciante's songs in particular go for the extremes. "My Life" is the complete antithesis of "Sphere" and fittingly served as the other bookend, closing the album with a naked piano ballad barely over a minute long, but giving it a particularly striking finality. "The Afterglow" meanwhile is the fury and heat of the album, built on top of a propulsive drum loop, smoothly flowing bass part and a hectically riffing guitar: it's a manic pseudo-dance track where Frusciante goes through the full range of his vocals, flicking between neurotic shouting and ethereal falsettos. The former is a surprisingly memorable finale for the album, while the latter is one of its key standouts. Meanwhile Klinghoffer's leads take a calmer route: "Communique" is a particularly haunting piano piece that utilises the space in the production to a great degree, making it into particularly effective headphone listening, and "At Your Enemies" takes that atmospheric angle and adds a backbone to it: they're respectively one of the album's most arresting cuts, and the one clear sort-of-filler it has to offer. The two duets on the other hand slot somewhere in the middle. "Walls" is a post-apocalyptic synth pop jam, starring a flurry of discordant vocal trade-offs between Klinghoffer's whispers and Frusciante's guttural screams over a stuttering mechanical rhythm and buzzsaw synths; it's the most electronica-heavy song of the lot. Meanwhile "Surrogate People" is downright conventional in comparison, boasting a traditionally straightforward rock arrangement underneath it that could have probably worked on any of the other Frusciante albums; here though, the striking synths take it over and seize control, turning it into a gothic slow-burner anthem dripping in moodiness. At seven songs A Sphere in the Heart of Silence feels criminally, or teasingly, short (even if due to song lengths it reaches nearly 40 minutes) because this is one of the most rewarding of the '04 album series. The whole album series has been a tribute to creativity but it's largely been restricted to highlighting already established facets of Frusciante's talents: out of the lot, this is the only one that represents setting sail towards uncharted waters and actually brings in something brand new to the repertoire, and a lot of those new ideas are rewarding to listen to. It's not only a small triumph for Frusciante, but a well-deserved spotlight moment for the oft-mysterious Klinghoffer who more often than not finds himself supporting rather than leading. There's a certain kind of Thom Yorke-esque charisma to his falsetto-edging voice and he makes for a beguiling frontman in his own right, and his contributions here shouldn't be overshadowed by the more famous name. Despite frequently working together this is a collaboration in the true sense of the word, and by making it over the two men made one of the most captivating records of the many they released during the brief amount of time.
1) If Winter Ends; 2) Padraic My Prince; 3) Contrast and Compare; 4) The City Has Sex; 5) The Difference in the Shades; 6) Touch; 7) June on the West Coast; 8) Pull My Hair; 9) A Poetic Retelling of an Unfortunate Seduction; 10) Tereza and Tomas / Contrast and Compare (Alternative) [hidden track]
Everyone starts somewhere, and that's the key lesson we're learning here. More promising than consistent, but with a few secret successes.
Letting Off the Happiness ticks all the boxes of a classic emo singer/songwriter record. Conor Oberst - still only 18 here - is verbose with his lyrical melancholy, the mood is intentionally dour and dramatic, and the tempo is kept at the mid-to-low range, ideal for autumnal navelgazing. And it is Oberst's record, through and through: the arrangements are centered around him, everybody clearly playing the backing while he's in the spotlight. The idea of Bright Eyes being Conor Oberst's umbrella project with an ever-changing but frequently appearing set of various collaborators hasn't yet had the chance to really solidify, but even with its Oberst-centrism it's still audible that Letting Off the Happiness was made with the help of a trusty set of comrades in tow. The liner notes detail the accompanying crew, recording locations and minor details on the process for each song, making it clear that a lot of people had input on it and a lot of it seemed to be spontaneous; friends whimsically trading ideas while recording a humble debut with no budget and no expectations. Few of them even get brief moments in front of the microphone. The curveball that you do not expect whatsoever when pressing play are the unexpectedly prominent synthesizer and keyboard element cutting through most of the album's more traditional singer/songwriter fare. I have this mental image of someone dusting off some cheap synths they found in the corner by happenstance and and their fooling around just happened to find its way on the record while everyone else played things as normal; that's certainly how it comes across, given how at odds the sometimes carefully textural and sometimes unexpectedly erratic keyboard work are with the rest of the album's whispering, confessional mood. It's not something that defines the album per se, but the more you realise they are nearly always around the more they start grabbing the attention. Oberst and co seem to have themselves realised how prominent they were at some point and eventually began to lean onto them more heavily. By the back half of the album you can find "Touch" and "Pull My Hair", two strikingly louder cuts where those synths that have been biding their time in the background take the center stage and everything generally gets a shake-up: The liberated and heaven-reaching, organ-heavy march of "Touch" is no slouch, but "Pull My Hair" in particular has one of Oberst's most honestly hook-driven choruses across his entire back catalogue, and it's both strange and great.
Those synth elements arguably catch one's ear so much because the rest of the album quite doesn't. Letting Off the Happiness is recognisably Bright Eyes, but not quite done yet: Oberst is charismatic and his writing here shows off the same skill set that would characterise his career, but the strength of the songwriting is wildly up and down, and his lyrics are close to a little try-hard on their on-the-nose miserablism. Parts of the album share a little too many building blocks to turn them into anything more than a series of slightly monotonous melancholy. "The Difference in the Shades", "Tereza and Tomas". "Padraic My Prince" and "Contrast and Compare" (featured twice, with a vaguely alternative version hidden at the end of the album) are all wallowing, grayscale moodpieces that have some individual quirks each but which have lumped into one vague notion of a song if you try to think about them after the album: out of the lot "Padraid My Prince" jumps out the most as a song, but it sounds like a prototype for a lot of early Bright Eyes songs (it could go for an early concept sketch for "Lover I Don't Want to Love", or am I the only one hearing that?). Meanwhile the ear-piercing chimes of "Tereza and Tomas" are memorably for an entirely different reason, spicing the otherwise perfectly alright moody closer in a way that indicates that maybe not every whim suggestion was for the best. When Letting Off the Happiness strays away from the midtempo anti-anthems into one direction or another, the album finds its best sides. Besides "Pull My Hair" and "Touch", the other two key tracks here are "If Winter Ends" and "June on the West Coast" are both largely just Oberst and his guitar, but they nail the intimate sentiment the rest of the album tries to go for; I feel like I'm railing a lot on Oberst's tropes in this review but I do consider him one of my all time favourite songwriters, and despite his youth it's the stripped-down cuts like these two that show how he can be such a charismatic scene-setter, and in particular the spitting fervour of "If Winter Ends" gets near exhilarating towards the end. "The City Has Sex" has a rock and roll swerve that sounds reinvigorating just because of its energy - it's a bright and raucous little number that injects a little life into the otherwise quite phlegmatic first half. "A Poetic Retelling of an Unfortunate Seduction" is the arrow sign pointing towards the subsequent Bright Eyes releases, showing off a more dynamic way to brew the formula here - after an album full of nervous first steps, it's here where it really clicks how this record forms part of the Bright Eyes continuum.
It's an on-album reminder of the only real actual issue that Letting Off the Happiness has: that Fevers and Mirrors exists, which effectively takes everything this album has but betters it in every shape and form. This is after all, and excluding the various sets of early tape recordings, Oberst's first album, and at a very young age at that. Rough spots are to be expected, everyone is still young and green, and there's nothing here that a little more experience and refinement wouldn't be able to turn into gold. A part of that translates into a certain charm, definitely, but a lot of the album's successes feel like strokes of luck rather than anything knowingly skilled. If you take it at that face value, it's easier to enjoy Letting off the Happiness as how it is: an uneven if pleasant set of glorified bedroom takes, wild shots into the unknown, first takes of potential winning ideas and a few unexpected home runs. Everything else Oberst would set out to do would build from here, most imminently on the very next album that followed - and that leaves Letting Off the Happiness on the side of the road or on the record shelf. It's obvious that its creator would go on to do great things, but there's still a distance to run from here.
1) Living Well Is the Best Revenge; 2) Man-Sized Wreath; 3) Supernatural Superserious; 4) Hollow Man; 5) Houston; 6) Accelerate; 7) Until the Day Is Done; 8) Mr. Richards; 9) Sing for the Submarine; 10) Horse to Water; 11) I'm Gonna DJ
Strip away any excess and back to good ol' fashion rock and roll, with a veteran's muscle. Don't call it a return to form, but they've definitely found a fountain of youth somewhere.
Accelerate is the course change that was promised. R.E.M.'s
shift to a powerhouse rock direction was long precedented by a number
of one-off songs in that vein, only to be suddenly interrupted by the
whiplash lethargy of Around the Sun. As out of the blue as that album appeared, just as quickly the band moved forward from it like it had never happened. Accelerate
is the culmination of R.E.M. going back to their early demo archives
for inspiration, their growing confidence in becoming a rock band again
even as a three-piece, and proudly refusing to let their advancing ages
determine their pace.
It's a great thing to hear, even as a fan
of mostly everything after Berry's departure. It's clear how much fun
R.E.M. themselves were having again, and the energy present here is a
real, excited energy rather than just higher tempos - which leads to a
reinvigorated instrumental performance for the band too. Mills in
particular is practically reborn, his bass riffs moving up and down the
neck like back in the 80s and they're a de facto key element of Accelerate's
sound. Buck, too, sounds refreshed and his guitar steps up to a more
dominant role once again, with a more muscular riff based approach
befitting of the rock and roll vibe the band aim for. There's a very
marked difference between the band who recorded Around the Sun
and the guys appearing here - it's such a strong second wind that
they're practically a new group here. Jacknife Lee's production helps:
I'm not a particular fan of Lee's production style, which is a very
by-the-numbers modern rock production, but the change in producer after
three albums with Pat McCarthy has given the band a fresh angle to work
with, and Lee's style is suitably punchy for what R.E.M. are aiming for
here.
The central concept of Accelerate
is a return to basics and stripping down excess. Since the 90s R.E.M.
have utilised the studio as an instrument to a growing degree and with
that, growing the running lengths of their albums. With a punctual
30-minute short run time and the sounds limited to the core trio and a
few select cohorts, Accelerate intentionally
pares things down. While much of the inspiration for the album was
derived from the past, they steer clear from repeating it. There's very
little of the old jangle on Accelerate and
certainly none of the college rock groove; instead, the album is
adrenaline-driven, quick and tightly performed, where songs are kept
brief without much room for extended instrumental fanciness. This is an
older and more matured band going towards another new direction, but
with the rejuvenated attitude of their younger days in tow to guide
them.
Their latest direction really rocks, to be exact. Over
the years it's been easy to forget just how great R.E.M. are as a pure
rock band, but here's the proof that they still have it firmly at grasp.
Take a song like "Living Well Is the Best Revenge", which might just be
one of their very best in that regard, starting the album on full
throttle and bringing forth Buck's tight riffing, Mills' integral
backing vocals and Stipe's powerful frontman command into a sharp
explosion of guitars, bounce-along choruses and a sense of force coming
from the band. It's life-affirming in its genuine rush of good old rock
'n' roll power. R.E.M. keep up that pace and power throughout and Accelerate's short length feels jam-packed with excitement because of it.
What shines through the rock-out tunes is just how great the band are feeling. Accelerate
is very much an album of its times, the current of the US political
climate running through it clearly, and on surface it's almost an angry
protest album: the political take-downs, the moments of introspection in
a chaotic world and the riff-driven, muscular songs would indicate as
much. However, with a few exceptions, such as the tense title track, the
way the band perform the songs is downright giddy. Throughout Accelerate
there's a sense of fun present that's largely been missing from the
band's life as a trio up to this point and it's so great hear that
again. Most notably "Man-Sized Wreath" is almost comedic (in a very
brilliant way) in its ridiculous swagger, complete with Stipe's howling
"ow!"s, and the closing "I'm Gonna DJ" is the band's fluffiest song
since the early nineties, overflowing with tongue-in-cheek rock bravado
so ridiculous it's charming. Even the more seriously taken songs are
played through like feel-good hits: "Horse to Water", for one, sounds
like R.E.M. learning about skate punk and dialing it to the max,
frenetically ripping through a wall of guitars like they're on fire but
most audibly having the world's greatest time doing so. Accelerate is a
generally good to great collection of songs, but it's that radiant
optimism that really makes them stand out. It's most obvious on
"Supernatural Superserious", the most classically R.E.M.-esque cut out
of the lot, instantly familiar with its phrasings and melodies, but so
incredibly effortless that it's actually a little awe-worthy. It was the
obvious choice for the album's lead single because even though it has a
calmer spirit than most of its parent album, it's both an instant
friend and an ear worm, suavely wrapping the listener around its
shimmering chorus: it, above all, sums up the album's naturally upbeat
nature.
Not all of Accelerate runs on
rocket fuel, but the return to a louder volume setting is still present
and powering everything. The teasingly short "Houston" is one of the
album's major stand-outs, in fact: its driving force is its distorted
organ that hauntingly steers the song's lament forward, lending it a
deeply foreboding feel that suits the song perfectly. At barely over two
minutes it feels like we're being robbed when it ends, a moment where Accelerate's
brevity actually feels a little too much so. "Hollow Man" switches
between the slower piano-lead verses and the sudden running speed of the
chorus, and holds a kind of beautiful grace to both, a slow-burner that
stands out more with each passing year. The closest thing the album has
to a weak spot is "Until the Day Is Done", sounding a little too
ordinary and on-the-nose with its torch song-like antics, but the sheer
grace of its chorus saves it - Buck's subtle guitar fills are
particularly lush, and a reminder that even with a bolder direction the
band's knack for suave arrangements haven't gone anywhere.
The only distinguishable flaw of note that Accelerate
carries is Stipe's lyrics, which continue the downward trend of overt
simplification and occasionally awkward phrasing first noted on Around the Sun.
On an album that cuts its running lengths to the point that it's rare
to have a moment where Stipe isn't singing, it becomes a little more
prevalent in just that tiny bit bothersome way - largely given for a
good part of R.E.M.'s journey Stipe has been such an evocative lyricist.
It's not so bothersome you'd deck any points forit , but it's worth a
mention just to give an idea on how well Accelerate
otherwise succeeds. It could have gone horribly wrong, after all. Bands
switching to a no-frills direction after years of painting with an
expanded palette can often come off almost disingenuous or misguided in
the notion of taking it back to the basics. Accelerate is anything but, because it's not a fan-pandering repeat. There's echoes of the past, particularly to Lifes Rich Pageant's pace and Monster's
guitars, and "Sing for the Submarine" intentionally references the
band's back catalogue lyrically, but above all the band forge ahead with
new ideas. Much of their work post-Berry has been introspective in
sound and nature, and even with something as sunny as Reveal there was a push to move the sound to new places in order to re-learn how to walk again on their own terms. Accelerate
simplifies in comparison, but it beams with the strength of a band who
have moved on past their difficulties and have permitted themselves to
smile again. Around the Sun had the air of a stadium band in danger of stagnation under their own global stardom; Accelerate sounds like a band who are hungry to take over the world all over again.
CD1: 1) I Took Your Name; 2) So Fast, So Numb; 3)
Boy in the Well; 4) Cuyahoga; 5) Everybody Hurts; 6) Electron Blue; 7)
Bad Day; 8) The Ascent of Man; 9) The Great Beyond; 10) Leaving New
York; 11) Orange Crush; 12) I Wanted to Be Wrong; 13) Final Straw; 14)
Imitation of Life; 15) The One I Love; 16) Walk Unafraid; 17) Losing My
Religion CD2: 1) What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?; 2) Drive; 3) (Don’t Go Back To) Rockville; 4) I’m Gonna DJ; 5) Man on the Moon
R.E.M. in full stadium veteran mode for their first proper live album - a little too professionally so.
R.E.M. had released a number of concert videos before, but you had to
wait until 2007 for their first full concert audio recording. Much like
the super-processed Around the Sun was a strange decision for the band
given their increasing energy in the 00s, releasing the band’s debut
live album out of the tour for such a studio-chained album is similarly
odd. There is a hint of a point to prove perhaps: to signal that the
album’s songs could form a natural part of the band’s live set, or
perhaps even a retrospective attempt to give the songs a chance to
breathe that the stifled studio versions didn’t get. Or perhaps it just
felt like the right time, with R.E.M. now having fully become a veteran
stadium act with the career professionalism and mannerisms of one. Each
R.E.M. live release has always taken a snapshot of a specific side or
moment in the band’s life: with Live, it’s capturing the band at their
most stadium rocking, armed with a catalogue of hits big enough to reach
every single person in those giant halls.
Live is, in good and bad, a highly professional
live recording. The band perform flawlessly, Stipe has full control of
the audience, all the big hits you’d expect to be here are featured and
they’re accompanied by a number of fan favourites - you can’t really
fault the tracklist. Songs from Around the Sun feature heavily
understandably, and there’s even a then-unreleased preview of things to
come with the future Accelerate cut “I’m Gonna DJ”. The sound is as
pristine as you can get with a live album, and the audience mix is in
the exact right balance. Befittingly for its parent album, Live feels
just as polished, even overtly so. With live albums, you ideally want to
feel like you’re part of the experience, sharing the moment with the
band in the same room. It sounds too clean, too sharp for any of that.
If a successful live album makes you feel you’re at the gig, Live is
more like watching a recording of the concert from your computer.
The actual music is, of course, great. The big hits like "Losing My
Religion" or "Man in the Moon" are performed with gusto, R.E.M. being very
aware of the status the songs have and honouring them by giving them
their all. The non-hits are among the album’s best: “I Took Your Name”
is a brilliant opener that kicks the album into gear with a bang, and
particularly the Up highlight “Walk Unafraid” has somehow transformed
from the neurotic and loopy form we know into a real anthem with a
backbone of steel and irontight grip on the listener. The main weak link
are the Around the Sun songs, and I say this as a semi-defender of that
album. If there was any hope of the songs gaining any extra traction
outside the studio it’s brushed off fairly quickly, with every backing
loop track and overly heavy synth string sample removing the flashes of
life the band kick into them on stage. Though, still, there are good
eggs: “Final Straw” is a little more raw which works so well for the
song, and while “Leaving New York” was a late-period R.E.M. classic from
day one, the vocal harmony arrangement the band have opted for its
layered second half works wonders and is a joy to hear.
The songs make Live a good listen, but in the grand scheme of R.E.M.
live recordings it’s easily the least essential. There’s no real
divergences from the studio versions of the songs to go back to, the
regular favourites are presented with more gusto on other albums and the
only unique material featured here are the somewhat underwhelming
Around the Sun songs. The aspect the release highlights - the almost
bloated stadium rock experience - isn’t a particularly exciting one in
contrast to other recordings. It’s hard to really fault Live per se (the
biggest criticism I have is the baffling decision not to even out the
disc lengths, leaving you with a scrap-like 5-song EP as the second
disc), but there’s never a point you’d be compelled to return to instead
of just listening to the studio albums. This wasn’t a particularly
adventurous phase for the band, and what you get is a very safe if
unthrilling live album.
The album also comes with a DVD version of the gig. Seeing the
visuals does not really add anything to the songs, and this tour in general was a lull point where the band were reliably good
but not particularly interesting when on stage: veteran musicians doing
their day jobs, nothing more. It doesn’t add to or subtract from the
score - I forget it’s there half the time - but it’s a decent enough
bonus. They have far better, more exciting live DVDs.
1) Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels); 2) Neighborhood #2 (Laïka); 3) Une année sans lumiere; 4) Neighborhood #3 (Power Out); 5) Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles); 6) Crown of Love; 7) Wake Up; 8) Haiti; 9) Rebellion (Lies); 10) In the Backseat The triumphant sound of a small army of passionate Canadians who molded the musical landscape in the wake of their life-affirming anthems. Bombast, grandeur and so much heart.
Key tracks: "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)", "Wake Up", "Rebellion (Lies)"
The liner notes for Funeral point out the irony of a band giving their debut album such a name, like they anticipated every music writer rife to point it out and wanted to one-up them from the start. But as final as funerals are, they bring people together, everyone sharing their experiences of the life now lost in a tragic form of celebration. At least, that's the case for Arcade Fire's Funeral which is closer to an embracing welcome to everyone who has joined the occasion. So many albums unknowingly connect countless complete strangers who all find an emotional grip point in someone else's music, all of them feeling like they have a private connection to these records, but that notion is pushed onto the forefront and made obvious on Funeral. It's moved away from private bedrooms of music fanatics and out into the open giant fields to be shared with everyone else who feels the same way, shouting their voices raw into the sky together with the musicians themselves.
Funeral set the indie scene for the 00s. In the decade prior 'indie music' (vague notion as it is), and particularly of the North American kind, was frequently characterised by its low-key nature. Small bands in small practice rooms and dingy stages creating songs that were rough around the edges but who embraced that sound, turning it into a rugged warmth that could capture the hearts of the select people who'd ever get to hear it. Funeral changed the tide in such an obvious fashion you could directly hear it already as little as a year later. Rather than remain in the shade with a couple of scrappy guitars in tow, Arcade Fire utilised every instrument they could get their hands on, single-handedly making squeezeboxes and glockenspiels sexy in the process. Their music and the band themselves were earnest, sometimes even overtly so, but it didn't stop them from dreaming big and sounding big. Each song is built to a crescendo and it's only a matter of time before they launch into an anthem that needed to roar in ever-bigger stages to an increasing amount of people, but without ever losing touch of the intimately speaking core within. Funeral wants to connect universally, and it did - critics and music fans gilded it a classic in record time, countless new bands were inspired overnight to reach for those same heights and much of the indie landscape changed its scope to match, and when those same elements were recycled by artists with more of a mainstream presence, the chart forces reacted similarly. We likely wouldn't have the now-infamous millennial whoop without Funeral showcasing how powerful a wordless chant can be in the right hands.
The universality of Funeral derives from its desire to build a community and to cherish the one you belong to. It's a record spearheaded by two immigrants finding their future, and each other, in a new country and pushing through hard times and tragedies together and with their new blood brethren, with music which radiates that power to connect. Throughout Funeral there's traces of everything that built its DNA: Win Butler standing in-between his native USA and familiar Canada as both an insider and an outsider, Regine Chassagne's Haitian roots tangled up in the country's history, vague memories of spending harsh winters and power cuts together with people you trust, and goodbyes and farewells to all the loved ones who passed away during the album's recording, inspiring the title. Funeral has one of its feet deep in a contemplative sadness, but the other foot is leaping towards the light. It's an album full of hope, its strengths based on people who stay by with you through and through, with that optimism conveyed as call for everyone to come together. And so, when the numerous bunch of wild Canadians all shout out lyrics of these memories together in a way that would spawn numerous audience reactions, the resulting bombast is not just something that speaks directly to one's heart, but also something that beckons to be shared. Intimate and universal, without ever compromising either.
The communal warmth is the heart of Funeral, but its arteries that bring that notion forward are the songs. It's not an exaggeration to say that every single one of them is an anthem, and it's not a question of if they become grandstanding torchlight moments, but when: "Wake Up" explodes from the get-go, "Une année sans lumiere" and "Crown of Love" flick the switch towards their end like a curveball twist which feels so natural in hindsight, "Rebellion (Lies)" builds itself up for its whole length. Funeral's magic isn't directly in that all the songs are gigantic, but rather how and why they are. "Anthem" can be a dirty word for some, bringing into mind empty stadium pomp and circumstance that simply sounds big without a reason for it to be so. But on Funeral these larger-than-life songs are so because for their four-five minutes, they yearn to be the most important lifeline in the world. If not for the listener, then certainly very audibly for Arcade Fire themselves, whose vigour in these performances can practically be touched.
The thing is, they all do feel important - they're a series of songs that quiet down the rest of the world as they play out. "Tunnels" joins the pantheon of iconic openers which gradually introduces each element that will become familiar as the album moves forward, from the group vocals to the expansive instrumentation, strikingly four-to-the-floor drums and the ever-present strings, the soaring vocal lines. "Laika" and "Power Out" are fueled by urgency, with the latter in particular playing like the band's lives depend on it and it becomes a frantic rush of adrenaline through its jagged guitars and almost jubilant percussion riff playing behind the panicked band. "Crown of Love" and "In the Backseat" are the tearjerkers, one a vulnerable declaration of desire which moves from tender confessions to the dance floor as the lovers grab onto each other in a fleeting moment of passion, the other a harrowing ode to the emptiness of losing someone where the album's title finally becomes literal, giving the album a closure where it's now sorrow that sounds colossal and anthemic. The famous, magnificent burst to life of the wordless chorus of "Wake Up" is the actual sound of personal liberation and the song itself is the center of all the album's defiant optimism and zeal; and Butler closing the second verse with the impassioned "I guess I just have to adjust" is arguably the entire album's signature moment. "Haiti" and "Une année sans lumiere" are calm, collected and carefully chill - they're also Regine's spotlight moments, with a graceful and delicate touch that's more about mood-building than big choruses; at least until the songs lift off towards their end. "Rebellion (Lies)" is still, and perhaps always will be, Arcade Fire's grandest statement: a spell-binding five minutes of building an entire world over a single strong backbone rhythm, everyone's performance gradually tightening as the song keeps shifting gears upwards, culminating in one of the all-time great call-and-answer hooks. As the song winds down, it sounds victorious: all that blood, sweat and desperate tears having been spent but emerging as a winner, the pounding drums and epic strings forever still ringing in one's ears even after the song has ended.
It's only "7 Kettles" that lets the album down. On an album full of big moments a more traditionally intimate near-acoustic palate cleanser sounds like a fine idea, but where the rest of Funeral is a celebration of instantly powerful melodies and standout performances, the rather muted feel and easily forgettable songwriting of "7 Kettles" has never had the chance to particularly stand out. Without it, Funeral would be a perfect score - and even with it, it comes close. It's an album so honest with its emotions and power to resonate that you can't really be surprised when it does tug your heartstrings, lifts your spirits and places itself as part of your life by intertwining its tunes with your own experiences. For all its backstory and context, ultimately the main story it tells is its listener's: how each song still gets the hairs on your body to rise in awe as the swooning sounds play through the speakers, how every grand chorus feels as revelatory as it did the first time and even more important than it did then, how every rush of energy jolts through your body and tells you to join in as it reminds of all the past times that force was something you needed to get through the day. Ultimately Funeral is about life: both through its vignettes of personal stories that the band share as well as, and more notably, through the sheer power of the music that affirms just how vital and vibrant life is.
Rating: 9/10
Physical corner: Gatefold with a fold-out lyrics sheet,
identical in design to the self-titled EP as if to pair the two up. The
scribble line from the pen in the cover art is silver-embossed and runs
through the back cover and inner fold, which is rather inspired.
1) Leaving New York; 2) Electron Blue; 3) The Outsiders (feat. Q-Tip); 4) Make It All Okay; 5) Final Straw; 6) I Wanted to Be Wrong; 7) Wanderlust; 8) Boy in the Well; 9) Aftermath; 10) High Speed Train; 11) The Worst Joke Ever; 12) The Ascent of Man; 13) Around the Sun
Better than its reputation but it's close - the dreadful overproduction and generally anemic nature of the album are only overcome by the core of largely solid songs hiding underneath.
After Reveal, R.E.M. seemed to be consciously moving towards a wilder, thrillingly energetic rock direction with all guitars blazing, and they were actively mining their past for inspiration. The compilation single “Bad Day”, soundtrack cut “All the Right Friends” and live-only treat “Permanent Vacation” were all songs from the very early days of the band that had only previously been heard as rough demos, but now repurposed very faithfully by a matured, experienced band in a more muscular form. This would become the dominant direction for the band’s last years, with the 80s-guided Olympia concerts, Accelerate and Collapse Into Now all coming from the same path of action. Having reached their third decade, R.E.M. were ready to be the fiercest they’ve ever been. Which is why Around the Sun continues to be the weirdest thing in the entire R.E.M. discography. In-between this perfectly linear, logical progression in sound is this borderline random curveball with no rhyme or reason. Around the Sun is devoid of all the energy the band were clearly full of, slowly descending back to the ground right as the band were lifting off. It barely register above mid-tempo even in its wildest moments (which is an exaggeration to say to begin with), and this is after the band stopped themselves from going even further along that path - there’s some anecdotes going around where apparently Peter Buck’s main take on each song was to make it even slower. It comes off like the intention was to consciously stagnate. The production is the big bad, though. After their generally good standards across their back catalogue and the particularly gorgeous production of the last two albums, Around the Sun drops the ball completely. It’s compressed, monotonous and completely devoid of any dynamics or life, all one-tone sonic wallpaper that stifles over everything. There’s little to no spirit to any of the musicianship and the only reminder that this is R.E.M. instead of a collection of session musicians are Stipe and Mills’ vocals. Stipe does his best to sound connected but the production washes it over with a wave of lethargy. The best descriptor for Around the Sun is plodding and it’s not flattering at all. The impression it leaves is R.E.M. stopping their new wind still and taking their third decade towards an early retirement home.
It’s likely to come as a surprise then that Around the Sun still turns out decently, all things considered. This is in spite of its flaws - the general malaise and the stifling production are two constants the album never shakes off, and Around the Sun could be twice the album it is if it was free of them. But the songs, for the most part, still work. Around the Sun is an album of slow-burners that occasionally come off a little over-long or samey, but it’s kind of hard for R.E.M. not to do something that sticks. There’s enough minor stand-out moments to make most songs register positively, even if sometimes describing them individually seems pointless. You can say most of the same things about “Make It All Okay” or “I Wanted to Be Wrong” than you can about “The Ascent of Man” or “The Worst Joke Ever”, for example - similar structures, similar tricks, all mid-tempo without committing too much into any particular emotion, but with a standout melody or section somewhere in them that gives them something unique remember them for. It’s R.E.M. in mid-life crisis stadium torch song mode and whilst it’s not their most flattering form, they do find ways to make it work throughout. Here and there the occasional blunder rears its head: the bouncy but overtly fluffy “Wanderlust” is just too air-headed to be anything but filler, and the protest song “Final Straw” probably would have more bite to it if it didn’t sound so plastic thanks to the utterly cluttered production trying to spruce up what is at its core a folk protest song. It’s a shame in case of the latter, because there’s potential there to be something far more emotional. It’s an example of the epidemic Around the Sun is fallen ill of, with an album-load of decent ideas crying out for a better presentation. Lion’s share of the good will is done by the opening trio, which is actually a genuinely great run of songs. “Leaving New York” alone is a R.E.M. classic: a gentle, bittersweet mid-tempo in the style that R.E.M. at this point excel in, with a glorious chorus that is so obviously golden from the first time you hear it. The real star are the backing vocals, which start fairly innocuously but soon become the song’s driving force, with around four different vocal layers trading lines and harmonies towards the song’s end. “Electron Blue” is the liveliest song of the collection, with everyone sounding engaged and Stipe especially delivering his most memorable performance on the album, backed by layered percussion and Buck’s wild e-bow textures. It’s also the one song where the album’s production choices actually compliment the tune: the shiny, pure aesthetic of the sound mashes particularly well with the musical ideas and lyrical concepts (the song being about a sci-fi drug made of light). “The Outsiders” is a strange but compelling one. R.E.M. have expressed their love for hip-hop before but “The Outsiders” comes closest to really bringing it out, with a steady, tight beat which completely leads the song and is so obviously inspired by the genre that when Q-Tip makes a guest appearance towards the end, finishing the song off with a verse of his own, it’s a perfectly natural fit. Stipe doesn’t rap, but his dreamy, murmured tone lends to the song’s hypnotic feel and even the chorus barely lifts a finger, only just giving Buck’s lead guitar line more prominence. It’s a song that builds a very particular, slightly off-kilter mood but which works so well and is easily the most interesting song on the record. Other key highlights include “Aftermath” which is an incredibly unassuming little pop song that doesn’t make much ruckus about itself but sounds so effortless that it whisks away the rest of the album’s stiffness away: it’s a real smile-maker, a rare moment on the album where R.E.M. sound like they’re feeling what they’re playing, and it makes it one of the great unsung gems of their back catalogue. The title track (the first one in R.E.M. discography!) is also a particular stand-out: it whisks away any structural routines, with a clear split down the middle between its sky-reaching first half and the gently descending second part. It’s a strange ending to Around the Sun because where the rest of the album is sometimes conventional to a fault, in its last steps it breaks away completely from the simple sing-along choruses and gentle melodies. It’s out of place and hints at an album that’s perhaps meditative but taking a path of its own devising - a more interesting album made out of the same building blocks. But that’s obviously not what we have. Instead, Around the Sun is an odd moment of ennui and stagnation which doesn’t slot comfortably if you view it as part of the bigger picture, and which feels distant from how engaged and personal R.E.M. were before. It sounds older than its years, if you can call an album that - it’s something you’d expect from a band who aren’t fully into what they’re doing anymore. Around the Sun is a clear dip in judgment, but credit where it’s due to R.E.M. for still getting through it fine enough. Even when half the time the music resembles career musicians clocking in shifts, these professionals know what they’re doing when it comes to making decent songs, even if not career highlights per se.
1) The Lifting; 2) I’ve Been High; 3) All the Way to Reno (You’re Gonna Be a Star); 4) She Just Wants to Be; 5) Disappear; 6) Saturn Return; 7) Beat a Drum; 8) Imitation of Life; 9) Summer Turns to High; 10) Chorus and the Ring; 11) I’ll Take the Rain; 12) Beachball
Up's electronica elements mixed with the lush orchestral production of the early 90s records, which when combined turn into a quintessential summer record.
After Up’s deeply personal, soul-cleansing exercise, Reveal carries an
aura of reconnection with the greater world. As incredible as Up was,
the primary impression it leaves is its very insular sound and mood,
where you have to dig a little deeper to find the still strongly beating
heart of R.E.M.’s songwriting. Reveal, then, presents as much of an 180
turn as Up did. The traditional band roles in more prominent display
again again (including an increased presence of session drummers), even
if there’s still a lingering element of R.E.M. taking cautious steps
forward as a three-person incarnation in tune with Up’s soundscapes,
with programmed drums, frequent synthesizers and emphasised keyboard
parts making up much of the album. But as albums, they’re night and day -
where Up was the melancholy late hours spent awake lost in thought;
Reveal is the brand new morning. It’s a decidedly more upbeat album,
full of harmonies rather than controlled chaos. There’s a clear desire
for the band to smile again, resulting in a shift in gears to a more
traditionally R.E.M.-esque album. Even the opening song welcomes you in:
“Good morning! How are you? The weather’s fine, the sky is blue…”
“The Lifting”, the said opener, is a grand start and continues with
the band’s tradition of strong openers, and is in fact one of the best
in that regard. It’s light as a breeze, bouncing on every step like a
liberated free spirit, throwing an infectious hook after another as
Buck’s familiar jangle appears and the drums carry an infectious rhythm.
Stipe has entertained the thought that the song is about the same
overworked soul as Up’s “Daysleeper”, and thus it’s another
semi-intentional shedding of the previous album’s weariness, bringing
the melancholy narrator to the open sunlight. It’s an overwhelmingly
joyous song above all, but doesn’t aggressively try to be one, like e.g.
the decidedly hyper-upbeat “Stand” or “Shiny Happy People”. There’s
genuinity to it and its spiralling conclusion, with Stipe yelping full
of energy, is a moment of honest delight - and in that sense, it leads
the way perfectly. Reveal is open and inviting, in tone and in music -
positive, melodically rich and full of hooks. After Up’s experimentation
Reveal places simple songcraft back in the spotlight, and while there’s
still great importance placed on the production of the material, the
songs presented here are first and foremost guided by their melodies.
Much of what makes Reveal jump alive is still how the band treat the
studio as an integral instrument in its own right, and the ambience
that’s pushed through the ideas making up the album’s world of sound.
There’s a level of obsession in details prevalent throughout, carefully
layered sounds and minor parts forming into a greater whole as R.E.M.
seek a particular feeling throughout. Reveal is a pastoral album, a
record aimed for summer through and through - the cover, the May release
date, the constant lyrical references to the season and especially
overt touches like sampling crickets make it abundantly clear, and the
sound itself is appropriately lush, warm and inviting. The production is
pristine enough to let all these details come through clearly, but
there’s not a trace of studio sterility. The instrumentation emphasises
bright keyboards, clean guitar parts and gentle touches of electronic
programming, with Up’s dissonance brushed away as far back as possible.
Even in its more introspective moments the band reach out their hand
rather than wallow away.
The production’s other main role is tying together Reveal’s
different strands. R.E.M. are in transition here, with one foot in the
electronic soundscapes they’ve played around with for the previous
couple of years, while the other foot is kicking back for a full band
feel. Thus Reveal is, despite its unifying atmosphere, a diverse album.
The traditional R.E.M. band sound makes a comeback frequently, but with a
twist in how it goes about its arrangements, though there is a
precedent. Before Reveal, the band released the (fantastic) soundtrack
single “The Great Beyond”, re-introducing R.E.M. as a full-band rock act
but one with an expanded sonic palette built upon Up’s studio wizardry
and the willingness to tap into new soundscapes through precise
arrangements, and it’s like the blueprint that Reveal’s foundations are
based on. Thus for example the guitar-driven “Disappear” and “She Just
Wants to Be” sound like natural extensions of where the band were in the
90s, but there’s a kind of grace and aural richness that sounds new.
It’s at times akin to a 21st century update on studio magic of 60s
classic pop psychedelia years.
The first two singles, “Imitation of Life” and “All the Way to
Reno”, are such great examples of this - and they are among the band’s
most obvious hits in how irresistibly melodic and sing-along-y they are.
To R.E.M.’s credit they don’t sound remotely like they were engineered
to be so and instead they are, once again, rich and soulful. The former
is an unashamed pop anthem with one of the band’s most simply thrilling
choruses (and some fine, contrasting lower-end string stabs and the
suddenly bittersweet bridge cutting through the song and reducing the
risk of saccharine overload). The latter is a relaxed, effortlessly lush
melodic stroll rich in harmonies and arranged gorgeously: of all the
songs in Reveal, it carries the strongest comparison to “The Great
Beyond” and goes for the same almost-wistful euphoria, successfully as
well. In complete contrast, “I’ll Take the Rain” is a gut-puncher - a
bittersweet, heartaching ballad among the band’s most fragile, swerving
Reveal’s final run with a sudden emotional curveball. With one of their
most poignant choruses, it goes all the way to the top, its sadness
piercing through with Buck’s chiming guitar lines (and an actual guitar
solo!). It’s a powerful song, utilising Reveal’s warmth in a wholly
different way than the rest of the album.
The keyboard/synth-oriented songs on the other hand are dreamy,
serene moments of still among the lively full band cuts. “I’ve Been
High” is arguably the most extreme of the lot, as there’s nary a trace
of live instrument in its pseudo-synth pop sound. It’s a colossally
beautiful, haunting deep cut however, full of graceful melancholy and
soothing dreaminess breaking through the sad haze - and its last minute,
from its career standout bridge to the rise it takes in its finale and
Stipe’s evocative lyric lines, is absolutely incredible. “Beat a Drum”,
“Summer Turns to High” and “Beachball” on the other hand are prime
examples of what I mean when I talk about Reveal as a summer album,
evoking the spirit of the season and the lazy holidays with their warm
sound. The latter two directly make the comparisons, the
electro-acoustic “Summer Turns to High” obviously so while the mellow
float of “Beachball” somehow manages to take the feeling of watching the
sun go down at the end of a perfect summer’s day and turn it into
music, gently bobbing along with its minimalistic beat. “Beat a Drum” is
a little masterpiece as well, with Mills taking control through his
softly swaying bass riff, the gentle piano leading the song and
enriching the chorus through his backing vocals. The chorus,
incidentally, is another one that manages to evoke so much so
effectively through what is in the end a very few lines and a fairly
straightforward progression; and yet, it’s one of the album’s most
magical moments, a true blooming of warm summer air in music.
The one song most driven by the production, “Saturn Return”, is a
little marvel on its own: all tightly-wound atmosphere with little
elements bouncing back and forth between the headphones, constantly
switching its lead instrument from Buck’s feedback-heavy guitar line to
Mills’ delicate piano, floating on top of a persistent drum machine up
until the near end when the live drums kick in for a moment. It’s the
most Up-esque moment on Reveal, a bridge between the two that reminds
the band haven’t completed moved away from it. It’s quietly one of
Reveal’s key tracks: an unassuming oddity at first, eventually revealing
itself to be an integral centrepiece and a curious shadow cast over the
album’s summer day.
The one remaining song, “Chorus and the Ring”, is a strange one, not
really going anywhere yet towards its end it reaches a certain kind of
crescendo of its own ilk where you find yourself strangely captured by
the song. It’s an odd one out on an album that otherwise has a very
direct touch with its songwriting (“Saturn Return” included), and
perhaps the only slightly dimmer spot in what is otherwise one of
R.E.M.’s very finest records. That’s not a light statement, but it feels
almost borderline obvious, because Reveal seems to have it all. Stipe
is in brilliant lyrical form, with so many great lines that lead your
imagination flying, the production is golden and everyone involved with
the actual playing of the music are delivering a sharp performance. And
as an album, Reveal is certainly one of their most melodic: it embraces a
type of songwriting which leans on harmony and goes for hooks within
hooks, almost overwhelmingly so. That’s always been a strength for
R.E.M. and Reveal revolves around it, making it the core theme for the
album together with the lushness and the summer vibe. If you can think
of a picturesque sunset on a peaceful summer’s evening following a
pleasantly hot day, and experiencing that comforting feeling of
everything being perfect and carefree in life like the best summer
vacation you’ve had - that’s where Reveal wants to take you.
And it
does. “Beachball” closes the album with Stipe repeating “you’ll do fine”
as the sun goes down in the horizon, and you can tell that after all
the sadness and uncertainty, there was hope again in the band’s ranks.
