American Music Club - California (1988)

 

1) Firefly; 2) Somewhere; 3) Laughingstock; 4) Lonely; 5) Pale Skinny Girl; 6) Blue and Grey Shirt; 7) Bad Liquor; 8) Now You're Defeated; 9) Jenny; 10) Western Sky; 11) Highway 5; 12) Last Harbor

Dry and desolate sign of things to come, more than a record that would fully support itself.

Key tracks: "Firefly", "Laughingstock", "Western Sky"

Normally when you namedrop California, you try to evoke something sunny, luxurious and Hollywood-gorgeous. When American Music Club evoke the state's name, they're still as grayscale and miserable as ever, downing another drink in some dingy corner bar as the night starts creeping towards dawn. But then, they were a Californian band - they probably know better.

American Music Club albums are relatively scarce in Europe (I actually bought this in California, and in the band's native San Francisco to boot), so my experience on their initial years is still quite limited and I might end up revising this review one day in the distant future. But I don't think it's been entirely coincidental that it's hard to find this group on this side of the bond. Theirs is a really apt name because they - and particularly Eitzel, lyrically - draw a lot of influence from America socially and geographically; I've been reading other people's thoughts on California while trying to organise my own thoughts for this review and the common thread I spotted through all the positive reviews is how closely the music is threaded to a certain kind of American being, that you almost have to have that cultural experience to really unearth its secrets. All AMC albums pirouette around this but California goes as far naming itself so directly, and even if the songs aren't explicitly about the state, they tie themselves to a very particular kind of inhabited context, and Eitzel isn't too bothered about trying to make his own voice more universal. Not to beat around the bush but California leaves me a little distant and I am genuinely wondering if that extra lived-in context is what I'm lacking - reading the lyrics and listening to the music I get the picture, but I don't get it.

 
But from what I've experienced from American Music Club, there's probably a more rational explanation for my opinion too. The rough idea is that you can somewhat split the American Music Club chronology to three eras: the classic 90s album trilogy, the 80s period that served as the build-up to it, and the reunion years long after. And from that, you can figure out where I stand with California. Apart from the odds-and-sods collection United Kingdom, California is the band's last album of the 1980s and so things have more or less clicked into place by this stage but we're still a step or two away from the albums that drew me into the band. They're leaning a little closer to americana than alternative at this stage, but otherwise this isn't far from what Everclear or Mercury would showcase and the right elements are all present: Eitzel's charisma is undeniable, the omnipresent melancholy is gripping, you've got the few lively rock numbers to break up the pace, and the subtle and dry textural work that's synonymous with this band is accounted for - particularly with Bruce Kaphan's gorgeous slide guitars that adorn so many songs on the record and are always a highlight whenever they appear.

But California is just a shy step away from being in the same tier as the aforementioned next couple of albums. The majority of the songs here are teetering on the edge of great, and would just need a little bit of a push to get over that edge: "Somewhere" is the archetypical AMC early-album rocker but one that's still finding its feet, "Western Sky" is almost achingly beautiful, "Now You're Defeated" seems to get cut off a minute away from reaching its peak, and so forth. You can hear the potential and it's clear the band could go all the way with a little more push, but they're still a tad short of either experience or confidence. There isn't anything genuinely weak here either: "Bad Liquor" comes close because while it's one of the album's few jolts of energy, it comes across like a borderline parodic song by a fictitious band from a TV sketch (and Eitzel's bad guy act with the "what are you doing here, bitch" is so ill-fitting), and that's not an AMC tract I particularly care for. On the flipside there's a few times where the band reach something excellent, like when "Laughingstock" switches gears after its fake ending and becomes genuinely excellent, or just the entirety of the sweetly jangling and pretty "Firefly" which is arguably the best song here. 

While you could argue that it peaks early, the further California descends into its second half where its wallowing becomes slower and slower, the more absorbing it becomes. It vibes better with the band's strengths and the barebones acoustic number "Jenny", the ghostly "Highway 5" and barren "Last Harbor" make for an effective ending. It's a dry and desolate record, and its closing steps drill that point across, whereas the first half is maybe more instant. I feel like I've not paid enough credit to California's strengths where they are due because if you do give it time and patience, it does leave an impact - but I'm always left at an arm's distance from the songs and they still slip out of mind too much, even while the record is on. Maybe it's because I'm not geographically equipped to handle the album, maybe it's because I'm still waiting for the band to assemble the puzzle now that they've found where the pieces go. But I find myself thinking about the other records whenever I listen to this one, and I find myself listening to a decently good album that mostly just reminds me why I really like the later ones.

Rating: 6/10

R.E.M. - Green (1988)

1) Pop Song 89; 2) Get Up; 3) You Are the Everything; 4) Stand; 5) World Leader Pretend; 6) The Wrong Child; 7) Orange Crush; 8) Turn You Inside-Out; 9) Hairshirt; 10) I Remember California; 11) The Eleventh Untitled Song

Palette expansion. The beginning of the golden age of R.E.M. and the birth of many of their modern-day traits.

Key tracks: "You Are the Everything", "World Leader Pretend", "Orange Crush"

Green has a very strong, incredibly evocative association with summer for me. Not even general summer, but long summer evenings in particular: the calm and quiet ones where the world is starting to slow down to the night but the sun is still up in the horizon and the air is still warm. That particular seasonal stillness is captured perfectly within Green, much of it due to specific personal reasons (guess the season I first got into Green and the time of the day I found myself binging on it) but the album invites the mental images readily itself. It’s at times upbeat and perky, other times soothing and always, always very lush. It’s a sonically rich step for R.E.M.: the first album where it feels genuinely possible for R.E.M. to actually evoke something very specific like this.

Green is of course also R.E.M.’s big jump to a major label, from I.R.S. to Warner. It’s a strange record to make a mainstream entrance with, going a little everywhere and most of the times in places the band hadn’t really touched upon much earlier on. Warner graced R.E.M. with brand new recording possibilities and the band took advantage of this. Green’s theme became one of everyone trying out different roles, testing new instruments and introducing wildly different ideas one after another. The band have effectively abandoned the concept of a core group with rigid roles here in favour of expanding the scope of what the band as a whole could do and evolve into. The hidden track “The Eleventh Untitled Song” features the most extreme version of this where every player in the band swapped instruments on a whim (Buck’s drumming in particular has a rather unorthodox rhythm), and while Green as a whole isn’t quite as radical that same “try anything” mentality runs throughout. Simultaneously the band started to pay more attention to the actual recording and production of the songs they were coming up with: with an increased amount of layers, more atmospheric touches and a more orchestrated nature Green’s songs started taking a different tone to the more straightforward approach of the earlier years. It wouldn’t be too far off to say that the expansion of the soundworld the band could now pull off directly affected the songwriting and the style the band adopted for Green as well: the possibilities guiding the directions the band could take.

That said, it’s hard to pinpoint where exactly Green’s style lies, because it’s one of the most varied collections of songs in R.E.M.’s catalogue. The political consciousness which featured heavily on Document hasn’t gone anywhere and R.E.M. made sure to use their growing spotlight to speak about the state of the country and the world whenever they could. Green is a part of that sentiment, right down to the environmental title, and as opposed to the general observations of Document “Orange Crush” and “World Leader Pretend” feel like actual protest songs: one in the shape of a sharp call-to-arms anthem which perfects stadium rocker ideas of Document, and the other a stupendously gorgeous and darkly foreboding mid-tempo that has the band’s enriched sonic aesthetics right on the forefront. But then that political consciousness is right next to the most ludicrously *pop* set of songs R.E.M. had committed to tape yet. Sometime during the sessions for Green the band got really into the idea of trying to write bubblegum pop songs and in fact, that’s the first impression Green gives from itself when the unashamedly catchy and upbeat “Pop Song 89” and “Get Up” kick off the album. “Stand” on the other hand is one of the most ridiculous things R.E.M. ever committed to tape: a self-aware Sesame Street sing-along with nonsensical but awfully catchy lyrics, an airheadedly upbeat feel and a wah-wah solo that goes down in history as one of the silliest things Buck has played. It’s stupid, but it’s hilariously brilliant.

The lush nature of Green is what ties the album’s wildly reaching strains together. Whether Stipe is shouting in the megaphone, rhyming a ditty or softly crooning like he does in so many of the album’s quieter moments placed in-between, Green is blossoming in details. Its sound has depth and while the styles differ, the productional approach unites the album’s various ideas. There’s some cunning tracklist sequencing going on too: the jangly pop is largely located in the first steps, the moodier or more muscular songs are towards the end (including the excellent proto-grunge headbanger “Turn You Inside Out” or the brooding “I Remember California” which has seen none of the light the album started with) and the center of the album is a sequence of mood pieces that act as the bridge. The occasional cross-pollination between the sections helps bridge the gaps, and through it Green becomes a cohesive whole, running from idea to idea but making the transition sound natural across the whole stretch.

On a completely personal level, it’s neither the pop or the politics which defines Green but it’s that subtler middle section. It’s where the spirit of the summer’s calm takes over and the songs that best capture it are the ones where the band sit down and immerse into the rich sound world they could now create. “The Wrong Child” and “Hairshirt” are wonderful mood pieces and a precursor for the next couple of albums hidden in plain sight, largely devoid of percussion but glimmering with so many other sounds and a beautiful yearning. The already mentioned “World Leader Pretend” is a protest song but more in its home with the other gentle beasts, full of as much heartache as it is fury and featuring one of Stipe’s most arresting vocal deliveries in its bridge. Most importantly, there’s “You Are the Everything”, not just one of R.E.M.’s greatest unspoken deep cuts but one of their very best songs in general. It’s a pastoral elegy of pure beauty and longing, Stipe’s voice quivering as the instruments swell into the midsummer night, Buck strumming his mandolin gently to Mills’ keyboards. It’s a stunner full of heart and soul, and to me the pinnacle point of what Green represents: the melodic richness and the captivating mood, and the sun setting down in the July sky. That “You Are the Everything” starts with sampled sounds of nature is just perfectly fitting.

With the wider palette they equip and the wild abandon they throw themselves into any idea, R.E.M. start showing signs of a fully mastered group after a long development. If Document had a sense of growing pains to it as the band consciously tried to become something bigger than they were, on Green they reach those ambitions gracefully. They are a clearly transformed band on Green and in fact, it marks the line in the sand where R.E.M. moved from being a great group to being an all-time classic band. After Murmur, Green is the first truly special album in the R.E.M.’s catalogue, and it’s the first album where you can genuinely hear and feel the magic of the band’s peak strength throughout a full record’s length. It’s a very curious album full of mix-and-match sidetracks, but the band weave it into a work that stands a whole, from its bouncy beginnings to muscular guitars and fragile laments. I would normally see it as little point to highlight a label change discussing a band, but whether intentional or not, R.E.M. moving to Warner R.E.M. coincides with the band evolving into the next stage. By showcasing the various facets of themselves, they finally pieced their elements together perfectly.

Rating: 8/10