Wendell Gee

We round out Fables with a wispy ballad about a troubled guy named Wendell Gee. Haunting is a word overused when applied to ballads, but I'm unable to come up with a better description. The story, the dream in the story, the resignation of whistling into the breeze, the distant harmonies and counter-melodies, the simple banjo arpeggios - each of these contribute to a sadly beautiful tune, effortless in its execution, relentless in its pull.

And thus the southern rail line that is Fables of the Reconstruction pulls away from the station with a long sigh.

Good Advices

The second-to-last cut on an album is a tough place. Early slots, of course, are usually label or artist favorites, and often the last cut is some kind of "statement" or post-script. The guy before that track is the loser position - a deep cut that neither the artist nor studio is all that excited about.

Case in point: The Saturday Night Fever album opens with "Staying Alive" and closes with "Disco Inferno". Next to last? The disco anthem "K-Jee"... Am I overstating my point? Sure I am, mostly because I've got nothin' to say about "Good Advices". Interesting lyrics (if not necessarily great advice, if you meet a stranger look at their shoes?), but musically it's bland. Sounds like someone fed chords into an REM generator and this tune crapped out.

Ok, confession time. The lame SNF comparison is because in my research, my theory was exposed as a fraud. I looked up second to last tracks on the following albums, and they're all winners:

Beatles - Revolver
Led Zeppelin - IV
Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon
Nirvana - Nevermind
The Who - Who's Next

Look 'em up, all solid tunes. I've now spent more time on "Good Advices" than the band did in creating it.

Auctioneer (Another Engine)

Another train song. I really like the punk rock-style staccato quarter note drum hits on the verses. But just when the song picks up steam (see what I did there?) the chorus goes all Bauhaus on you. Still, for a very deep cut, it's a solid contender in Fables, where it manages to be snappy and gloomy at the same time.

I remember in high school thinking the line "take this penny and make it into a necklace when I leave" was cool, and kinda romantic in an art school dropout sort of way. Now I'm thinking, you're giving your gal a $.01 gift that she's got to make herself? What a cheapskate.

Kohoutek

It would be tempting to dismiss this song as late-in-the-album filler, something thrown together quickly in the studio. After all, it does sound like the three guys in the band are jamming somewhat without direction, and Michael is mumbling through a Steno-pad worth of obtuse lyrics.

It is a tad indulgent - he even tosses his own name in there a few times for good measure. But it's not a total loss. For instance, which "Kohoutek" is this about? The comet, the astronomer, or the composer (yes, I used Wiki...)? Second, gotta give it up for the sweet falsetto. And last, and my only gripe is it is buried until the very end, the organ sounds are real nice.

Green Grow the Rushes

Apparently, this is a political song (and if so, it's one the REM's first), but one would hardly be worked up into a frenzy and storm the Capitol after listening to it. Lyrically, the tune is a mild statement about the plight of Mexican immigrants:
The compass points the worker's home
Pay for your freedom, find another gate

But the real gem inside this song is the melodic trail, led mostly by Pete's guitar work, that tumbles evenly down from a high point to ground level between the verses. The otherwise standard jangly arpeggios are served by the connective tissue of those interludes. Stipe's vocals are earnest without being urgent, but breezy without being poppy. All together, a simple tune with grace.

A Tale of Two REMs

We will resume (someday...) our tour through the REM catalog, but I heard a great story recently that I thought I'd share:

Back around 1980, there was an up-and-coming post-punk group called REM. They had some local success and were about to begin their commercial recording career. A familiar tale, right, until you find out that these four young musicians were from Washington D.C. Turns out that there was another group going around calling themselves REM as well. Some genius promoter set up a showdown whereby the two REMs battled for their name - winner keeps the name AND gets to rename the loser.

Confident that these hicks from Georgia weren't going to amount to much, the D.C. REM went first, powering out their typical post-punk alt-funk. Take that, country boys! When the art school dropouts from Athens took the stage, the local crowd was unimpressed. Then the one in the back with the monobrow snapped the snare four times, and REM South thundered into "Radio Free Europe".

Almost immediately, the D.C. guys knew they had been bested, and accepted their fate. REM graciously gave the artists formerly known as REM a fairly decent name: Egoslavia. The rest is history. REM went on to fame and fortune, and Egoslavia... well, didn't. But here's an interesting postscript: the bass player for Egoslavia went on to become the editor-in-chief for "Wired" magazine.

Can't Get There From Here

There are songs that you know are your favorites, and then there are songs you didn't realize are your favorites until you really listen. This tune is definitely the latter. I'm hard-pressed to think of anything else in the REM catalog that is like "Can't Get There..." with it's truly unique style that still maintains its essential REMiness. This is no novelty song like "End of the World" or "Stand", it's the real deal, it just delivers the goods with horns, falsettos, and winsome charm.

When I was a kid, my family was on a cross-country road trip when we got lost in Kentucky, and were in need of a pharmacy. My dad pulled over to ask a guy directions, and with with a cadence that still resounds in my memory thirty-some years later he said, "Just follow on through to Boone County Drugs." There's a neural connection in me somehow with that memory and this song, "can't get there from here" being the quintessential Southern folk saying that exudes Mayberry practicality and philosophy.

Lat thing - this tune has the best bridge in all of REM's discography - hands down (caliche bound).

Old Man Kensey

So here's a rare thing in an REM tune: a fifth name in the song-writing credit. Besides the Boys, Stipe's film-making pal, Jerry Ayers, co-penned this plaintive song about an aged character with a career crisis on his hands. What's it's gonna be, Kensey? Dog-catcher? Clown? Sign painter? Rewarding work, the lot of them.

Musically, here's another murky minor-key tune with a couple features worth noting: Of all the songs on Fables that (as mentioned before) have a chant-like quality, this one takes the cake. Stipe rarely moves past the root note, making Mike's counter vocals all the more interesting. Also, dig the major key lift on the funky bridge - the tonal climate gets bright and happy while the vocals get weird and layered.

Life and How to Live It

I remember when r.e.m. played this song live. There was a brief story before the song started about a man who divided his house in two. He lived in one side until he needed a change and then moved the the other side... until he needed a change, etc., ad infinitum.

i pictured the guy looking something like their folk art friend Howard Finster. He could have looked like anyone I guess as it seems there's no shortage of eccentric southern gentlemen in the r.e.m. fold.

I love the song, the earnest vocal delivery, the hooky interplay between bill and mike and the driving guitar. a great album cut.

Driver 8

One of the best. This is a classic REM tune that embodies all the great marks of their eighties/IRS-era stuff. It became the minor key, driving guitar, southern-themed standard so many lesser REM tunes tried to copy (I'm looking at you, Texarkana).

This song is about trains. Now, I should just stop right here because that alone is cool. But there's more - this song is about the rusted romance of things like trains and towns and treehouses and love after they have lived out their usefulness.

Would that all REM cuts had the production that Driver 8 has. The distinct give and take between the electric and acoustic guitars is right on. The vocals are clear, but still retain the mysterious Stipe quality. And when the harmonica creeps into the bridge, it's as if the train is straining to come alive. Perfect.

Maps and Legends

Here's a tune, that I first heard as a teenager, written by guys in their twenties, that speaks to me loud and clear as a forty-year old. It speaks of maps - detailed charts of places and directions, and legends - fanciful stories of adventure and meaning. Do the legends of what we hope for in life really exist, and are there maps to lead us there? Or are the old maps we own flawed, promising a way to a destination that is no longer there?

Stipe sings: Not to be reached, it is to be reached.

Jonah was given a map - a specific route his life was to take, but he refused. He chose the legend - the furthest outpost of his known world, Tarshish. I get that. Having been burned before by the maps, I find choosing the legend an attractive option: something far away, something exotic, somewhere with greener grass. But is that just getting caught in the legend, caught in the mood? Maybe I just need a better map!

Feeling Gravity's Pull

The first few measures on this first cut of the album are telling: dissonant riff, followed by waka-waka, followed by ethereal harmonics. That's pretty much Fables in four bars. Of course, there's more going on here that is unique to "Gravity". I'd always liked the "Man Ray kind of sky" bit - having a vague memory of the artist from a college class. Then I recently image-searched Man Ray... not a lot of sky, but a few full moons. One thing to notice all through Fables, and it's certainly true of this ditty, Stipe has a chant-like quality to his vocals. The melody line is constantly coming back to the root note - gravity pulling it back to center.

"Fables of the Reconstruction"

We jump ahead now to REM's third studio LP, "Fables of the Reconstruction" (once again, the chronology is screwy because I'm going in order of when I became familiar with the albums - next we'll do "Document", then everything will be in line). “Fables”, for some reason, gets a lot of crap. This started in the early 90s when members of the band were quoted on a number of occasions making less than enthusiastic remarks about the album as a whole. “Fables sucks,” Bill Berry put it bluntly. One wonders if there was some dynamic among the band during the songwriting, recording, or mixing process that tarnished the whole experience for them, because many of us really enjoy this album, and it’s one I go back to time and time again.

“Fables” may be REM’s most overtly southern-themed work, even though it was recorded in the UK (I wonder if this detachment is responsible for any of the ill will later on). Making a big shift in production, the band enlisted the help of Nick Drake producer, Joe Boyd. The result is a collection of really well-crafted songs presented with a certain tension. Part of the tension comes by way of darker tones coaxed from the band matched with vocals that stand out in front more so than in earlier recordings. The REM traits are all still present: Michael’s odd and heart-felt lyrics, Pete’s ups-and-downsy guitar, Mike’s reliable bass and piano, Bill’s poppy drums, but there’s something unique going on – something uncommon.

So I like it as is, but here’s my crazy fan fantasy: If the band were ever to reconsider and re-visit “Fables”, why not mix it up a bit? How about “Life and How to Live It” as a traditional bluegrass number? Let’s hear “Can’t Get There From Here” with the full Brian Setzer swing band treatment. Or can we get some help from Broadway for a show-stopping version of “Good Advices”?

You think I’m kidding...

West of the Fields

The last tune on "Murmur" evokes a little more complexity than you might expect from the last cut on a first album. There's a sadness mixed with urgency here as a band, whose very name belies a subtext of dreaming, struggles with a dream that has long gone west of the fields.

Yet, west is where we go literally and otherwise when we need to explore, find newness and adventure, and follow the dream. So a fitting end to an incredible record, and a fitting beginning to a remarkable musical legacy.

We Walk

My guess is that REM didn't try to sell their new record company on the concept of "Murmur" based on the merits of We Walk - at least not on the first four measures. It kind of sounds something you would hear on "The Wiggles". Anyway, the song gets going, and what can you say about it? It's sorta cute, sorta lame, sorta repetitive, and thankfully the shortest song on the album. The only really interesting thing about it (to me...) is the slowed down sound effect of billiard balls crashing in the background.

Shaking Through

Structurally, this is a very tried and true pop song formula:

• verse 1
• verse 2
• chorus with a big melody lift
• verse 3
• chorus
• bridge
• verse 4
• chorus
• key change (!) and chorus

But wait - there's more going on here. Lyrically, this is a real gem. The song opens with the resigned and somewhat defeated question:

Could it be that one small voice
Doesn't count in the room?

And then opens up to the vindication of the chorus:

Shaking through
Opportune

Yeah, not the best rhyme on the record, but on an album called "Murmur" this just works so well.

9-9

Nine ways to refer to this song:

1. “Nine, Nine”
2. “Nine to Nine”
3. “Nine Minus Nine”
4. “Nine Dash Nine”
5. “Nine through Nine”
6. “Conversation Fear” (common title, like when people call “Baba O’Riley” “Teenage Wasteland”)
7. “Nine, Negative Nine”
8. “Nine (Nine)”
9. “Nine, Not Nine”

Sitting Still

"I can hear you... can you hear me?"

Well, yes, but that's about all I can decipher. Here Stipe's being typically artistically cryptic but this time with a clear pronunciation. Almost to the point where we're assured that he's not saying anything in the traditional sense. At other times we might think that if we could only turn his vocals up we could decode the deep message. But here he's letting the cat peek out of the bag. We'd have to wait until the KRS-One duet for the cat to fully escape.

Pete's jangling away in what's to become his signature picking pattern. I particularly like the tone of the Ric 12-string. Especially when he digs in during the chorus.

Its a nice, breezy song with a hook to trip over here and there. Not at the top of list of favorite REM songs, but a welcome companion on a long drive.

Catapult

Filler. Sorry, that's what this tune amounts to. It's not bad, it's got some familiar REM hallmarks. But then again, Olive Garden has some familiar Italian restaurant hallmarks. Did I miss anything?

Perfect Circle

REM fans come in all shapes and preferences, but I don't know a fan who doesn't like this song. Penned by Bill, it becomes all the more likable with a hint of sad nostalgia. Ironically, there's something very imperfect and human about this tune: the slightly out of tune piano(s) and the faltering vocals. I guess all of our "perfect" circles of acquaintances and friends are likewise slightly out of tune, yet still beautiful and enduring.

Moral Kiosk

First of all, could this cut work on any other album? Well, my friend, the answer is no. This is classic "Murmur": quirky, frantic, random, murky, and well, murmury. There are a ton of odd little moments and changes in this tune that I can't help thinking are intentionally crafted to create something of a kiosk - the little structure in the center of town where you can find advertisements, invitations, and varied connections.

I do have a vague memory of an old REM concert where, in a soft lull before the next tune someone yelled out, "Moral Kiosk!", and I think it made Pete chuckle.

Talk About the Passion

Great tune. The opening riff brings back some cool memories of sitting in my room with my first guitar, feeling pretty good about learning how to play that shimmering little ditty. The production on that opening has a close up feel, and you can hear the percussive tone of the picking. But at the chorus, the acoustics have a mellow, far away feel as they strum, making way for the bright electric (12 string?). Dig the ethereal backing vocals from Mills.

Lyrically, it's another journey into Michael's religious tapestry: the Passion in question, of course, is the Passion of Christ; and not everyone can carry the weight of the world. Then what's he saying at the bridge, Gunga Din?