R.E.M. and the legacy of that perfect circle of acquaintances and friends

I wasn’t going to post anything here about the recent news that R.E.M. was breaking up, until, at the gym this morning, I heard two network morning show talking heads going back and forth about how they’d only started appreciating the band in recent years. I suppose they could have meant that they were really into Poison and Starship in the mid 80’s, and they’re just now realizing how stupid they’d been. But, the sense that I got was that they didn’t start appreciating the band until the foursome from Athens, Georgia started churning out top 40 hits. Well, for whatever reason, it got to me. I can see people saying that R.E.M. became less relevant with time, but it really bothered me to hear people articulate the belief that the band found its creative voice with Losing My Religion. At any rate, that motivated me to come home and start typing.

R.E.M. was an incredibly important band for me in the early to mid-80’s. It not only gave me something to dance around and drink to while showering, but it pointed me in the direction of a lot of a lot of other things that would become hugely influential in my life. (For some reason, I showered a lot in the mid-80’s. At least, I have a lot of memories of drinking rum and Cokes in the shower, and screaming along with R.E.M. records. It was kind of a weekend ritual for me, like watching episodes of Degrassi Junior High wile eating tunafish on Ritz crackers, which would happen immediately beforehand. It’s still kind of amazing to me that I didn’t slip in the tub while dancing along to Murmur and kill myself.)

I know this will sound odd to a lot of you, but it was different back then, when you fell in love with a band. Before the internet, you had to actually talk with people in record stores, read zines, and do geeky stuff, like join fan clubs that would send you real, honest-to-goodness letters. I can’t remember when I first heard R.E.M.. It may have been in October 1983, when they appeared on Letterman. I don’t think, however, that I was watching Letterman every night until I was a little older. It’s more likely that my friend Andrew told me about them. I seem to recall him telling me that they visited his New Jersey college in ’83. (The early R.E.M., fueled by speed, toured like crazy.) Michael Stipe, if I remember correctly, had shaved his head like a monk prior to that show, and proceeded to lather up the remaining ring of hair with mustard and other condiments. At least that’s how I remember the story being related to me. And, at some point after that, Andrew made me a cassette with a bunch of bootlegs from their early days in Athens, back when they hosted parties in the church on Oconee Street. Or maybe I heard something about them at Country Pie, the local record store in Newton, New Jersey where I’d go to spend my hardware store money on cassettes. I can’t remember which came first. Whatever it was, though, it made a powerful imprint on my young mind.

Not only did I love those first records, and seek out every opportunity possible to see the band, but I also started digging into their roots, trying to find out everything I could about the scene in Athens around that same time. I’d already been into the B52s, but, thanks to R.E.M., I found out about Pylon, and, through Pylon, I found out about the label DB Recs. New doors kept opening up, and I kept running though them, happy to have something to feel passionate about at long last. Then, in 1987, the documentary Athens, GA. Inside/Out came to a tiny art theater not too far from where I lived at the time in Washington, D.C.. I’d go and see it, by myself, on three consecutive nights, in hopes of committing it all to memory. And the rest was history. Not too long after that, I’d decide to form my first band.

I’d taken similar journeys with the Velvet Underground and Warhol, and the CBGB’s scene that spawned the Ramones and their contemporaries in New York, but this exploration of Athens may have been the last real time that dove in and really tried to apply the techniques of historic archeology to a cultural scene in hopes of figuring out who was ultimately responsible, and what all the contributing factors were. As much as I loved the music, it was always more about the attitude with me – this idea that arose in Athens at the time that anyone could make art, regardless of whether or not they could play instruments. I know I’ve talked about it here before, but there’s great scene in Athens, Ga: Inside/Out in which Michael from Pylon, a painter by training, explains how he just decided to buy a cheap bass and start making music, irregardless of the fact that he had no idea how. It was incredibly liberating.

Linette just walked up behind me, saw what I was writing about, and said something like, “Every boy I knew went through a stage where they loved R.E.M., only to eventually turn their backs them.” And, as much as I’d like to think that I’m special, I guess that’s what happened with me. At some point, I just stopped buying records. The last one I bought was Green in 1988. I’m not sure what happened. When I’d hear their stuff on the radio, I’d like it, but it just didn’t grab me in the same way. Maybe it’s part of growing up. Maybe, sooner or later, you have to turn against those whom you most admire, in order to carve out some kind of identity of your own. Or, maybe, their music just wasn’t as compelling. Either way, I just wanted to put it down on the record that, a long time ago, they meant a hell of a lot to me. And, more importantly, they led the way to people like Howard Finster and Vanessa from Pylon who I’d actually become friends with in the real world…. It’s certainly weird how things unfold in life.

And, here, if you haven’t heard it in a while, is Radio Free Europe: