Do You Remember? #4

For many R.E.M. fans on-board in the 80s, nothing that came later compares to their early stuff, especially the first four full-length albums. For them, the collective Murmur, Reckoning, Fables of the Reconstruction, and Life’s Rich Pageant, IS R.E.M. These albums represent R.E.M. in its most artistically vibrant state when Peter Buck's Southern jangle was still fresh, Michael Stipe's lyrics were still puzzles (even after (IF) you figured out the words), and, perhaps most importantly, you couldn’t find them on MTV all that much.

OK, so maybe that’s just my opinion. I can’t help it. As much as I love R.E.M., I love each of those albums with an intensity unmatched by any other album they’ve produced since. And almost all the other albums I’ve ever heard from other bands too. But of the four, Fables has always been my favorite. Why? I can’t come up with a substantial reason other than to say it’s quirkiness moves me.

I discovered Fables when I was twenty and going through an existential crisis, thus the connection it made with me was largely emotional. I read afterwards that the band was going through their own spiritual crisis when writing and recording Fables - tired from a grueling few years on the road, wondering if this rock ’n’ roll stuff was what they really wanted to do with their lives - so perhaps that is why this R.E.M. album resonated so much with me. Or maybe it was just timing: I discovered Fables just as I was looking for something to connect to.

So as the album has been recently re-packaged for its 25th anniversary, let’s re-visit this classic album and see if I can figure out why I love it so much. Or even if I still love it so much.

‘Feeling Gravity’s Pull’ opens the album and serves as a warning of what’s to come. Beginning with Buck’s slightly discordant three-note call (I can’t help but think this was inspired by the famous opening to Beethoven’s 5th), repeated once, and then inverted for a third before Buck attacks his muted strings like an engine grinding to a start. After a repeat, Bill Berry and Michael Mills add a mid-tempo beat to the verse. Then for the chorus, a surprise: the tempo actually slows, and Buck deploys a dark chromatic figure (the first of many chromatic figures on the album) as if to tell the listener: “Whoa! Don’t get too far ahead. This is not the listening experience you were expecting.”

Lyrically, the song is about falling asleep while reading … and it’s surreal: “Read the scene where gravity is pulling me around/Peel back the mountains peel back the sky/Stomp gravity into the floor/It's a Man Ray kind of sky.” But when listening I not only think of Man Ray, but also Dalí. At the song’s end a string quartet that had, to this point, created shadows behind the band emerges front and center, leading the song into its crash as the machine sputters to a halt.

‘Gravity’ would have certainly jarred a first-time listener in 1985, especially a fan of the band’s previous albums. So for reassurance there’s ‘Maps and Legends’, a song that perfectly fits the mold of an early R.E.M. song - all arpeggiated chords and harmonies - bringing the world back into alignment. But there’s still something not quite right here either. The tempo is kind of plodding (at worst), or workmanlike (at best). The verse bounces back and forth between an E minor and D, so the song seems unsure of its mood. And even though this time we get some momentum from the chorus, the same two chords alternate as Michael tells us: “Maybe these maps and legends/ have been misunderstood.” The dark tone remains dominant.

Whereas ‘Maps’ seems like the band going through the motions, ‘Driver 8’ is earnest in its desire to please. It begins with a bluesy riff by Buck, and then a verse so peppy it’s impossible not to hum. The energy comes almost entirely from the tempo though, as three of the four chords are minor. But still, the verse is so propulsive as to render the chorus barely distinguishable with its simplified repeated D/C chord figure. But then, to close the chorus, Buck slows us down with a chromatic figure that first rises, then tumbles for the last note while Michael explains “We’re still a ways away.” Indeed we are, but three songs in we have a song that would become a college-rock classic, so we’re at least getting somewhere.

The way the next two songs contrast each other is symbolic of the album in its entirety. After a slow intro, ‘Life and How to Live It’ shows itself to be the most danceable song on the album. This is a song that would have been right at home on an 80s college dance floor. We think we’ve broken free of the brooding only to bump into ‘Old Man Kensey’, a song about a dog catcher who drinks his ransom money away. It begins with a slippery bass line by Mills and some ponderous guitar-work by Buck before we’re back to a slow verse and another momentum-killing chorus. The bridge aspires to more, however, as it picks up the pace, but Michael’s plaintive calls keep it at bay. Then we’re back to the verse and wistful chorus for two repeats before the song seemingly ends. But no, Berry hits his toms twice to usher in one more repeat. Fittingly, the first side comes to an uncertain close.

So it comes as a surprise to hear the most overtly commercial song on the album begin the second. (This may be a stretch, but ‘Can’t Get There From Here’ reminds me of Sting’s ‘We’ll Be Together’ from …Nothing Like The Sun. Both were ridiculous songs that stuck out like sore thumbs on their respective albums, both were first singles, and both were the first songs on the second side.) Whereas “Gravity” began the album with lush strings to enhance its moodiness, ‘Can’t Get There From Here’ utilizes horns showcasing its joy and has a chorus that explodes in typical rock song fashion. For me, it’s the least interesting song on the album, but it turned out to be the ‘hit’ from the album that the band needed to grow off of Reckoning, and it wouldn’t be the last time R.E.M. used a silly song to garner chart success. (Anyone remember ‘Stand’? How about ‘Shiny Happy People’?)

Thankfully, we get serious again with “Green Grow the Rushes”, one of my favorite songs in the entire R.E.M. catalog. After a unique intro that slides, jangles, and accelerates us, Buck’s fantastic chord progression propels an otherwise mid-tempo song. At the end of the verse, Buck employs a happy double stop pattern on the D and open G strings, similar to the main riff of ‘Seven Chinese Brothers’ from Reckoning. For the chorus, the momentum is halted again as we settle back into the intro riff. But this time, rather than feeling unstuck by it, it feels more like a reboot than an obstacle. Stipe repeats “Green grow the rushes grow” before informing us that the “Compass points to workers home.” He is cutting his political chops here, transitioning to the overtly political album that would come next with Life’s Rich Pageant.

At this point it would be a good time to talk about the lyrics. The full title of this album is Fables of the Reconstruction of the Fables. Alternately, the album could be called Fables of the Reconstruction or Reconstruction of the Fables. Fables of the Reconstruction points to the storytelling nature of the album and the band’s pride in its Southern roots. But in Reconstruction of the Fables, we also get a re-imagining of the mystique that had surrounded the band to that point in their career. They seem to be interested in telling us more about themselves through the device of storytelling, especially storytelling of the Southern variety. We’ve heard so far on Fables the trains of ‘Driver 8’, the drunken dog catcher in ‘Old Man Kensey’, the disgruntled farmer in ‘Green Grow the Rushes’. These are all slices of Southern life. But it’s from this point onward that I find the album most interesting because lyrical perspective seems more personal.

For example, ‘Kohoutek’ ups the lyrical ante with Stipe brilliantly using the comet the song is named for as a metaphor for a relationship: “Courage built a bridge/ Jealous tore it down/ At least it’s something/ you’ve left behind/ Like Kohoutek/ you were gone.” And then at the end Stipe gets even more personal: “Michael built a bridge/ Michael tore it down/ If I stand and holler/ will I stand alone?” This is a young and already accomplished lyricist maturing.

‘Auctioneer’ is a driving rocker, notable for Buck’s jagged guitar riff and Berry’s driving snare. But it’s the lyrics you remember, as Stipe sings of getting to the train on time and taking a nickel to make a dime. The lyric - “Take this penny and make it a necklace when I leave” - was inspired by his grandfather who gave his grandchildren pennies before train trips from Atlanta. The children, Stipe included, would put the pennies on the track for the train to run over. The short but intense song ends with Buck wailing a battle-cry reminiscent of The Edge’s work and Michael’s plea to “Listen to the barter holler.”

The album then closes with ‘Good Advices’ and ‘Wendell Gee’. ‘Good Advices’ is a pretty basic song musically, with a standard 4/4 beat and the typical Buckian strum and jangle. Still, there’s enough of the descending chord progression evident (thanks to Mills’ heavy bass lines) to complement Stipe’s poignant lyrics and tie it all up into Fables’ penultimate song. As the title suggests, it’s almost valedictory in its narrative – “When you greet a stranger/ Look at their shoes/ Keep your money in your shoes/ Keep your hat on your head” - though, in keeping with the theme of the album, its advice you’d seem to hear on a dusty road in a small southern town. But as in ‘Kohoutek’, the song soars when Michael gets personal, as he does when he sings: "At the end of the day/ I'll forget your name/ I'd like it here if I could leave/ And see you from a long way away." My God, when I first heard those words I thought I’d discovered the Bible. I still believe it’s one of the most beautiful lines I’ve ever heard. If every moment of this album were plotted to show their connection to me as a listener, this would be the peak, the spot where the album became attached to me for the last twenty-five years. A song buried at the end of the album, probably forgotten by more than remember it, is the one I still love all these years later. (Of course, I have a tendency to go for the obscure pieces. ‘Masonic Funeral March’ is my favorite Mozart piece and I only know of it because it happened to be included in a CD of piano concertos I picked up about a decade ago. I’ve never seen it on any other recording.) This is the beauty of art, and especially music.

As it turns out, ‘Good Advices’ seems to be the first step in a long goodbye, as if Stipe’s had enough and is giving us advice as he walks away. ‘Wendell Gee’ certainly sounds like a walking away; it makes the listener want to raise their hand and wave as if saying goodbye to someone in the distance. ‘Gee’ closes the album in a fitting and not so fitting way. It’s fitting because it’s the most “Southern” song on the album, complete with a banjo break. But it’s also not fitting because it’s an almost happy song, doused with major chords and Stipe’s hopeful refrain: “Whistle as the wind blows.” They may be outta here, but they’re glad they came. When the album closes, we don’t feel down at all, but upbeat, as if that had been the band’s intention all along. And with the distance of a quarter century, we don’t see the song as a good bye as much as just a poignant end to a poignant album.

What’s the sum total here? Musically, as has been pointed out since 1985, it’s an uneven album. Half the songs sound as if they were recorded at the bottom of a murky lake or recorded at normal speed and then slowed down, i.e., `Maps and Legends', `Old Man Kensey', `Green Grow the Rushes', `Kohoutek', and `Good Advices'. The other half sound as if they were recorded in real time and then sped up, i.e., `Driver 8', `Life and How to Live It', `Can't Get There From Here', and `Auctioneer'.

The album is restrained and disconnected, with songs searching for an identity. Much has been made about the band’s misery during the making of the album: the furious pace of constant touring and recording was finally getting to them; their decision to break with Don Dixon and Mitch Easter to inject Joe Boyd’s new blood into the mix, which precipitated the need to record in London, England; London itself, which was depressing, rainy, cold, and many miles from home. (How did they record such a “Southern” album in London?) All of this conspired against the band, and it was evident in the final product.

But, perhaps because of these challenges, there is a barely obscured emotional intensity that ties all the songs together despite their musical diversity. The album works as a whole. Some have even called it a concept album. And despite their challenges, or, again, perhaps because of them, the songs on Fables represent REM at their most mature musically and lyrically to that point.

I still love this album because it is a portrait of a band at a turning point; it’s about a band looking for the answers. To me, this accounts for the inconsistencies on the album - the momentum-killing choruses, the dark tones. The muddle represents a searching mind, and what a beautiful muddle it is. Besides, if this is what they could do when unsure of themselves, what could they do when they had everything figured out? Now that’s one question I’m sure glad we have the answer to.