R.E.M. It stands for "rapid eye movement", that dream stage of sleep where your eyeballs dart rapidly in their sockets. Today I'll let it stand for "really enjoying the memories". R.E.M. are one of my favorite bands of all time. And since their announced break up last week I've been thinking fondly of my personal experience with the group while playing much of their catalog.
I'd heard a couple of things off Chronic Town, their first EP, along with the single "Radio Free Europe" on college radio here in Cleveland. I'd graduated from college a couple of years prior and spent most of my collegiate time helping run the campus radio station. Little did I know that what I'd heard in those first songs would come to galvanize college radio as a force in the industry to be reckoned with.
The truth is R.E.M. didn't really click for me with those early listens. It wasn't until Sunday April 9, 1983 when I attended an English Beat show at Oberlin College's Finney Chapel. A church is always a great venue for a show. The girl from the concert committee stated, "if you want to dance on the pews, take off your shoes". I knew it was going to be a good night. R.E.M. were the warm up act and they changed my life.
It wasn't that the set was powerful. In fact it was startlingly sedate. I found out later the band's ability to change their performing style to suit the venue and atmosphere. Tonight they were in church and approached the songs with a quiet reverence. Michael Stipe clung to the mic stand, head lowered, face invisible under his long locks. It was mesmerising. His vocals were a murmur, honestly, and forced me to focus on the songs.
Later in the evening my friend and I did dance and slide along the pews in our socks to The Beat. More importantly, though, I'd found a new sound and a new band.
Three days later they would release the debut full length album, Murmur. I bought it immediately and played it incessantly. I was hooked.
The internet didn't exist back then so it was much harder to try and keep tabs on your favorite band, especially when they weren't popular. It required buying fanzines and other underground publications along with keeping in touch with record store guys and college DJs. We were forming a local fan club.
During those early years I would follow the band regionally. I'd attend the Cleveland show then catch shows in neigboring cities like Pittsburgh, Columbus and Detroit. I wasn't alone. We even had a name. We were Remsters.
As I'd eluded to earlier, R.E.M. changed up their show every night. And I'm not merely talking about the set list. I recall them playing "So. Central Rain" in Cleveland. It was played at the same tempo as the record. The next night, in a stiflingly hot venue in Pittsburgh, Buck went into that opening riff of the song, same tempo. Stipe looked over at Buck and motioned downward with his hand to slow down. The next bar was at about half tempo and the song became a dirge. The band knew the audience needed a break as sweat poured off our bodies. This time we swayed slowly to the song.
I had some run ins with the band members in those early days too. Outside of the Variety Theater in Cleveland a group of us stood, hours before the general admission show on their Reckoning tour, passing around a couple of bottles of wine in paper sacks. We were first in line. In fact, we were the only ones there at this point. Along comes a long haired Michael Stipe, walking down the sidewalk toward us.
I'm not one to make a fuss over meeting celebrities, even if I'm enamored with them. We all merely nodded in acknowledgement. Michael nodded back and smiled. He sat on the sidewalk, back against the building and began reading a paperback he had. Soon a car pulled up, honked, and Stipe jumped to his feet and off they drove. Ok, so it was nothing. To me it was thrilling. By the end of that show, standing front and center, gyrating madly I was literally drenched in sweat. God it felt good.
Another time I was back in Pittsburgh to see R.E.M. and was told by a friend to go to some bar after the show as her friends' band was to play. In fact, she was going to dance in a go-go cage as part of the band's show. It turned out that Peter Buck and Mike Mills along with most of the memembers of their warm up band The Three O'Clock were at the after show party as well.
I had a beer with Buck who chastised me for my bootleg R.E.M. t-shirt but apologized when I told him I'd seen them the night before in Cleveland. Gushing, I went on to tell him that someday R.E.M. was going to be huge. I knew it. It happened. I wonder if he remembers my prophetic statement? Ha. Later he and Mills played with the Pittsburgh band doing a wind-out version of LaBamba.
Or there was the time we were checking into a downtown Columbus hotel. My friend asks the desk clerk, "has Mr. Buck and Mr. Stipe checked in yet?". "Yes they have" she replies, "would you like a room on the same floor"? "That'd be great", he says. There were no crazy late night shenanigans, well, at least not with the band members, though we did see them in the hall a couple times and said hi and looking forward to the show...that sort of thing.
I enjoyed R.E.M.'s rise in popularity. I'd predicted it and was truly glad for them. And my fanaticism didn't wane. The release day of any R.E.M. album meant a party at my place.
I did miss the intimacy though. Seeing a band you'd followed from clubs to arenas was sometimes difficult but I wouldn't miss an R.E.M. tour. Never have, never will.
I did personally connect one last time with the band, specifically Mike Mills. They were playing Blossom Music Center. I was quite close to the stage and in front of Mills. I was wearing Ray-Ban shades. At one point Mills looks at me and exaggeratedly mouths, "nice shades". A little later on in the show, as I'm singing along to every word to every song as if lip syncing, Mills looks at me again and mouths, "you're good".
Thanks Mike. And thanks Peter, Michael and Bill. It was a blast.