Oct. 21, 2009 - Issue #731: Propagandhi
REM
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In the early '90s, pop music was being under siege by grunge guitar, arena
rock and electronic music. The Seattle sound's momentum was in full swing; U2
had released Achtung Baby, the brilliantly satirical extravaganza
celebrating the new realities of post-Communist Europe, and Depeche Mode's
Violator had introduced a heady blend of rock and electronic music.
Amidst all this refreshing innovation and guitar-driven angst, Athens,
Georgia's REM released the somber, soft-spoken Automatic for the
People, a sparkling, jangly gem that went entirely against the rock grain
and in effect provided a standout sanctuary in a sea of change. Previously,
REM had emerged from the '80s as the seminal alternative band, earning its
credibility with noteworthy records like Document and Out of Time. Having
graduated from underground/college-radio star status, vocalist Michael Stipe
and company launched the mature, very demure Automatic for the
People.No stranger to irony, Gen X ennui or cynicism, Stipe's lyrics were delivered quietly and tongue-in-cheek, as though to poke fun at the surrounding rock renewal. Half the time Stipe's lyrics possess a deflective, Dylan-esque whimsy; other times he's able to weave heartfelt idioms for a generation of disconnected twentysomethings. On the opening track, "Drive," he deadpans over a quiet strumming acoustic guitar, "Hey kids / Rock 'n' roll / Nobody tells you where to go, baby." This detached delivery couldn't have been more ironic, nor did it smell anything like teen spirit, calling across the void to Cobain—or was it Chuck Berry?—undermining rock 'n' roll's rebel yell. Stipe is staring blankly at America's lost innocence, just as bluntly as Cobain and Vedder, but he's choosing gentle persuasion over force.
The songs' arrangements rely on acoustic instruments—mandolin, strings and accordion are featured prominently—and the album's dynamic rarely rises above a cautious optimism. On the ballad "Everybody Hurts," for example, Stipe is as empathetic as some of his Seattle contemporaries, yet simpler, more reassuring and uplifting as it swells to an anthemic finale, evoking the spirit of the Rolling Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want." "Ignoreland" and "Monty Got a Raw Deal" see the band's signature urgency, while the jangly "Man on the Moon" and "The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight" could have been fodder for the Friends' soundtrack. "Night Swimming" and "Sweetness Follows" are gorgeous hymns that still captivate the listener, demonstrating a quiet simplicity and unblinking honesty.
Which is perhaps what makes Automatic for the People so astonishing: when put in the context of its release, this album's swaying calm is its loudest statement, compared to the dark backdrop of Kurt Cobain's near nihilism or Bono's opulent satire. It should have come as no surprise then, that some of grunge's icons, like Cobain and Radiohead's Thom Yorke, sought Stipe's mentorship and musical camaraderie. REM's maturity and willingness to speak from outside mainstream's overstimulated media scrum created a meaningful pause for fans and artists alike. While the early '90s gave us many defining records, Automatic For The People remains a landmark record not because it spoke for a generation or witnessed the fall of the Berlin wall, but as a lone flag staked quietly against the early '90s soundscape. V
REM
Automatic for the People
(Warner)
Originally released: 1992
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