R.E.M. “Around the Sun”
I pay a lot of attention to chairs. I frequently marvel at their ingenuity of design and function. In the same way I collect records and pore over baseball statistics, I sometimes just lose an hour looking at photos of chairs. Generally speaking, I like the simpler forms, wherein the design is the function. But I can also appreciate the more decorative ones. To be clear, I realize that this interest of mine might seem both mundane and entirely unrelated to music. But, the thing is, when I think of the perfect chair, I think of R.E.M.
A perfect chair, first and foremost, has to be stable. It also has to be supportive. And, finally, it has to introduce some new aesthetic element that previous chairs lacked. The Beatles were not a perfect chair. They had two (and a half) front men. The Stones were never a perfect chair, two of their legs were in competition and one was not screwed in properly. Other great bands are five pieces or three pieces. But R.E.M. is the very rare, perfect chair. Every leg doing its part. Michael Stipe -- vocals. Mike Mills -- bass. Peter Buck -- guitar. Bill Berry -- drums. Sturdy. Expert at their position. Innovative in design.
Early 80s R.E.M. was a nervy, minimalist affair, like The Feelies with more humanity or Wire without as much electricity. As a chair, they were Scandinavian. By the time they made it to “Monster,” they were fluent in a broad variety of styles. On “Green” or “Document,” they got darker, and bolder, bringing to mind chairs from the high Bauhaus or early Deco. “Out of Time,” of course, is their Pop period. And “Automatic for the People” is spare in gesture but melodramatic in spirit. There is something Art Nouveau in that late career masterpiece. Through it all, the band remained remarkably stable while steadfastly advancing their formal ambitions. They made a few creative missteps. They were better in some guises than others. But you could almost always rely on them for great comfort, support and some clever design flair.
I belabor this admittedly limited metaphor because, in 1997, when Bill Berry left R.E.M., the chair broke. There was no solution for this fracture. There was no replacement part. And it would be another decade, on “Accelerate,” before the three surviving members could find some footing and piece something together that did not sound existentially compromised. Even then, and for the few years afterwards, you had the sense that the three men were gutting something out, knowing that they would never again be the perfect chair.
Between 1982 and 1996, however, in their eclecticism and idealism, R.E.M. were the embodiment of Alternative Rock — a genre that they helped invent and which catapulted them into the stratosphere. Their closest challenger would have been U2, who ultimately faltered due to the insufferability of their lead singer. Eventually, R.E.M. would also break down, though it would not be due to ego or overreaching ambition. No, the great band buckled after their drummer left. It was almost that simple. By 2004, seven years after Berry departed and just three years after 9/11, R.E.M. was floundering through a middle-aged, anti-Bush, urban ennui. They were not alone, of course, but they sure sounded like it.
Released in the fall of that year, “Around the Sun” is the plainest album from a band that, previously, was never boring. The tracks alternate between great political frustration and sensitive matters of the heart — both familiar and fertile subjects. Though not confessional or literal, the lyrics avoid the opacity that Michael Stipe had become known for. On paper, the political tracks read as betrayals at the hands of Bush-Cheney-Rumsfeld and the personal tracks read as betrayals at the hands of someone unnamed.
On paper, the notion of a famously obtuse, occasionally quirky band considering something more direct sounded like a logical creative progression. Many fans of Stipe, in particular, had wanted to get to know and understand the singer better for decades. But however pure and vital material was at the bottom of the well, “Around the Sun” arrived to the surface as tepid and lifeless. To call the album boring is generous. To assert that the band sounds listless understates the effect. Nearly two decades later, “Around the Sun” still sounds like the work of three rich men, convening from disparate cities for a pity party. It’s a total drag.
Whereas the previous post-Berry albums were viewed as sharp turns away from Jangle and towards Radiohead, “Around the Sun” is neither fish nor fowl. There are plenty of synthesizers, as well as warmer organs. There are swirls of feedback buzz. There are the programmed beats and glitchy ones. But, mostly, the album features acoustic or fuzzy electric guitars playing two chords, waiting for a better idea or a bridge or a chorus that never arrives.
The album opens at its peak, and even there, the view is only mildly pleasant. “Leaving New York,” bears the markings of the sort of important, halting soap opera that Michael Stipe perfected on “Everybody Hurts.” But unlike that song, and like most of “Around the Sun,” nobody sounds like their heart is in it. The chorus floats just above the ground, like a balloon on its third day. On its own, the song is probably only half bad. As a lead single, it is the worst of their long career.
Several of the early tracks, including “Electron Blue” and “The Outsiders” flirt with a genre that I think gets called “Chill Wave.” On R.E.M., however, it is not form flattering. The latter of these songs is notable mainly because Michael Stipe sounds so disinterested that, when he hands the mic to Q-tip for a verse, you are more relieved than surprised. And though Stipe is the most audibly tired of the trio, they all sound fatigued. Given the loss of their drummer, it’s unsurprising that the album lacks pace. Less forgivable, however, is the absence of melody. They sound perpetually mired. Seemingly, Stipe can’t decide whether he wants to mumble like a minimalist or yearn like a maximalist. On “I Wanted to be Wrong,” you finally almost hear him trying to howl his way through the chorus. For just a moment, you think, “yes -- there it is!” But, then, he gives up on his magic trick and settles into defeat.
On “Final Straw,” Mike Mills’ familiar, twelve string chime gets lost between the fight and the finish. They don’t come out swinging. They don’t throw in the towel. They just stand there, in the middle of the ring, taking punches. So, a song that I think is supposed to sound personal and deeply caring ends up sounding distracted and blasé.
Aside from the opener, the only redeemable tracks on “Around the Sun” are “Wanderlust,” “Aftermath” and “The Ascent of Man.” The former is loosely a take on Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger” without the disaffection. The latter has the closest thing the album has to a memorable refrain. And, in between, is “Aftermath” — a modest, jaunty palate cleanser. It goes down easily. But it also has the effect of leaving an expensive restaurant wondering if the salad dressing was the best part of your meal.
After nearly an hour of dour, solipsistic mush, “Around the Sun” tries to end with a glimmer of light on the closer — the title track. But the brief optimism is not credible and arrives far too late. That once perfect chair that lost a leg can no longer stand on its own. “Around the Sun” is not only the worst record of R.E.M.’s career, it is also likely the least interesting album on this website. There are many albums on these pages that were less enjoyable. But this middle-age blemish is distinguished for its complete dullness. It’s best songs underwhelm. It’s worst depress.
Since the late 90s, Billy Berry has been earnestly farming in North Carolina. He rarely travels, almost never does interviews, and seemingly does not dwell on his departure from the band. R.E.M. officially broke up in 2011. For better or worse, I never listened to another album of theirs after “Around the Sun.” I heard they were not half bad. It’s probably my loss. To me, though, the classic chair was unfixable. After 1997, the best they could be was like some 1950s Hans Wegner piece with a convincing, replica leg in lieu of the original. I’m sure they figured out how to be good enough. But, inside, I’d always know something was broken.