R.E.M.: Murmur
Reviewed as part of Addison Godel's Desert Island Collection
Murmur
has to be one of the most singularly difficult-to-summarize albums I've ever
encountered within the rock milieu. It shouldn't be this hard to pin down
two guitars, a drum kit, and some singing. But it is. The record is
like the kudzu forest on its cover: mysterious, alive, everything subsumed
within an amorphous nonpattern; shapes are visible, but identities cannot be
settled.
"Clipped and distant, your look," Michael Stipe sings on "Pilgrimage" - or perhaps he doesn't. Stipe's difficult-to-decipher delivery is now legendary; it has gotten less and less inscrutable as the years have gone by. On this record, R.E.M.'s first full-length LP, it's a complete smokescreen, protecting meaning within a layer of armor on top of the loopy semi-sense of the lyrics themselves. This shapeshifting lyrical production rides on top of a jangly, off-kilter rhythm section that never seems to want to settle in one place. The album feels like a guest in our world, curiously exploring it through the pathways of the turntable.
But listening to the album, I can't put my finger on just what gives me this overwhelming sense of specialness and magic. Certainly a few songs are key: the loopy "9-9" is perhaps the album's unacknowledged masterpiece, sliding all over the place like it's about to bust its gearbox as Stipe repeats, mantra-like, strange and fearful words: "Give me a couple, don't give me a couple of pointers, turn to lies, in conversation - fear!" The album would also feel far more pedestrian without the upsy-daisy "We Walk," which is so friendly it's sinister, and of course the muffled, driving kickoff, "Radio Free Europe," which seems to have about as much to do with Radio Free Europe as "9-9" does with the number 9.
Of course, don't let all this talk of mystery and hidden treasure let you think that this is some quiet, introspective album. It's full of wonderful nooks and crannies, but it is at heart a rock and roll barnstormer - check out "Moral Kiosk," and "Catapult," two out-of-control trains about to jump the tracks. I think it's that barely-contained spirit that really makes the album stick in my head - every one of the songs, fast or slow, feels like it's had way more crammed into it than it was prepared to handle; the only way the band can keep them under wraps is to play like mad.
If nothing else, Murmur is essential because it is truly unique. R.E.M. would go on to create a number of truly excellent albums, arguably more than any other band of their generation; the unique churn and mumble of Murmur has never been duplicated, by them or anybody.