The next album from R.E.M. was probably always going to be a moody and melancholic record, regardless of the departure of Bill Berry. I can’t say this with certainty, but I’m pretty confident about it; the tradition was always that the next album reacted to the one prior, and with New Adventures in Hi-Fi having roaring guitars (with backing synths) and such an outward sound, Up was likely going to be something internal, atmospheric dominated by electronics. But the exit of Scott Litt, Jefferson Holt and especially Bill Berry put that even more into the forefront. Lacking one vote in their famous democracy would mean the band would be making final decisions with ultimately different outcomes, and the lack of the traditional dynamic would change the band’s creative process more than ever before.
By the by, as I started this article I bumped my (crappy) laptop and the whole thing had to restart. It made the bleeps and bloops you would expect from a faulty contraption before it eventually kicked to life and started up again. As much of a stretch it is to link that to this album, I don’t think it is entirely without base, and I’m going to do it anyway. It’s a band in the midst of an abrupt restart, looking deep inside and scrambling around to become something like a working unit. And of course the electronics help in this analogy. If you’re a fan listening to this, the shock of the prominent electronics emphasises just how much Berry isn’t present, highlighting his absence instead of just replacing him like nothing has happened (though, as R.E.M. went on, it probably would have been a better option to get a regular band mate).
With that in mind Up is definitely a record about grief, working through that grief to hopefully find yourself on the way “up”. But the overall mood is not so different from the last four records, which have on some level been morose. It’s odd to think that of this last quartet Automatic for the People might just be the most positive sounding. And that record is Up’s closest comparison, only where that album was tinged with mortality, this is coloured with anguish. And when Up isn’t conveying that melancholia through the prism of electronica, its poppier aesthetic is one that evokes the sonics of Pet Sounds, a decision you make whilst treading around the thinnest of eggshells.
Speaking of Pet Sounds, the creation of this album is like that of the friendly competition between the Beach Boys and the Beatles. The move to electronics would first make me think of that other famous 80’s band, but given their relationship it is a likely response to Radiohead’s OK Computer. Thom Yorke has also said he could not have envisioned Kid A without the prescience of Up. High praise indeed, perhaps more than many were willing to give it at the time. Up is a great album, maybe only just a great album, but I’m confident in putting it in that calibre. It’s problems are very much on the surface, though; it’s too long – but not in an appropriate way like the last album – and could probably benefit from a track reordering (these problems are kinda true of Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief, but we’ll talk about that more when we get to them). But the individual highpoints of this album are great enough to not dismiss it because it is missing a key member.
I think that it has been demonstrated that R.E.M. are more likely to begin an album with either an odder song or a slower song than probably any other band of the time. “Airportman” combines the two, with slow keyboard and whispering vocals that I would be comfortable using the word meditative for. Although the track is pretty quiet, the buzzes that fill out the rest of the sound are like the feedback from New Adventures in Hi-Fi dying out. With the minimal amount of words Stipe uses and the way he delivers, this is probably the closest he has come since the I.R.S. records to using words primarily for their sound instead of their content. But lines like “Airport fluorescent” and “recycled air” give hints at the images that will come from this album. This is actually the first R.E.M. album that printed its lyrics; they must be important.
“Lotus” sounds much peppier in comparison to the introduction, complete with more prominent guitar and “hey heys” (of which I’ll admit I’m not a fan). It’s still a stranger song than anything in the band’s catalogue, more in line with R&B in the manner of “Tongue” and eventually overpowered with strings and the electric piano riff. The groove makes the track seem almost slight, until you hear into what Stipe is saying, in which the “flam flams” and hey’s are a defence mechanism from being figuratively rained upon; We have come from the skies to the seas – the rain being the connecting factor – they are ultimately not taking it well. It’s still strange that this song is sandwiched in between two moodier tracks, though.
It’s with the marimbas and string combination in “Suspicion” that the Jon Brion/Fiona Apple influence of this record begins to click into place for me (at least for these last two songs). Like those songs it is like we are in a bar wasting away our troubles, though this bar is much cleaner than Fiona’s tended to be, and as it turns out a dream world of the narrator’s own concoction. “Suspicion” is wonderfully melancholic, particularly in the hollowness of the percussion that is used, and reflects the emotion of Stipe’s narrator incredibly well. After the fractured lyrics of the first two – more than normal anyway – here individual sentiments and lines are much clearer (“You’re so funny, you’re so fine/You’re so perfect, you’re so mine”), which is particularly poignant as it is in the vulnerable world of his dreams.
“Hope” is the most electronic driven track yet, with some very pronounced drum loops and a cacophony of different organs, keyboards, synths and regular old piano. Stipe might be adapting the melody from Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne” – a man with some great songs and lyrics himself – but the lyrics here might be some of the most on point lines I have heard on the subject of confusion and grief, and looking for some kind of clarity amidst such hopeless times. At the very least they are ones that I can desperately relate to (and not just because my name’s in it!). In fact, the lyrics pretty much speak for themselves, so I’m posting a link here and moving on before I get too sad…
Anyway, it is here that we get the obvious tribute to the Beach Boys with “At My Most Beautiful”. The BBC critic called this song “irritating”, but screw the haters because we could do with some more Beach Boy’s pastiches in the world (we’re not getting many from them any time soon). The band might have written some “love songs” before, but I think this is the first that you could give that description to without any kind of worry. Stipe gives no worry to this either, as these lyrics are him vulnerable to point of almost revealing too much, and your tolerance for lines about reading poetry into answer phone machines and counting eyelashes will likely depend on your liking of the song. But the music is all the while gorgeous, with the bells, the delicate piano riff and embracing the harmonies in line with this style of music more than their own. Of the two Beach Boys tributes, however, I think this is the one that probably feels the most out of place.
The name of “The Apologist” certainly earns its title, with the most amount of times Stipe has said “sorry” since “So. Central Rain”. At the beginning then you think this is on the nose, but as the apologies go on you start to realise how the central character is kinda despicable, but in that very human way where you think that just saying sorry is enough before saying goodbye. This was of course baked into the beginning, with the character saying they were t the “peak” of this, but this makes the music sound almost sly, with the creeping lines of the verses punctuated by acoustic guitar, and then when saying sorry turning all bright and beautiful with church-like organs.
Whereas the title “The Apologist” reveals hidden truths later in the song, the title “Sad Professor” is very much what the song is about. It’s Stipe’s clearest pathetic character, a titular sad professor writing drunk to student about what he has become and how much he dislikes it (equipped with what looks like intentional drunk posturing with the pretentious sounding A lazy eye metaphor on the rocks). In contention for the best composition on the whole record whole be this song, led mainly by piano and acoustic guitar and only the lightest possible percussion possible, but at the very least this is one of Stipe most sustained vocal performances.
The final song of the “Up Side” is “You’re in the Air”, and this one earns its title by feeling as light as the air. The processed percussion interacts with what seems like natural drums, followed by Buck experimenting with the textures on his guitar in a variety of ways, from the feedback to something that sounds very “world music”, all accompanied by light bass by Mills and the organs, mellotron and flutes floating around the track. I’m not sure if Stipe’s voice is as strong as some of the notes he is trying to hit in the chorus, but the breaking bravado fits someone who says in the first lines “You wanted a challenge”. The other love might have made it up into the air, but that might not be the same for our narrator: “I’m what you found, I’m upside down.”
The first song of the “Down Side” is probably not the best choice for introduction song. Not because of the song itself , which is a great return to guitars that are particularly quiet in the verses, as though the person is walking afraid, but because it feels so much like a climax (though not necessarily a conclusion). The way the other instruments layer on top of the original beat: harmoniums, Mills’ harmonies, organs and what even sounds a little like trumpets. And the way Stipe sings his chorus – “Walk unafraid/I’ll be clumsy instead/Hold my love me or leave me high” – makes it sound like the concluding sentiment to a grand narrative.
Still a great song, but if I had to choose what the introduction to “Down Side” would have been it would have been the next song, “Why Not Smile”. It’s at first inviting, with the marimba bells, organs, light clangs and harpsichord feeling like a warm welcome. Then the lead piano melody starts to change, accompanying the rumble of guitars and static, and Stipe’s voice almost gets lost amidst the chaos. Perfect for the character in question, which seems like a continuation of “You’re in the Air” with the line “Why not smile/the concrete broke your fall”? That line in particular has a biting dark humour to it, basically a good replacement for the excuses people give for why someone with depression should stop feeling sad.
This then moves on to the album’s lead single, “Daysleeper”. Calling this the most traditional “R.E.M.” song that we get on Up is a testament to how out of their normal comfort zone the band were, as the jangles of guitar still are accompanied by the strange blooping sounds of the synths counterpointing with lush strings and xylophone (the first for the band since the I.R.S days). And it returns to that very popular subject for the band, that of dreams, as well as a slip into the political (“The bull and the bear/Are markin’ their territories/They’re leadin’ the blind/With their international glories”) in the way the rest of the album tends not to. Either way the beautiful production of this song is the counterpoint to the clear sadness and emotional drainage Stipe is feeling, where his biological clock is messed that he has to sleep while the world passes him by. It’s like they are writing the final lines of a music review at 2 O’clock in the morning.
The last of the marimbas greet us for “Diminished,” as well as more images of falling at the beginning being ones that sound both literal and moral. If this is not from the point of a view of killer who is thinking of ways to charm the jury, revealed mainly with the line “I think I pushed”, it is at the very least someone imagining doing something bad to a person and how they would get away with it. This angst is contrasted with yet another beautiful production, with the airy space of organs and sliding guitar, along with completely natural percussion. Oh, and there is also the hidden track “I’m Not Over You”, a blunt coda with only acoustic guitar like “My Mummy’s Dead”. Say, for queries sake, if we think this album is predominately a reaction to Berry leaving the band…well now I know why this part is the down side.
We then get the final Beach Boys tribute, “Parakeet”, though here it is much more integrated with the sound of the rest of Up. In fact this might just be the best song on the album, with a chord progression almost psychedelic alongside multiple keyboards/organs and the occasional ring of bells in the chorus. It has both a twisted carnival vibe and is oddly soothing, particularly when the cellos come in. All this is appropriate for the subject of the song, coming from the point of view of a parakeet (or someone comparing themselves to one) who is trying to escape from their cage. This makes me think a little of the Beatles classic, “Blackbird”, though with a more existential intent. Although a dark song, the change of melody at the very end and lines like “warm pacific” and references to the trees, might suggest a sense of escape, a new beginning.
The ending of Up also suggests a new beginning, a “new position”. Although I’ve argued about the positions of songs throughout the record, this feels like the definite conclusion to the album; the drums have a style that is like a march into the unknown, the synths hold their notes as they build to conclusion, and Stipe’s vocal move into contentment. Although the missionary position lines in the introduction make me cringe a little bit, the rest that paints a sad picture of someone with low self esteem ( “Someone has to take the fall/why not me?”) that initially sad, but seems to build some kind of confident climax. It’s an “uplifting anthem” for sure, but by the time the album has got to this point it frankly deserves that right to say “I’m free”. After all the grief that has passed, I’m certainly glad he now has freedom.
Up was a record that grew in my estimations the more I actually talked and typed about it, though I liked it very much on my first listen anyway. It is a bizarre mix of being the bands least accessible record and full of some of their poppiest moments, and although I have a couple of issues with length and song order, there’s not much here I would not happily have in the “R.E.M” canon, some even amongst their highest points. As a record, it is muddled. But as a manifestation of the band’s mindset at the time: in many ways perfect.
Part of me believes that if they had used this record as a stepping point, as Monster was for New Adventures in Hi Fi, they could have aimed for something special, a new direction as the trio they now were. Unfortunately they didn’t. For the first time for an R.E.M. record I’m left wondering if it was a contrast, or backtracking…
What did you think, though?
R.E.M Album Rankings (with some adjustments)
- Automatic for the People
- Lifes Rich Pageant
- Murmur
- Reckoning
- New Adventures in Hi-Fi
- Document
- Fables of the Reconstruction
- Up
- Out of Time
- Green
- Chronic Town (EP)
- Monster
- Dead Letter Office [decided to split the two, at last]