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ARTIST: R.E.M.
TITLE: Monster
LABEL: Warner
TYPE: Album
GENRE: Rock
SOURCE: CD (LP)
BITRATE: 198 kbps avg/44100 Hz
ENCODER: Lame 3.97
SIZE: 73.51 MB
PLAYTIME: 49:12
RELEASE DATE: 1994-00-00
RIP DATE: 2010-02-02
Track List
----------
1. What's The Frequency, Kenneth? 4:00
2. Crush With Eyeliner 4:38
3. King Of Comedy 3:41
4. I Don't Sleep, I Dream 3:28
5. Star 69 3:08
6. Strange Currencies 3:53
7. Tongue 4:13
8. Bang And Blame 5:31
9. I Took Your Name 4:03
10. Let Me In 3:28
11. Circus Envy 4:15
12. You 4:54
--------------------------------------------------------
Total Playtime: 49:12
Release Notes:
Not so long ago, Rolling Stone's David Fricke asked the late Kurt Cobain whom he
admired among "established" rock bands. Cobain unhesitatingly named R.E.M.,
using the occasion to send the band members a virtual mash note for remaining
true to their muse and to themselves and for refusing to be swayed by the
shifting winds of fashion and commerciality.
The comment was unexpected; R.E.M.'s decade-plus track record surely justified
Cobain's praise, but their musical vision and his seemed so different. Cobain
wore his heart on his sleeve, wrapping his often angry ruminations in swirls of
guitar feedback and distortion. R.E.M.'s music has rarely screamed to make its
point and has often seemed deliberately ambiguous. The intricate clarity of
their arrangements has been tasteful to a fault.
But now all this is in the past and not just because of Cobain's sad demise.
It's too bad he didn't live to hear Monster. If the new album isn't exactly a
sonic grungefest, it comes a hell of a lot closer than anyone could have
anticipated. Imagine earlier R.E.M. favorites like "Ignoreland" or "Radio Song"
stripped of acoustic guitars, their lapidary, almost fussily pristine
arrangements reduced to slabs of electric-guitar noise and power-chord riffing,
and you're only beginning to get the picture. Gone are the manicured
interweavings of strings, mandolins and other acoustic instruments, gone the
pinpoint definition of instrumental and vocal parts that have characterized so
many of R.E.M.'s recorded performances for so long. The two or three softer
tunes that might not have sounded out of place on previous outings are pointedly
sandwiched in the middle of the disc, surrounded by the sizzle of overdriven
amps, snarling distortion and aggressive rhythms. Michael Stipe's singing, so
difficult to decipher on early records, so plainspoken and out in front of the
mixes since Green, has slipped back into the sonic murk, where it fights to be
heard.
Don't misunderstand: R.E.M.'s exceptional pop craftsmanship, their luminous
melodic inventions, their sense of mission û in short, everything fundamental û
are still there and shining more brightly than ever. What has been jettisoned,
at least this time out, is all that tasteful restraint. Monster is one
urgent-sounding album, and that's as it should be; what the band has to say here
is urgent, politesse be damned. Monster is concerned, in song after song, with
problems of identity. It explores how important having a stable sense of one's
own identity can be and how up for grabs identities have become in our
postmodern media hothouse, where it's possible to slip on a new persona as
easily as a new look and couture can mean anything from Paris fashions to body
piercing to a sex change. The concept of reality itself is being called into
question: Is this my life or an incredible virtual simulation?
Clearly these issues are of more than academic interest to Stipe, who has
arrived at that media plateau where his identity is in danger of becoming public
property, and personal reticence inspires unfounded speculation more effectively
than it preserves privacy. If Prince (who's no longer Prince) sang lines like
"I'm straight, I'm queer, I'm bi" (from Monster's "King of Comedy") or "Do you
give good head?/Am I good in bed?/I don't know/I guess so" (from "I Don't Sleep,
I Dream"), he would probably be taken literally. Stipe could just as easily be
enumerating media guesses as to his own proclivities. He sounds like a man who's
delighted to be a bit of an enigma, perhaps pleasantly surprised he has any
private life left. But he hasn't held on to his personal space without a
struggle. Toward the end of "King of Comedy," he practically snarls: "I'm not
your magazine/I'm not your television/I'm not your movie screen/I'm not
commodity."
But if the most basic issues of identity are at stake, the solutions are not
necessarily cut and dried. In the course of Monster's 12 songs, Stipe goes at it
from a variety of angles. In the opener "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" he
quotes director Richard Linklater's dictum "Withdrawal in disgust is not the
same as apathy" and sounds ready to withdraw himself. In "Crush With Eyeliner"
he decides to lighten up and have a little fun, adapting an oh-so-affected David
Bowie/Brian Ferry croon. "I'm the real thing," he insists archly, aided on the
choruses by the practiced anomie of guest Thurston Moore, only to wonder in the
next breath, "How can I make myself faker to make her mine?" while the band
slams out a glam-rock riff the late Mick Ronson might have appreciated.
These first two songs establish a dynamic that animates Monster all the way
through: learning to live in an increasingly virtual world without losing your
sense of self û or your sense of humor û in the process. Occasionally, Stipe
begins to sound not unlike the proverbial rock star, whining about all those
fans who just won't let him alone. At least that's what I get out of "Bang and
Blame" ("You're laying blame/You know that's not my thing.... It's not my
fault"). But more often, he tackles the issues with the clearheaded insight and
gift for the telling phrase we've come to expect from him. Whether the songs are
rocking furiously û like "Star 69," with its garagey, Count Five-ish flavor or
the surging hijacked-identity cyberdrama "I Took Your Name" û or shimmering
gorgeously like "Tongue" and "Strange Currencies," they're all involving. There
isn't a throwaway in the bunch.
What's truly impressive about Monster is the way R.E.M. make an album with such
potentially grave subject matter so much fun. Earlier R.E.M. albums have been
impressive in other ways and not without their own humor, but this one fairly
barrels along, sweeping you into its vistas with the sure-footed Θlan of a band
very confident of its considerable powers. It also affirms in no uncertain terms
that R.E.M. are a band. Monster could be guitarist Peter Buck's finest hour;
he's all over this album, proving he can be just as effective without all those
overdubs and acoustic fills, playing more from the gut. Mike Mills' melodic bass
lines are integral to many of these songs, his piano and organ add a range of
textures to the soulful "Tongue," and he locks in with Bill Berry's crisp,
incisive drumming to make a suitably "monster" rhythm section. If you've been a
fan of R.E.M. live and missed the raw power of their gigs on earlier albums,
this one's for you.
But really, it's for all of us. Neither a "get back" garage-roots move nor a
calculated attempt to win over the Lollapalooza crowd with the Big Guitar
Formula, Monster is a deeply felt, thematically coherent, consistently
invigorating challenge to "evolve or die," with all the courage of its
convictions.
This NFO File was rendered by NFOmation.net
ARTIST: R.E.M.
TITLE: Monster
LABEL: Warner
TYPE: Album
GENRE: Rock
SOURCE: CD (LP)
BITRATE: 198 kbps avg/44100 Hz
ENCODER: Lame 3.97
SIZE: 73.51 MB
PLAYTIME: 49:12
RELEASE DATE: 1994-00-00
RIP DATE: 2010-02-02
Track List
----------
1. What's The Frequency, Kenneth? 4:00
2. Crush With Eyeliner 4:38
3. King Of Comedy 3:41
4. I Don't Sleep, I Dream 3:28
5. Star 69 3:08
6. Strange Currencies 3:53
7. Tongue 4:13
8. Bang And Blame 5:31
9. I Took Your Name 4:03
10. Let Me In 3:28
11. Circus Envy 4:15
12. You 4:54
--------------------------------------------------------
Total Playtime: 49:12
Release Notes:
Not so long ago, Rolling Stone's David Fricke asked the late Kurt Cobain whom he
admired among "established" rock bands. Cobain unhesitatingly named R.E.M.,
using the occasion to send the band members a virtual mash note for remaining
true to their muse and to themselves and for refusing to be swayed by the
shifting winds of fashion and commerciality.
The comment was unexpected; R.E.M.'s decade-plus track record surely justified
Cobain's praise, but their musical vision and his seemed so different. Cobain
wore his heart on his sleeve, wrapping his often angry ruminations in swirls of
guitar feedback and distortion. R.E.M.'s music has rarely screamed to make its
point and has often seemed deliberately ambiguous. The intricate clarity of
their arrangements has been tasteful to a fault.
But now all this is in the past and not just because of Cobain's sad demise.
It's too bad he didn't live to hear Monster. If the new album isn't exactly a
sonic grungefest, it comes a hell of a lot closer than anyone could have
anticipated. Imagine earlier R.E.M. favorites like "Ignoreland" or "Radio Song"
stripped of acoustic guitars, their lapidary, almost fussily pristine
arrangements reduced to slabs of electric-guitar noise and power-chord riffing,
and you're only beginning to get the picture. Gone are the manicured
interweavings of strings, mandolins and other acoustic instruments, gone the
pinpoint definition of instrumental and vocal parts that have characterized so
many of R.E.M.'s recorded performances for so long. The two or three softer
tunes that might not have sounded out of place on previous outings are pointedly
sandwiched in the middle of the disc, surrounded by the sizzle of overdriven
amps, snarling distortion and aggressive rhythms. Michael Stipe's singing, so
difficult to decipher on early records, so plainspoken and out in front of the
mixes since Green, has slipped back into the sonic murk, where it fights to be
heard.
Don't misunderstand: R.E.M.'s exceptional pop craftsmanship, their luminous
melodic inventions, their sense of mission in short, everything fundamental
are still there and shining more brightly than ever. What has been jettisoned,
at least this time out, is all that tasteful restraint. Monster is one
urgent-sounding album, and that's as it should be; what the band has to say here
is urgent, politesse be damned. Monster is concerned, in song after song, with
problems of identity. It explores how important having a stable sense of one's
own identity can be and how up for grabs identities have become in our
postmodern media hothouse, where it's possible to slip on a new persona as
easily as a new look and couture can mean anything from Paris fashions to body
piercing to a sex change. The concept of reality itself is being called into
question: Is this my life or an incredible virtual simulation?
Clearly these issues are of more than academic interest to Stipe, who has
arrived at that media plateau where his identity is in danger of becoming public
property, and personal reticence inspires unfounded speculation more effectively
than it preserves privacy. If Prince (who's no longer Prince) sang lines like
"I'm straight, I'm queer, I'm bi" (from Monster's "King of Comedy") or "Do you
give good head?/Am I good in bed?/I don't know/I guess so" (from "I Don't Sleep,
I Dream"), he would probably be taken literally. Stipe could just as easily be
enumerating media guesses as to his own proclivities. He sounds like a man who's
delighted to be a bit of an enigma, perhaps pleasantly surprised he has any
private life left. But he hasn't held on to his personal space without a
struggle. Toward the end of "King of Comedy," he practically snarls: "I'm not
your magazine/I'm not your television/I'm not your movie screen/I'm not
commodity."
But if the most basic issues of identity are at stake, the solutions are not
necessarily cut and dried. In the course of Monster's 12 songs, Stipe goes at it
from a variety of angles. In the opener "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" he
quotes director Richard Linklater's dictum "Withdrawal in disgust is not the
same as apathy" and sounds ready to withdraw himself. In "Crush With Eyeliner"
he decides to lighten up and have a little fun, adapting an oh-so-affected David
Bowie/Brian Ferry croon. "I'm the real thing," he insists archly, aided on the
choruses by the practiced anomie of guest Thurston Moore, only to wonder in the
next breath, "How can I make myself faker to make her mine?" while the band
slams out a glam-rock riff the late Mick Ronson might have appreciated.
These first two songs establish a dynamic that animates Monster all the way
through: learning to live in an increasingly virtual world without losing your
sense of self or your sense of humor in the process. Occasionally, Stipe
begins to sound not unlike the proverbial rock star, whining about all those
fans who just won't let him alone. At least that's what I get out of "Bang and
Blame" ("You're laying blame/You know that's not my thing.... It's not my
fault"). But more often, he tackles the issues with the clearheaded insight and
gift for the telling phrase we've come to expect from him. Whether the songs are
rocking furiously like "Star 69," with its garagey, Count Five-ish flavor or
the surging hijacked-identity cyberdrama "I Took Your Name" or shimmering
gorgeously like "Tongue" and "Strange Currencies," they're all involving. There
isn't a throwaway in the bunch.
What's truly impressive about Monster is the way R.E.M. make an album with such
potentially grave subject matter so much fun. Earlier R.E.M. albums have been
impressive in other ways and not without their own humor, but this one fairly
barrels along, sweeping you into its vistas with the sure-footed élan of a band
very confident of its considerable powers. It also affirms in no uncertain terms
that R.E.M. are a band. Monster could be guitarist Peter Buck's finest hour;
he's all over this album, proving he can be just as effective without all those
overdubs and acoustic fills, playing more from the gut. Mike Mills' melodic bass
lines are integral to many of these songs, his piano and organ add a range of
textures to the soulful "Tongue," and he locks in with Bill Berry's crisp,
incisive drumming to make a suitably "monster" rhythm section. If you've been a
fan of R.E.M. live and missed the raw power of their gigs on earlier albums,
this one's for you.
But really, it's for all of us. Neither a "get back" garage-roots move nor a
calculated attempt to win over the Lollapalooza crowd with the Big Guitar
Formula, Monster is a deeply felt, thematically coherent, consistently
invigorating challenge to "evolve or die," with all the courage of its
convictions.
This NFO File was rendered by NFOmation.net
