12 Months Of Murmur: April
R.E.M. released Murmur, their fizzy, aching full-length debut, in 1983. It became Rolling Stone’s top album of the year and helped propel the band in a steady climb to become one of the biggest in the world. Murmur has 12 songs — at least two are serious contenders for best in their catalog — and as you’ll recall, years have 12 months. This project, 12 Months of Murmur, is my attempt to match the songs on the album (via mood or sound or narrative, etc.) with how I lived the months of 2017. Each entry is posted on the last day of the given month. Next up: April.
“Perfect Circle”
April was the first month into this project where I wondered what choosing an alternate R.E.M. album could’ve wrought. Both Lifes Rich Pageant and Automatic For The People have a dozen songs, as does Monster. And the textures on each other those albums tend to vary from song to song, unlike on Murmur, where consistency gives the entire document its potency. The closest the band got to experimental was via “Perfect Circle,” structured around blocky piano chords instead of agile guitar lines. Those are still there, of course, but they color the track instead of lead it.
“Perfect Circle” is my best friend’s favorite R.E.M. song, or it was, the last time I asked. He knows the band well; he helped found a Rochester-based tribute band called Dead Letter Office in 2014, and even invited me to play the Peter Buck role at one of their first practices. He was Mike Mills. A cool 40-something named Scott was Bill Berry. We sadly were Stipe-less but we still rocked through “Begin The Begin,” “Driver 8,” “Finest Worksong,” and a few other gems. We did not perform “Perfect Circle” as none of us could play piano. Up until August of the following year, what I associated with “Perfect Circle” was being my friend’s definitive pick and the way one of its choruses (“Standing too soon / Shoulders high in the room) is brilliant poetry. And then I went to the movies.
Jason Segel played David Foster Wallace. Jesse Eisenberg played a Rolling Stone reporter profiling him and working through his intense jealousy. “Perfect Circle” plays during that film, The End Of The Tour, but subtly. I actually don’t even remember which scene it’s in. I had planned to write about “Perfect Circle” in August to commemorate the month when I saw the film for the first, but something about its yearning and its quietness speaks to me now, here at the end of April.
I did a lot of dumb, illogical, but perhaps unavoidable things in April. I let my head have free reign over my body and my life, steering myself into dark mental corners and convincing myself that everything about myself was, in fact, wrong. (Translation: fretting about my work so heavily that deadlines were impacted, having regular anxiety attacks on the subway, eating like a garbage disposal, never seeing any sunlight, etc.) It was exhausting and draining. I’m exhausted now recollecting back on it. But I realize it was all necessary to arrive on the other side: standing, maybe too soon, but still finally up with a straight back and shoulders pointing skyward, ready to move forward. The lesson here is to not let professional jealousy or guilt or shame strip you of anything you’ve worked for and everything you’ve earned. That includes “a perfect circle of acquaintances and friends,” the song goes, reminded me of a ridiculously earnest Twitter account I can’t help but obsess over when I’m feeling needy and vulnerable. The lyrical marching orders continue: “Drink another. Coin a phrase.” Revel in the revelatory shit.
