12 Months Of Murmur: June
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: June.
“Laughing”
Last night (June 29), I saw the same concert Michael Stipe saw. U2 at MetLife Stadium. I didn’t know it at the time, and I only found out this morning when a friend alerted me to Questlove’s Instagram video of Stipe swaying back and forth to “With or Without You.” Bono shouted him out by name from the stage last night, but I thought it was just Bono being Bono; he also shouted out Frank Ocean. But Stipe was there, approximately 50 feet in front of me for at least part of the show, and I had no idea. This matters to me.
I’ve never used R.E.M. to cope with emotional loss (after a breakup, say, or when someone’s died). But the emotional component of their music is extremely present for me, especially on “Tongue” and “Find the River,” among dozens of others. And also, for perhaps even more mysterious circumstances, on “Laughing.” “Laughing” is not a particularly happy song. It’s a bit broody but the music is by and large positive-sounding, except that spooky bridge where the vocals become a bit fuzzy. From the moment I heard “Laughing” for the first time, though, the word I’ve had attached to it is “emotional.” Emotional, like when I found out Michael Stipe and I both watched Bono lead an 80,000-person stadium in a chant of vowels.
“Laughing” is frisky, too, and playful, led by Mike Mills’ frolicking bass intro and Peter Buck’s standard arpeggios. Bill Berry, the superhero of so many R.E.M. gems, shines brightly here too, switching between forceful and reserved to match the song’s evolving tone. But it’s Stipe who sells the emotion on the chorus, as his voice mingles with Mills’ to form a ghostly, partitioned recitation of the song title. It’s never about the words; we’ve established that by now. But this time, it’s doubly true. It’s about the feels. And the feels here are oceans deep.
I’m projecting, no doubt, but laughing is what I had no other choice but to do this week when I sat at a beer hall with a dozen of my coworkers, some of whom had just been laid off. People were mad, sure, but there was a lot of laughs too. I tried to make as many dumb jokes as I could because lingering in a negative vibe is like sitting in a wet bathing suit: unpleasant for everyone and potentially dangerous longterm. “Lighted, lighted,” Stipe sings, sounding a bit like “lie to, lie to.” Then, it’s “laughing,” but only after the preface of light. Or lies.
Earlier this month, I stayed out past midnight on a Tuesday talking about alternative rock with people I barely knew. R.E.M. dominated the conversation, of course, and Murmur in particular. This album contains a dozen tracks but likely hundreds of hidden jewels, some shiny and some dull, all waiting to be uncovered and appreciated, then left right back exactly as they were found. Just like a Ginsberg-bearded nearly 60-year-old Michael Stipe at a concert for another of the biggest bands in the world. Just like the wraithlike sounds that creak through this beautifully haunted Victorian house of a pop song. Lighting, lie to, laughing. If it feels good, who cares about the sequence?
