12 Months Of Murmur: May
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: May.
“Sitting Still”
The right guitar arpeggio can disarm you. I have personally been reduced to rubble by the dizzying finger work on Radiohead’s “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi” dozens of times. (A college relationship of mine ended partly because she turned off this song halfway through, saying, “I can’t take this anymore.” I think it helped both of us realize we were fundamentally different people.) “Weird Fishes” is an extreme example, as 65 percent of the song is made up of tail-chasing arpeggios, and much emotionally resonant music relies on dynamic changes (not static) to create an atmosphere. It’s easier to do that with a few well-placed, perfectly timed arpeggios that enter after periods of flat chords instead of with an entire tune fashioned out of them.
R.E.M.’s Peter Buck knows when to arpeggiate a chord. It’s kind of his thing, especially on Murmur, which is effectively patient zero for the concept of modern “jangly” guitars. (The Byrds did it first, of course, but that was classic rock.) In March’s entry, I wrote about the arpeggios for “We Walk,” which drive the entire song forward in a constant state of motion suggested by the title. On “Sitting Still,” Buck’s chiming plucks and Michael Stipe’s vocal melodies trade off lead melodic duties on the verses. It’s a trick Real Estate built an entire career on (which makes sense), and it’s on perfect display here, out in front of the steady thumping of Bill Berry and Mike Mills.
“Sitting Still” has some of my favorite Stipe lyrics in the band’s catalog, mostly because they’re so completely opaque, almost empty vessels into which you can deposit your own meaning. But the emotional timbre is set by Stipe’s sharp delivery, especially on his pre-chorus exclamations: “Up to par and Katie bars / A kitchen-size, but not me in / Set a trap for love, big kill / Don’t waste your time sitting still.” Together, the words resemble a writing prompt. What does this mean to you, right now, and why? The answer may change, but this month, it meant so little to me—though the final words of the song meant a lot: “I can hear you / Can you hear me?” That fear of being understood never really goes away. But your understanding that it might happen becomes gradually less worrisome. At least it should.
Sometimes you’re misunderstood. And sometimes you’re as perfectly in tune as the crisp arpeggios emanating from Peter Buck’s black Rickenbacker—and finding a counterpoint in the rumblings of Mike Mills’ black Rickenbacker, just across the stage.
