R.E.M.
Reveal
Warner Bros. Records

1981. The Cold War is roaring along with as much bluster as ever. Punk rock still has a razor sharp edge, and two-tone ska is big in Britain. And R.E.M. is launching a career that will span the next two decades, running a gamut of melodic approaches and lyrical outlooks that will produce a rich harvest of deliciously sweet and smart folk/rock/pop albums.

On Murmur, R.E.M. was as earnest as it was folksy. On Life's Rich Pageant, the band's members were angry, passionate and coming fully into their own as songwriters and musicians. And on Out of Time, they revealed an instinct for the marketplace that massively widened their appeal while alienating old fans.

A popped-out guitar rock wildnerness followed, and we were dragged kicking and screaming through the likes of Automatic for the People, Monster and New Adventures in Hi-Fi — albums with some brilliant stand-out tracks hidden in a thicket of pop-friendly jingle jangles. R.E.M. was still there, but the old sound had gone into hiding.

Newsflash: the old sound has not returned with Reveal, and it may never be back. But there is a graceful wisdom to Reveal, a soft, hazy reflectiveness also evident on the group's previous disc, Up.

Strangely enough, Reveal is anything but revelatory. The album is as dreamy, oblique and weary as anything R.E.M. has released, echoing and sweetening the distance of Up with obscurely poetic lyrics and warm washes of strings and smooth, electronically modulated melodies.

The jangly guitar that broke them through with Out of Time is still around, if much subdued — along with Michael Stipe's voice, it's one of the few familiar elements that anchors Reveal to the remainder of R.E.M.'s output. Otherwise, Reveal is a Valium dream, with a sound that was seemingly left on a people-mover from Atlanta's Hartsfield airport to the wild reaches of Purgatory.

"Imitation of Life" is the band's radio hit, and its lyrics get to the heart of the album.

Charades, pop skill
water hyacinth, named by a poet
imitation of life
like a koi in a frozen pond
like a goldfish in a bowl
I don't want to hear you cry

It's Michael Stipe on his back, singing through a gauzy tissue of metaphors and soft, honest statements. Like most of the rest of the album, it leaves the listener wondering, but happy; melancholy, but basically content. There's a comforting warmth to the mystery of Reveal, and most of its songs have a ring of real artistry to them.

If R.E.M. has made it through the wilderness, and Up and Reveal are the promised land, so be it. This is sweet stuff.

— James Norton (jim@flakmag.com)