by Bryce Napier and Tom Demi, first published December 3, 2015
Green
released November 8, 1988
Warner Bros. Records
“A lot of Green feels like a recalibration to me, looking inward once again—but this time, with the awareness that a lot of other people are looking at them as well.”
I suppose it's impossible to discuss Green without mentioning the big behind-the-scenes move: R.E.M.'s signing to Warner Bros. To my mind, this was a rare example of the system working flawlessly. A band releases records on a small label, tours constantly, develops their identity, builds a grassroots fanbase, generates buzz and, eventually, sales; then, once that contract has run out, they sign a new one with a label that has the resources to guarantee them financial security and a muscular promotional department while retaining creative control over their artistic decisions. That's my take, anyway. Others saw it as a simple sell-out. The title, Green, was (in part) a playful wink to their lucrative new record deal. Just as playfully, the actual album art was orange. Tom, your right-margin commentator, has referred to their sense of humor in previous entries. This album is the first time I can clearly see it bubble to the surface. Green takes a big step away from the rabble-rousing politics of Document, and even appears to acknowledge as much in the (again, playfully) generically-titled opener, "Pop Song 89." Stipe sings, "Should we talk about the weather? Should we talk about the government?" over the amiable guitar riff. It almost feels like a teasing half-apology for Document's heaviness.
Have R.E.M. gotten happy? What do you think, Tom?
Green was definitely a conscious attempt by the band to lighten up. I had been experiencing their humor via their B-sides ("King Of The Road," "Voice Of Harold," "Toys In The Attic," "Burning Hell"—"Women got legs, / Men got pegs") and in their album artwork and credits (each album's LP labels had creative ways to denote Side 1 and Side 2, as in Reckoning's L and R, for "left" and "right"), and Green continued those traditions (conflating "4" and "R" in the track listing and on the front cover of the LP). But never before on an album had they purveyed a track as outwardly goofy as "Stand" or a "breakdown" as psychedelically loopy as the one in "Get Up."
The initial marketing of the album took a grim angle. Released on Election Day 1988, the album was previewed by the track "Orange Crush," with its war-allegory video shot in black-and-white and its machine-gun opening drum riff. In fact, it was so grim that in the U.S., their new label opted to let the song stand as a "radio single" only, not putting out an official single till the new year, when "Stand" took the country by storm, becoming their second Top 10 hit.
When I first heard the new album, what struck me initially was not the absence of explicitly political lyrics, but the similarities of certain songs to those of the previous album. Wasn't "Turn You Inside-Out" just "Finest Worksong" in different clothing, and ditto for "I Remember California" compared to "Oddfellows Local 151"? And weren't the two new mandolin-based songs too similar to each other?
Listening now, however, I really feel the lightness, almost weightlessness, in many of the tracks. I also notice the gorgeous evocations of childhood—"the smell of swingset hands" in "The Wrong Child," the sights and sounds of lying in the back seat of a car being driven by your parents in "You Are The Everything." And at least this time they knew well enough to follow the lugubriousness of "I Remember California" with a track that—although unlisted and untitled—ends the album on a gently bouncy note of hope and connectedness.
By 1988, I had discovered a strong affinity for music with an absurdist bent, stuff that could make me laugh while still having some substance. I had found They Might Be Giants through 120 Minutes, the first time in my life that I knew about a band before any of my friends, and I was the one who got to say, "Come here, you've got to listen to this." It felt good. Another such artist I started actively following at this time (and who was also making the big transition to a major label, though he would prove to be a less comfortable fit) is Robyn Hitchcock. To that end, the first R.E.M.-related purchase I ever made wasn't an R.E.M. album at all, but Hitchcock's Globe Of Frogs. Peter Buck guested on a couple of tracks, most notably doing a spot-on Peter Buck impersonation on 12-string guitar for "Flesh Number One." Buck and Hitchcock have maintained a long working relationship ever since, with Buck even touring with Hitchcock in the 2000s as part of his backing band, the Venus 3.
A cassette copy of Green was also the first R.E.M. to cross my palm, though I wasn't the one to buy it. My high-school girlfriend picked it up, out of the blue. (A quarter-century later, I honestly can't recall if she bought it as a gift for me, or if it was for herself and I just became acquainted with it through her.) It surprised me, as I had never even seriously considered R.E.M. a band I was interested in getting to know better, and she generally enjoyed music on the more psychedelic end of the spectrum (she was a big fan of early Pink Floyd, which I could never get behind). But for me, someone nurtured on British pop sensibilities, the fairground organ and effervescence of "Stand" turned out to be a perfect entry point. I suppose I can grudgingly see how a longtime fan who regarded "Talk About The Passion" as an emotional roadmap might have been aghast when confronted by, say, Uncle Roy, teasing, "Hey, aren't those them sensitive deep-thinkers you love so much, leaping around like idiots on the TV?" It'd be mortifying. And while the sound of the record is lighter and leaner, I suspect the bighearted goofiness of "Stand" (and its accompanying video) might unfairly overshadow people's memories of the rest of the record. Because it isn't a silly record.
I'd say that even the song "Stand" isn't completely silly. It's actually kind of empowering: Don't just sit there, stand! And that can easily translate to "Stand for something," in the context of the band's by-now obvious political and social views, not to mention the antecedent of Sly and the Family Stone's hit of the same name. But of course the "silly" tag stuck to this track, and after the Green tour, it was more or less permanently retired from their live set, Peter Buck in particular expressing embarrassment over it. And while it shot up to #6 as a single to become their biggest hit so far, the album's fortunes may have suffered a bit by association (it failed to hit the Top 10).
I'd definitely agree that the song isn't truly silly. In the narrative of their career, I'd say this is a band that started off mumbling (or murmuring) to themselves with little regard for anything beyond their own thoughts; five albums later, they're unleashing outspoken protests against the ills of the world. A lot of Green feels like a recalibration to me, looking inward once again—but this time, with the awareness that a lot of other people are looking at them as well. This kind of meta-introversion is apparent to me in "Turn You Inside-Out," where Stipe ruminates on his influence in what seems like a cautionary tale. He doesn't want to tell you what to think, or desire to be anyone's leader. R.E.M. are not aspiring megalomaniacs, they're a rock band. That's why they open the album deflating their own sense of importance with the wry wink of "Pop Song 89." In place of political diatribes, they maybe attempt to inspire people into action in a more upbeat, broad-based manner. Thus, "Stand" is like a rephrasing of the famous Teddy Roosevelt quote: "Do what you can with what you have where you are." Meanwhile, "Get Up" is a variation of the encouraging sentiment later expressed in "Everybody Hurts."
As They Might Be Giants were successfully demonstrating, you can delve deeper into heavy subjects if you approach them less reverently, with a light touch and a sense of humor. Document came on pretty strong. I think Green has something to say, but doesn't beat you over the head in order to say it.
I, too, was discovering both Robyn Hitchcock and They Might Be Giants at this time, all while shakily entering the CD era. I had finally bought a CD player in the fall of 1987 (Murmur was one of the first few CDs I bought, along with the obligatory The Dark Side Of The Moon and a few others). I loved the convenience of CDs, but it still felt that if I didn't buy my favorite artists' music on LP, my collection was somehow fractured. By early 1989 I was mostly won over, and I'm sure that R.E.M.'s embrace of the format influenced me: "Stand" came out as a 3″ CD single (a format that soon failed in favor of the 5″ CD single) and they also put out a promotional CD version of the Green album in a cloth-bound package with typically elaborate artwork inside. Still, on Green's release day, I bought the vinyl LP.
R.E.M. spent the vast majority of 1989 touring to promote the new album, and while the new songs weren't as overtly political, Michael Stipe made up for it in his stage patter and presence, which were vastly transformed from the man I had seen four years earlier. I saw them on this tour in Syracuse, New York, while visiting my sister and brother-in-law, in an arena known as the War Memorial. Stipe took note of that name and also offered pointed political commentary between songs, lamenting the outcome of the recent presidential election and prefacing "Orange Crush" with an a cappella "Be… all that you can be… in the Army" that blended into the song's intro. His stance onstage was confident and resolute, shimmying through "Pop Song 89," forcefully tapping the mike stand with a drumstick during "World Leader Pretend," and breaking out a megaphone for the choruses of "Turn You Inside-Out." It was all rather surprising to me, but this little mumbly, ragged band had successfully made the transition to being a true powerhouse live act.
And yet, at the same time, the album itself dove into intimate depths that Stipe's lyrics had never explored so fully before. In between the exhortations to act came reflections on the person Stipe had become and the child he had been. He was still years away from publicly addressing his sexuality—at this point, he seemed closely connected with Natalie Merchant of 10,000 Maniacs—but the temptations and access brought by his fame surely led to much experimentation as well as introspection in the age of AIDS and the continued demonization of gays in our society. In that year, I had my first relationship and my first trip outside the U.S., visiting my boyfriend in London (long story!). By the time Green came out, that relationship was over, I had moved from my mother's house to my own apartment, and I could now certainly feel a kinship with Michael Stipe as he looked back to the childhood comforts expressed in "You Are The Everything" and the anxiety and isolation of "The Wrong Child." "World Leader Pretend" (instantly my favorite song on the album) clearly dealt with feelings of identity and, in a first for R.E.M., the lyrics were even printed inside the album, underscoring their significance to Stipe. Also, "Turn You Inside-Out," aside from being a rumination on his public influence, could be read as an expression of angst in the midst of a personal relationship gone awry. But by the final, untitled song, he seems to want to reassure everyone in his life that things are going to be okay. "Hold her, and keep her strong…. Hold him, and keep him strong."
I always thought they put the "World Leader Pretend" lyrics in to clarify the instances of "raise the walls/raze the walls" that came up over the course of the song, although I couldn't fathom why such clarification would suddenly be important. "The Wrong Child" might be the first time I think Stipe's voice should be pushed down in the mix, but other than that, I love this record. Its playfulness, its gentleness, its optimism, its naiveté (another deliberate allusion of the deceptively simple album title). If I had to pare my R.E.M. collection down to three titles, Green would definitely make the cut. Copping to this being my first true R.E.M. experience might explain some of my longtime difficulties ingesting their back catalog, and why it has taken me three decades to do so in a meaningful way.
Lastly, this new beginning as a global act also marked an ending: every year since Murmur was released in 1983 had seen a new R.E.M. studio album. After an exhausting world tour in support of Green throughout 1989, they rarely ventured out of the South during 1990 before convening in New York late that year to finally deliver the follow-up, which wouldn't make its way into record stores until the spring of 1991.