I was looking forward to this book, for reasons which will be obvious to anybody that knows me (fan since I was twelve, R.E.M. posters at both home and office, saw them with Bill in 2003, trawled around on fan forums and listservs for years, trekked to Athens to see the sights a couple years ago and paid money for a "Wendell Gee" 12"), and also because Carlin wrote the Brian Wilson biography Catch a Wave, which I think is the only full-scale Beach Boys book that gets close to the unbiased truth about that band. I also acknowledge that Carlin's book comes with the disadvantage that I've religiously read every interview with and article about the band that I've been able to get my hands on since I was a teenager, maybe a bit less so toward the end when I was a slightly less avid fan for a period, and just like with the Yo La Tengo book by Jesse Jarnow I fully know that no research of extant texts is going to turn up anything I don't know already. The other big challenge, not specific to me at all, is that R.E.M. as people are considerably less interesting than the music they made together; their Behind the Music episode on VH1 was amusing because it had to insert so many dramatic pauses for commercial breaks, usually trumped up incidents of not-much happening. (Not to minimize how harrowing Bill Berry's aneurysm while on tour surely was.) Nothing I've ever learned about them has challenged my feeling that they are basically quite normal and nice guys, which is great, but there's no way even Stanley Booth could make them renegade badasses.
At first it seems like Carlin is going to transcend all this. I learned quite a bit about the complex genealogy of the bands in and around Athens, and about the band members' early lives, especially Stipe -- his '70s rock fan phase was totally new info to me and was delightful to read about -- but the book actually gets weaker and weaker as it goes along, until by the time R.E.M. sign their massive second record deal with Warners in 1996 it feels like he's cobbling the book together from press releases and Rolling Stone articles, revealing absolutely nothing about the inner workings of the band during that time. He eventually concedes that the problem is R.E.M. have always held their cards extremely close, and in the case of something like the firing of their manager Jefferson Holt over alleged sexual harassment of an office worker, his hands are tied by the things the band cannot say publicly. (I'm surprised that he chose not to include a few morsels of additional information on that subject that are not very difficult to find online, unless maybe there are legal ramifications, so in that spirit I'll just say: certain types of people really don't change.)
To the extent Carlin does insert himself, I didn't feel like his music criticism or his sense of the band's history and their broader context seemed all that salient. So that I don't sound like I'm just doing a broadside I'll give a couple of examples -- his take on the 1998 Tibetan Freedom Concert, when the band came out and played "Airportman" and a bunch of very weird slow songs from Up, cites it as a low point of sorts, but I always thought it was one of the bravest and boldest things they did in their post-zillionaire era, and dwelling on Michael's weird outfit strikes me as oddly regressive. (Also: Thom Yorke's beautiful cameo in that set goes completely unmentioned, and indeed, Radiohead merits virtually no mention in the entire book, which I find really surprising since the book several times makes a point of bringing up R.E.M.'s mentorship of younger bands, and Radiohead worshiped R.E.M. and of course opened for them on the Monster tour.)
Similarly, while I was grateful that Carlin picked up on the sexually transgressive nature of the Monster-era material and finally points out how much Stipe's androgynous, open persona during that period must have meant to a lot of queer or even just alienated kids, which is something I feel like the rock press totally skirted at the time, he really seems to subscribe to a viewpoint that a lot of the songs from that time were fixated on "rock star problems," and gives both "E-Bow the Letter" and "New Test Leper" as examples. But "E-Bow" is such an abstraction, and such a beautiful song, I don't think it's fair at all to reduce it to that. And in knowing "New Test Leper" for almost my entire life, it never even slightly came to my mind that Stipe was singing about himself in it. Speaking of "E-Bow," while Carlin dutifully describes and faintly praises the song, he is so anxious to get to its disappointing chart performance that he doesn't show a whole lot of interest in tracking just how bizarre and fresh it sounded on the radio in 1996, which it absolutely did, regardless of its subsequent commercial success.
In general charts and sales seem to dominate far too much of Carlin's thinking throughout the book, and I guess that's what some people think is the most profound measure of a band's worth, but it makes him sound to me like something of a bean-counter. He's the first person I've read who concentrates more on the commercial prospects of "Losing My Religion," which really only seemed clear after the fact, than on its strangeness and strength. When he quotes I.R.S. A&R people complaining about how uncommercial their '80s videos were and what a pain that was for them, I just think, who fucking cares? The Replacements were on Sire and had vastly less viewer-friendly videos than R.E.M., and more to the point, MTV aired "Fall on Me" and "It's End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" a lot more often than Carlin seems to imply or I.R.S.'s people seem to remember. (The "Fall on Me" video, which Stipe directed himself, gets trotted out over and over again as an example of the band's supposed aesthetic unfriendliness, and never once is the dominant image of the video -- the flashing lyrics -- mentioned.)
My biggest gripe is that I just don't get a sense of what really matters about R.E.M., or what made them special, from this book. There's a whole lot of "Left of the Dial" mythologizing about the beginnings of alternative and college rock, and the book does set the record straight on R.E.M.'s mainstream breakthrough predating Nirvana's by months, but at this point that seems so academic and quaint, and not much is set forth about how R.E.M.'s unorthodox path to success paved the way for others in terms of the formation of a cult and the establishment of a sort of nationwide, and then worldwide, network. You get such a better sense of their mystery, their majesty, and especially the surreal free-associative beauty of Stipe's lyrics and singing from Marcus Gray's classic book about the band, It Crawled from the South, which unlike this book is also very sharply and eloquently written; Gray is not cited anywhere as a source, which I find odd. Carlin's attachment seems to be toward all the record store dork romanticism, as though he's grasping at the faint wisps of revolution in music for which that's not really the point. When early shows are described, there's so much text expended on how proficient and slick-sounding R.E.M. was, and far fewer words about how good they were, and if you go to archive dot org and look them up, you can find evidence from 1982 and probably much earlier that they were indeed extraordinarily good. I feel like instead of exploring anything about the individual moments that comprise R.E.M.'s legacy, this book puts it all on a relatively dull timeline and tries to celebrate some idea of underdog-makes-good and even a little of "you gotta sell out to make it." You can feel and discover so much in this band's music, and the deeper you dig into it, the more miraculous it seems, but I don't get any sense of that richness and detail within the work itself from this book, which commits the remarkable crime of making the group and their story sound utterly ordinary.