R.E.M. - Perfect Circle

UP (1998)

LOTUS

Despite the friction and the bad blood, an unspoken pact had always bound together the four musketeers of Athens: all together, or it's over for everyone. As if the band's alchemy were a unique result, achievable only by blending the four elements in exactly the right measure. As if a band called Rem couldn't exist without even just one of them. So when, one day in October 1997, Bill Berry announced his sudden decision to quit, the group found itself on the edge of the abyss. Every attempt to make him change his mind ran up against the drummer's absolute intransigence: he was in the middle of a personal crisis (having just separated from his wife Mari), shaken by the Lausanne incident, but above all worn out from playing a rock-star role that never suited him. "He didn't want to travel anymore, eat strange food, meet new people. Basically, everything I find fascinating, he didn't like," Mills would explain. "When he had the aneurysm, what he thought was: why should I keep doing something that isn't fun for me anymore? I think he'd come to hate everything else so much that even making music no longer excited him."

For Rem the loss was enormous, and not just because of the secret pact. Berry was the band's metronome, as well as a master of studio editing: he always knew when a bridge needed trimming or a chorus needed shortening. A sort of rhythmic center of gravity for a group that, having just summed up its entire career on "New Adventures In Hi-Fi", was searching for a new direction to follow. Adding to the confusion was the need to replace producer Scott Litt, who had moved on to work for a new label. The choice fell on a former studio assistant, Pat McCarthy, and a new location was picked for the sessions: San Francisco. But total confusion reigned over the new project.

A dead end from which Michael, Peter and Mike emerged with what was perhaps the boldest choice of all: to carry on. To start over as a three-piece, because "a three-legged dog is still a dog, it just has to learn to walk again," as Stipe would later put it.

"Up", however, inevitably bears the mark of this sense of disorientation, the very same feeling the listener experiences in the face of the record. Because the impression, at least at first, is that this isn't even a Rem album at all. Drum machines, layers of electronics and assorted studio trickery attempt to fill the void left behind - even though Berry is replaced by Beck's drummer, Joey Waronker, and, on percussion, by Barrett Martin of Screaming Trees (and of Tuatara, Buck's side project) - while banjo, harmonica and Sixties knick-knacks (including a Moog) try to bring back a bit of "retro" warmth. The results are largely muddled, though not without the occasional unexpected spark. So much so that some would go on to call it "an Automatic produced by Brian Eno in the Seventies."

Preceded by the minimalist fragment "Airportman" (a narcoleptic bed of keyboards over which Stipe mumbles scattered whispers), the single "Lotus" at least attempts to revive the adrenaline of "Monster", dusting off real drum parts and polishing up Buck's electric guitar for new, raw, bloodied riffs, with Stipe's voice growing hoarser and ever more languid. According to Greek mythology, the sweet lotus flower granted oblivion from earthly cares. And it's not hard to imagine what Stipe wanted to erase from his mind, after months of suffering and uncertainty. As it stands, the lyrics unfold in fragments, weaving new free associations with cryptic imagery.

Let it rain, rain, rain

Save me from myself again

Wash away my ugly sins

Opposing thumb, dorsal fin

That monkey died for my grin

Bring my happy back again

Let it rain, rain, rain

Bring my happy back again

So happy to show us

I ate the lotus

Say haven’t you noticed?

I ate the lotus

I ate the lotus

I ate the lotus

Lascia che piova, piova, piova

Salvami ancora da me stesso

Spazza via i miei terribili peccati

Eating the lotus thus becomes a cathartic experience, washing away sins like rain and purifying the conscience of all guilt ("Dot dot dot and I feel fine," sings Stipe, quoting It's The End Of The World As We Know It). A giant flashing lotus will also be chosen as the tour's stage backdrop, behind the band.

HOPE

Suzanne meets The Man Machine. And what emerges is a bizarre, and in some ways surprising, electronic sketch. Stipe's sing-song melody clearly recalls the classic by Cohen, duly credited as well, but it's wrapped in saturated, distorted layers of keyboards, in a bleak Day After atmosphere (a hallmark of that era, just think of certain productions by Radiohead, Portishead, Massive Attack and company).

The lyrics also echo the Cohen-esque meter of the original, often opening lines with "you" followed by a verb.

You want to go out Friday

And you want to go forever

You know that it sounds childish

That you’ve dreamt of alligators

You hope that we are with you

And you hope you’re recognized

You want to go forever

You see it in my eyes

I’m lost in the confusion

And it doesn’t seem to matter

You really can’t believe it

And you hope it’s getting better

Bewilderment and confusion are the conditions from which one tries to escape through hope. Be it hope in doctors and science ("You want to trust the doctors / their procedure is the best", "Vuoi avere fiducia nei dottori / Il loro metodo è il migliore"), even though "the last try was a failure" ("l'ultimo tentativo è stato un fallimento"), or hope in religion, in search of paradise, perhaps in the form of a spaceship.

You want to trust religion

And you know it’s allegory

But the people who are followers

Have written their own story

So you look up to the heavens

And you hope that it’s a spaceship

And it’s something from your childhood

You're thinking don't be frightened

In the end, though, the very opposite seems to prevail, and the song's protagonist appears to be confusedly searching for a way out.

And you’re questioning the sciences

And questioning religion

You're looking like an idiot

And you no longer care […]

You want to climb the ladder

You want to see forever

You want to go out friday

You want to go forever

Once again, escape as the only possible solution to the malaise of living. "I wanted to explore the space where the two huge despots ranged against each other, the religion/spirituality axis and the science/technology axis, clash," Stipe explains to Anthony DeCurtis. "And there's also the territory of identity and memory and dreams, where the real and the fantastic marry and intertwine."

AT MY MOST BEAUTIFUL

The love song you don't expect. Stipe suddenly rediscovers his romantic streak and crafts the sweetest of tributes to his love, but above all to the Beach Boys of "Pet Sounds", heavily invoked through the piano arrangements, the baroque swirls of strings and Mills's celestial backing vocals. The lyrics too offer smiles and tenderness, stylized in the form of haiku (the short Japanese poetic compositions built on three lines), as Gianni Sibilla notes, quoting the song's very key line.

I've found a way to make you

I've found a way

A way to make you smile

It's a simple, pure kind of love, nourished by messages left on the answering machine and kept only for the pleasure of hearing that voice again ("I save your messages / Just to hear your voice"), by knowing glances and by loving eyelashes to be counted one by one.

At my most beautiful

I count your eyelashes secretly

With every one, whisper I love you

I let you sleep

I know you’re closed eye watching me

Listening

I thought I saw a smile

Stipe's passion for haiku would also lead him to take part in a literary project, the book "The Haiku Year," co-written with director Jim McKay, musician Grant Lee Phillips, Douglas Martin, Tom Gilroy, Anna Grace and Rick Roth, and published by Soft Skull Press.

THE APOLOGIST

A minor episode all things considered, but a crucial one for understanding the album's subdued, dark undertone. With a line that sounds almost eerily prophetic.

Thank you for being there for me

Thank you for listening, goodbye

Was the band preparing its own epitaph? Hard to say, because for the rest of it the story unfolds just like an apology, slow and pained, amid muffled layers of electronics and a very particular groove dictated by a mass of metallic and ethnic percussion (Tibetan bells included!).

They call me the apologist

And now that I’m at peak

You know at first it really hurt

We joke about these things

I've skirted all my differences

But now I'm facing up

I wanted to apologize for

Everything I was. So

I'm sorry, so sorry…

The protagonist has gone through a path of detox and has finally faced his demons. His self-defence thus alternates self-pity and sincere repentance. But a subtle vein of unease remains, as if the metamorphosis had come at a very high price. Almost a new defeat.

YOU’RE IN THE AIR

The pain of a loss returns as a daily obsession, impossible to break free from, because it's the very air one is breathing: "You're In The Air", a mournful ballad arpeggiated by Buck and intoned in his own inimitable way by a desperate Stipe.

You wanted a challenge that’s calling you higher I landed on my feet by crawling

I Remember standing alone trying to forget you idling I hate to admit that that’s my

Reference point but there it is you say you want me

I’m what you found I’m upside down you’re in the air you’re in the air and I am breathing

In this way, even the stars — so often invoked by Stipe at the peak of a passion — become hostile, deceptive elements that "prevail" over the protagonist in a kind of titanic and impossible showdown.

I want the stars to know they’ve won if only to beguile

The sky has opened up again in

Heaven reconciled I want you naked I want you wild

I want the stars to know they win

Give me that smile just give it me just turn it on I’m lost again

Whether all that passion is aimed at a woman or a man is beside the point. What matters is the shift towards far more explicit, outgoing lyrics. It's come a long way since the days when young Michael was too shy to bare his feelings, always hiding behind a veil of nonsense.

DAYSLEEPER

But the album's one instant classic turns out to be yet another ballad in 6/8, unmistakably R.E.M.-esque and decidedly déjà vu (look no further than "Automatic For The People"). All the usual ingredients are there: the inevitable fairy-tale arpeggios, Stipe's equally predictable heartfelt delivery, the refrain that blooms warm and radiant. "Daysleeper" is a beautiful song, but by now its craftsmanship feels mannered. Less ordinary is its protagonist, a stockbroker (the line "the bull and the bear are marking their territories" alludes precisely to the animals representing positive and negative market performance) grappling with a life out of sync with the rest of humanity: he works at night, while everyone else sleeps, and rests during the day, drowning out the world's murmur with an "ocean machine" that mimics the sound of the sea to help him sleep.

I’m the screen, the blinding light

I’m the screen, I work at night

I see today…

Don’t wake me with so much

The Ocean machine is set to 9

I’ll squeeze into heaven and valentine

My bed is pulling me

The number 9 might indicate the maximum power of the “Ocean machine”, as well as the morning hour at which it switches on. And the pull of gravity returns, this time drawing the daysleeper toward his bed, after a night spent taking orders (“receiving dept., 3 a.m.”), keeping an eye on Asian time zones (“Hong Kong is present/ Taipei awakes”), and dealing with a terrible headache (“my night is colored headache grey”).

But living out of sync with time is a draining experience, so the daysleeper, numbed by lights and caffeine, vents all his unease.

I cried the other night

I can’t even say why

Another fragment of a secluded, isolated life, out of step with the times. A bit like the one Michael Stipe has always led.

DIMINISHED

The record's true feat, though, is this unsettling monologue built on chiaroscuro, on daring interplay between slide guitar and synth, trumpet echoes and soft bass lines. The protagonist is accused of committing a crime (a murder?) and tries to defend himself, even calling on a supposed jury.

I watched you fall

I think I pushed

Maybe I’m crazy

Maybe diminished

Maybe I’m innocent

Maybe I’m finished

Maybe I blacked out

How do I play this?

I will give my best today

I will give myself away

I have never hurt anything

Is the jury wavering?

Do they know I sing?

A sardonic tone thus prevails, making room for fresh allusions to the overwhelming power of the media (trials included) and a reference to Brian Eno's "oblique strategies", regarded by many - perhaps rightly so - as the true guiding spirit behind the whole album.

I’ll consult the I-ching

I’ll consult the tv

Ouija, oblique strategies

I’ll consult the law books for

Precedents

Can I charm the jury?

The I-Ching, or "Book of Changes," is a sacred Chinese text, while the Ouija board, on which all the letters of the alphabet are drawn, is used to pose questions to the souls of the dead, who supposedly reply through a medium spelling out answers on the board's surface.

The song closes with a snippet of "I'm Not Over You," which was never included on the tracklist. Little more than a fragment, with Stipe accompanying himself alone on guitar.

FALLS TO CLIMB

Closing the album is the track that best sums up its essence. Falling in order to rise again, once more the process of capitulation and purification as the inevitable price to pay for happiness. "Up" is a gallery of characters desperately trying to overcome their own unease by questioning themselves, even as they endlessly try to justify themselves. But in "Falls To Climb" doubt still prevails, veiled by further biblical references (the weak overpowered, the first stone to be cast), in a solemn atmosphere heightened by the martial drumming and Stipe's suspended vocals, over tremulous synth expanses.

I’ll take the position

Assume the missionary part

You work by committee

You had me pegged from the start […]

Who cast the final stone?

Who threw the crushing blow?

Someone has to take the fall

Why not me?

A voluntary act of atonement, according to Stipe himself, inspired by a short story by American writer Shirley Jackson titled "The Lottery". The story tells of a village where, periodically, a person is chosen by lot to be sacrificed through stoning. This is the "ceremony" the lyrics allude to, adding to it a condemnation of the oppression of the weakest ("a weakling on its knee"), scapegoats almost by vocation ("a punch toy volunteer").

Gentlemen mark your opponents

Fire into your own ranks

Pick the weakest as strategic

Move. Square off. To

Meet your enemy

For each and every gathering

A scapegoat falls to climb

As I step forward, silently

Deliberately mine

Gentlemen, pick your opponents

But, as in the gospel message, sacrifice takes on an almost cathartic value, freeing one from the chains of slavery and abuse of power.

My actions make me beautiful

And dignify the flesh

Me. I am free. Free

“Like ‘New Adventures In Hi-Fi’ – Sibilla points out – ‘Up’ also closes with a message of liberation. But while in “Electrolite” that “I’m not scared I’m outta here” hinted at the end of a long journey, in “Falls To Climb” freedom takes on an even deeper meaning. It could be the freedom that follows death, releasing us from earthly burdens, but it could also, more secularly, be the freedom that is earned, precisely, after a fall, at the end of a painful process of reclaiming oneself and one’s own identity.

“Up” is the first record on which Stipe agrees to publish the lyrics in full in the inner booklet. A choice that couldn’t have been more fitting, because while musically the album feels uneven and at times subdued, lyrically it reveals an artist now fully mature, no longer afraid to face his torments and demons head-on. Perhaps this is partly why an overly generous Berry would go so far as to say: “I leave and they make their best album… I feel like a real idiot”.

Critics, on the other hand, would prove rather lukewarm, split between those who accused the band of having lost themselves in no man's land, and those who at least credited them with renewing their sound, perhaps casting a sidelong glance at the sinuous electronic arcs of fellow late-century bands like Radiohead and Stereolab. Commercially, though, it was a genuine flop: it would go on to sell two million copies worldwide, less than half of what “Out Of Time” achieved in the US alone. As a consolation, the new millennium would open its doors to R.E.M. with the biggest concert of their career.

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10/05/2026