R.E.M. - Accelerate

R.E.M.
Accelerate
Warner

A few months ago, bassist Mike Mills told Rolling Stone that he believed “people are ready to like R.E.M. again”—a statement that effectively summarizes everything that’s right and wrong about the iconic band’s fourteenth album, Accelerate.

With Mills, guitarist Peter Buck, and frontman Michael Stipe all pushing 50, it’s more than a little naïve to expect R.E.M. to suddenly recapture the adventurousness of their ‘90s heyday, let alone the raw energy and mystery of the I.R.S. years. Nonetheless, for about a decade now, that has been the overriding plea from the peanut gallery—a “return to form” from the slick, slow motion affairs of the group’s last three albums (none of which were as bad as you’re supposed to think they were).

On the surface, Accelerate appears to be the long awaited response to these demands. The moods, subtleties, and textures have been axed in favor of the axe—loud guitars, big riffs, rapid-fire rock n’ roll. Buck appears to be an active component in the band again, Mills’ harmonies soar, and Stipe is audibly hopping mad like the young punk he once was. There’s political dart throwing (“Man Sized Wreath,” “Houston”), teen angst (“Supernatural Superserious”) and even one of those “end of the world” jams (“I’m Gonna DJ”). It’s everything we, the R.E.M. faithful, have been pining for. And yet, somewhere in the middle of the celebration, a sense of suspicion starts to emerge. Is this really a great band happily reconnecting with each other and their grittier roots? Or is Accelerate the sound of an aging act, caught behind the eight ball?

After the critical and commercial failure of the admittedly overproduced 2004 album Around the Sun, R.E.M. found itself at yet another career crossroads. In the past, they took such opportunities to do whatever the hell they wanted, succeeding with unexpected forays into dark balladry (1992’s Automatic for the People), glam-grunge posturing (1994’s Monster), and Radiohead-style space-pop (1998’s Up). This time, however, they hired hotshot producer Jacknife Lee (U2, Green Day) and quickly recorded the straight forward, guitar heavy, radio-ready album everyone else wanted them to make.

The situation is very reminiscent of that of another ‘80s indie icon, Morrissey, who was the target of similar critical venom for years, until he hired producer Jerry Finn (Green Day) and released the more straightforward rock album You Are the Quarry in 2004. Having done what the critics asked, Morrissey received his best reviews since his Smiths days, even though his new songs were not particularly better or more interesting than his unfairly maligned ‘90s work.

The fact is, critics often seem to decide they’re ready to embrace a great artist again, independent of whether or not that artist’s performance has warranted it. This is especially true when that artist does exactly what the critics have been screaming for. Even if the songs are only so-so, and the energy seems a tad by-the-numbers, the band only was doing what you asked. And to criticize that would be equivalent to admitting one’s own foolishness—something no self-respecting critic, nor R.E.M. fan, seems willing to do at the moment.

(Andrew Clayman)


Published in The Metro Pulse, April 2008