R.E.M. -- "Wolves, Lower"
I had pretty much forgotten about this band in recent years until a nostalgia trip sent me back to their earliest material, particularly the Chronic Town EP and the band's first and greatest full-length, Murmur. This song, from Chronic Town, offers a perfect statement on the band's ethos at this point in their career. This song has the energy, the vitality of punk, but it's clearly not punk. Early R.E.M. was defined by an abstract pursuit of melody. Peter Buck's guitar work is busy here, jangling, chiming, evoking the Byrds but never quite sounding like them. Michael Stipe's lyrics follow a loose string of associations. They don't mean anything in the end, except maybe to suggest something about the way the unconscious mind works -- fitting for a band named after a sleep-state. The eyes are moving, but they don't see anything.
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