Try Not to Breathe

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Release date: 05/10/1992 | Length: 3:50 | Release: Automatic for the People | SuE: #46

These are the eyes that I want you to remember

Relentlessly morbid or beautifully free? That’s the dichotomy that lives in Automatic for the People, and more specifically Try Not to Breathe. Death is often a taboo subject, but the second song from their eighth LP busts open that myth and addresses mortality with a nakedness seldom seen in pop.

Arguing that the dulling of a once sharp mind is no price to pay for an extended life, the song sets out an emotive case for euthanasia. In this song, Stipe is singing from the perspective of his grandmother as she passes.

I will try not to breathe

This decision is mine

I have lived a full life

The unusual guitar tones comes from Peter Buck using a dulcimer guitar at the start followed up by sweeping, bending notes. His desire to explore other instruments was kicked off during Green, but really taken to new levels on Automatic for the People. Michael Stipe explained that the music here came to be a hybrid of Buck’s favourite styles: surf rock & spaghetti western, but ended up sounded almost nautical. The rocking of the rhythm has a metronomic tick to it, like a boat lulling in the ocean.

Bill Berry plays a big role in the song too. The song could easily have started with Buck, but Berry’s shaker and triangle tings make Try Not to Breathe instantly recognisable. He also makes a distinct contribution in the backing vocals, echoing “I have seen things you will never see” throughout the chorus in a distorted way that sounds like he’s dialling in his vocals from a distant submarine. Stipe said that this was actually akin to an old-timey radio like on The Buggles’ Video Killed the Radio Star, but with the aforementioned sea-shanty swing of the rhythm, the aquatic analogy will always triumph in my mind.

Try Not to Breathe ticks so many boxes of what makes an R.E.M. song great. There’s vocal contributions from Mike Mills, sounding like a spirit floating off into the ether as he follows Stipe in the chorus. Stipe himself seems to dictate the rhythm of the song, curtailing verses and shifting refrains as he sees fit. And above all else, the song sounds quintessentially R.E.M., despite sounding like nothing else in their back catalogue.

Final Straw

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Release date: 05/10/2004 | Length: 4:07 | Release: Around the Sun | SuE: #201

If the world were filled with the likes of you
Then I’m putting up a fight

Final Straw is one of R.E.M.’s most overtly political and ideological songs. Their disdain for war and right-wing politics has been well-documented throughout their career, but in their songs it’s tended to be couched in an enigmatic code. That’s not to call Final Straw ham-fisted by any means, but the nuance is as slim as it’s ever been.

Three years into the Bush administration and you could see why Stipe and co. were keen to make a statement, particularly with regards to the United States’ brutal response to the 9/11 attacks. “Who died and lifted you up to perfection?” is one of the more scything lines, though that’s somewhat dampened by “Love will be my strongest weapon” later on. It’s not a criticism of the stance, but one can’t help but feel it’s a basic notion that R.E.M. have usually weaved into better words.

Originally released in 2003 as a free download, Final Straw later arrived on 2004 album Around the Sun in a slightly different guise. I cannot find any trace of the original version, though that suggests it was not the most groundbreaking of mixes. Musically it seems to pick up Up‘s electronic whooshes, making it one of the more interesting songs from Around the Sun, though on an album that’s widely regarded to be uninteresting, that’s not a high bar to clear.

2019’s expanded release of Monster showed us that Final Straw had been bouncing around the band’s studio for at least 10 years, though then it was under the moniker of Harlan County with Whistling. This was a far more countryfied version, but the basic elements remain. It’s a catchy jaunty rhythm, and when I first listened to Around the Sun this was the song that most captured my attention. It’s just a shame that at this period the band didn’t have the drive to make it truly potent.

Summer Turns to High

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Release date: 14/5/2001 | Length: 3:31 | Release: Reveal | SuE: #236

After wine and nectarines the fireflies in time
Move like syrup through the evening with a sweet resign

When people think of Beach Boys- infused R.E.M., they usually go to At My Most Beautiful, but it’s actually album Reveal that contains the most Wilson-esque creations. Reveal is R.E.M.’s summer album, but not wholly a happy-go-lucky beach-surfing record. It’s more of a heat-induced drowsiness of a record, where words and meaning flicker by in a haze.

Summer Turns to High is obsessed with sweet and sugary imagery. There’s references to nectarines, wine, syrup and cotton-candy caramel apples, cancelling out the rather icky “Someone put a pox on me, I’ll spit in their eyes” we get from Stipe at the start of the song. This is the kind of summer that’s great in moderation, but a whole chunk of it is simply sticky and insufferable.

The pullquote at the top is a rare case of R.E.M. poetry coming across better on paper than on track, and with much of Reveal you just wish the song had a lot more gumption. Between the second chorus and final verse, there’s a brief twinkle where it threatens to descend into a spiralling trip, like Hope, but sadly it doesn’t and just returns to its ponderous melody.

I did say I’d cover all unique b-sides, but I’ll make a pass at 32 Chord Song, on the back of I’ll Take the Rain. Imagine the poor sod who bought the European CD single of that in the hopes of hearing a new song, only to get an infinitesimally different version of Summer Turns to High.

7 Chinese Bros.

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Release date: 9/4/1984 | Length: 4:18 | Release: Reckoning | SuE: #28

Seven thousand years to sleep away the pain

Thud thud thud. That’s the main take from 7 Chinese Bros. This isn’t a song that features a virtuoso performance by Bill Berry, but it is a driving delivery from the man at the back. It is, yet again, a quintessentially Reckoning song. There’s aquatic semantics, a delicately subdued Michael Stipe at the front, and of course Peter Buck shimmering away at the sides.

Whereas Stipe on Murmur could be described as enigmatic, on Reckoning he’s often forlorn. So much of his vocals on 7 Chinese Bros. are a mumble, reflecting his regrets documented in So. Central Rain (I’m Sorry). There he is cathartic and anguished; here he is stubborn and moody. Whilst Stipe is on record as stating that this song is about his misdemeanours, the allegory in the song is a stretch.

The title comes from a 1938 book by Claire Huchet called ‘Five Chinese Brothers’, though the scansion is certainly improved with an extra two siblings. It’s another R.E.M. track that dwells in a parable, cementing their status as fable-tellers. That said, the likelihood of returning with a moral is slim:

Seven Chinese brothers swallowing the ocean

Seven thousand years to sleep away the pain

She’ll return

She will return

One quirk about this song which explains Stipe’s lethargic vocals is that the backing track is also used on Voice of Harold, b-side to So. Central Rain. Producer Don Dixon made Stipe read the liner notes of an old gospel album to the track, in the hope it’d invigorate the front man. As a result, some fans bizarrely prefer this take.

Me, Marlon Brando, Marlon Brando and I

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Release date: 07/03/2011 | Length: 3:03 | Release: Collapse Into Now | SuE: #197

The winners write the rule books
The histories and lullabies

The most striking thing about R.E.M.’s penultimate song from final album Collapse Into Now is the title: Me, Marlon Brando, Marlon Brando and I. It’s delightfully cryptic, and does refer to something rather than being arbitrarily obtuse. Neil Young’s song Pocahontas (recorded in the mid-1970s) ends with the following line, mirrored in the title of R.E.M.’s track:

Marlon Brando, Pocahontas and me

Michael Stipe’s voice drifts across the song much like Young’s does, slipping into a forlorn loneliness, only to be saved by Mike Mills’ echoes in the chorus: ‘Down down’. Here Stipe asks Young for advice, a meeting of two great rock minds. What’s the advice? Well that’s where the trail dries up, as R.E.M. revert to their tried and tested method of sleep: ‘Help me off to sleep, Take me deep again’. It’s a highly effective trick, conjuring up the sombre tone of Automatic for the People, whilst the mandolin plucks sound like The Wrong Child many years earlier, when R.E.M. were nervously experimenting.

This unassuming tune is more of a reward for long-time listeners than a explosive blast. It’s endearingly downbeat, but offers enough intrigue and kind throwbacks to succeed.

Daysleeper

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Release date: 12/10/1988 | Length: 3:37 | Release: Up | SuE: #55 | UK: #6; US: #57

My night is coloured headache grey

There’s a lot of love for Daysleeper out there, and there’s certainly a claim to be made that this is R.E.M.’s best final-third era single. I won’t be making that claim, but it can be made. It served as the lead single from Up but wasn’t hugely indicative of the loops and drones that peppered the record. It was a bit of a bait and switch for listeners, who may have bought Up expecting a return to the maudlin Automatic for the People, but this was the most obvious and safe pick as it sounded like R.E.M.. Not much around this time did.

I hear Try Not to Breathe when I hear Daysleeper as both songs have a nautical beat, by which I mean they both drift and flow to a gentle beat, and ride a smooth wave in the chorus. I think. It makes sense in my head. Both open with a little jingle and there’s a tiny rise in the beat as the songs roll into their choruses. Peter Buck’s notes are elongated and curve around Stipe’s voice at its most vintage and clear.

The lyrics are both poetic and dry, reflecting on the disturbed mental state of a daysleeper and the mundanity of a night job. ‘My night is coloured headache grey’ is a grossly vivid line, whilst ‘I am the screen, the blinding light’ is a sad, damning eulogy.

Everything I have to say about this song is positive (though I find the ending to be a little too staged for my liking), but I will not make the claim that this is their best post-Berry single. Why? It’s not timeless. Daysleeper is a strange R.E.M. song in that it could be on a few of their albums. I’ve made the Automatic for the People case already, but it also has that breezy trajectory synonymous with Reveal. Yet it ends up being a curveball single from a curveball album.

What If We Give It Away?

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Release date: 28/07/1986 | Length: 3:33 | Release: Lifes Rich Pageant | SuE: #86

Overlooking with a hollow eye

Bluntly, What If We Give It Away? is not one of my favourite R.E.M. songs. In fact, it’s possibly my least favourite track from Lifes Rich Pageant, so this will likely be a brief entry. It’s not that I think the song is bad per se, it’s just forgettable. When you compare What If We Give It Away? to other songs on the album, it pales in comparison. Begin the Begin is aggressive, Superman is fun, Fall on Me is timeless, I Believe is barnstorming. What If We Give It Away? befits none of those adjectives.

Much like a lot of R.E.M. songs, this track has its origins several years earlier, and was doing the rounds in live sets in 1981 under the moniker ‘Get on Their Way’. Michael Stipe is known for having unintelligible lyrics, but on a bootlegged show from May of that year, I do believe them to actually be noises, rather than words.

It’s interesting to note how similar the song’s structure is, with little changes (lyrics aside) after laying dormant for five years.

Rotary Ten

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Release date: 14/07/1986 | Length: 1:58 | Release: Fall on Me | SuE: #214

As I will come to later, Fall on Me is R.E.M. fans’ favourite song [citation delivered]. Is it because of Rotary Ten, the b-side? No, no it is not, otherwise Rotary Ten would be R.E.M. fans’ favourite song, and Fall on Me would be languishing at #214.

However Rotary Ten is still a little fun. The instrumental bounces around Mike Mills’ heavy bass plucking and Peter Buck jangles out some dud notes. Buck described this song as being “a movie theme without a movie”, and it would kind of fit a comedy gangster film, from the early half of the 20th century. The ramshackle jazz and blues number was almost certainly devised in a warm-up jam, and was not written expecting anyone to ever write a hundred words about it. Sigh.

Good Advices

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Release date: 10/06/1985 | Length: 3:30 | Release: Fables of the Reconstruction | SuE: #105

When you greet a stranger
Look at his shoes

The muted tone on Fables of the Reconstruction makes some of the album a little difficult to distinguish, or at least highlight as being the pinnacle of the band’s creativity. Good Advices is one such example, an unadventurous song that reflects their momentary malaise as the pressures of being a full-time rock band were starting to show. To see what I mean, this live version from 1985 is what you’d expect from the song, it’s not wild or energetic, but there is a gentle feel to it.

Michael Stipe caresses the microphone protectively, without much engagement with his surrounding band. Neither Peter Buck nor Mike Mills stray much from their spot, offering the occasional lick, but they both know that this isn’t a showy song. Stipe acts as a sort of parable-teller, relaying tales from the road with a supposed moral to be found – but it’s all a little cryptic:

When you greet a stranger

Look at her hands

Keep your money in your hands

The negativity isn’t scything, but the narrator bristles with distrust. Was this a reflection of the tension that R.E.M. felt in 1985, recording a third album in 24 months amidst a touring blitz? When Stipe sings “I’d like it here if I could leave, And see you from a long way away”, was he talking of recording location London, and the general hustle and bustle of what they’d become? Usually Stipe delivers a message of hope and change, but here it’s a blunt, narrow-eyed suspicion. It’s not an instruction that one should greet a stranger with open arms, but in fact a closed door.

Hairshirt

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Release date: 7/11/1988 | Length: 3:55 | Release: Green | SuE: #99

Feed me banks of light

I welcome challenges to the belief that Green‘s three mandolin-based songs are ranked in the following order: You Are the Everything > Hairshirt > The Wrong Child. I’ve never flexed on this opinion, not even come close. Hairshirt exists as an unglamorous album track, one that neither amplifies the album nor drags it down.

Lacking a chorus, and any coherent melody that Green had in spades, Hairshirt becomes a late-record interlude. Despite the haunted atmosphere to the song, it’s one of being set free from harmful restraints. At a basic level, a hairshirt is a garment worn typically amongst ardent religious followers as a means of penance, as the harsh, bristling robe serves as a minor punishment for one’s sins.

It’s not uncommon in R.E.M. songs for religious imagery to serve as a larger metaphor for Stipe’s vision. To the unconcerned onlooker, it would appear that Stipe is a devoutly devotional man, however his words run deeper than a simple one-dimensional meaning. “It’s a beautiful life, My life” sings Stipe, as the proverbial hairshirt is lifted. What burden has been lifted? Who’s to say. The narrator refers to themselves as a dog in the opening line, though whether this be playfully or derogatorily is another question: “I am not the type of dog that could keep you waiting”.

This song almost feels like a precursor to the acclaimed Country Feedback, one album later. This song was not slaved over, and sounds very stream-of-consciousness. Some lines are like unfinished poetry, a draft that reads more beautifully when uneven.

I could walk into this room

And the waves of conversation are enough

To knock you down in the undertow

My one new addition to the commentary around Hairshirt is a cover version, by Gameface singer Jeff Caudill. His vocals are an honest tribute to Michael Stipe, however the song feels infinitely more cathartic than the 1988 original. There’s an extra minute on this version, as the song soars away once the restrictiveness of the narrator’s trials are released.