PrettyFakes

I.

The sort of e-mail I got at the beginning of this week:

Dear Professor Fury,

Hi! I hope you had a good summer! My name is Judy MacKenzie, and I’m an English major. I’m also graduating this semester, but I really need to get into your American lit survey. I know it’s full, but do you think it would be possible to squeeze me in? I’ll sit on the floor!

The sort of e-mail I’m getting at the end of this week:

Dear Professor Fury,

My name is Lucius Morningstar. My heritage is uncertain. Of my father I know nothing, of my mother, only rumor and innuendo; some hold that she was a gypsy sorcereress who consorted with the vilest beasts of the foulest pits. What is certain is that all my people’s prophecies indicate that I will be a central figure in the coming apocalypse, but whether for good or evil none can say. I believe, however, that I will be more likely to walk the path of righteousness if I am able to get into your American literature survey, which I need in order to graduate and, also, in order to usher the world into a fifth age of celestial harmony. Although I know your class is already over-enrolled with students who will most likely serve as foot soldiers of Satan in the inevitable conflict—nay, conflagration—I know that you will allow me to add, even at this late date. After all, to choose otherwise would be to choose to bathe in the blood of infants and to dine upon the fetid carcasses of those you hold most dear.

II.

So, one of the benefits of the magic music machine that Contessa gave me for my birthday is that, in loading my record collection onto it, I’ve gotten the chance to re-hear music that I haven’t paid attention to in a while. Lately, I’ve been having an early R.E.M renaissance, focused mainly on Murmur and especially on “Pilgrimage,” a song which I’ve listened to probably 50 times in the last week. And I’ve been digging J. Niimi’s book on the album.

But then I came home from visiting with Cruz tonight, flipped on the tube, and on our “Music Choice” channel, there was R.E.M live in concert. And it was disappointing. Most live music on TV disappoints, admittedly, but this was especially bad, considering the R.E.M high that I’d been riding. Understand, I’m not accusing the band of “selling out”—careers have their own momentum, and at a certain point, what we call “selling out” is just a function of inertia. And I like a lot of late era R.E.M stuff—New Adventures in High-Fi is a delight, I’ll defend the oft-maligned Monster, and there are some okay moments on Up.

But you know, the great thing about Murmur is the mystery of it, the menace of the unknown; Niimi makes a good case for it as a kind of gothic art, forcing the listener to abandon hopes of making rational sense of it and to instead cobble her own meaning out of the fragments that loom abruptly out of the dark. None of that was in evidence at this concert; to be fair, there’s no way it could have been, what with R.E.M being international megastars and all, but that doesn’t make it any less disappointing. All that mystery and menace was gone, replaced by note-perfect renditions of their “hits”—did you know that “Everybody Hurts” is three and a half hours long? It sure felt like it!—all introduced with a graphic at the bottom of the screen to tell you exactly what you are about to hear, so you don’t have to spend even a second puzzling out an unfamiliar intro or wondering if the show might be over. And the whole stage was crowded with musicians, not just the core three + ersatz Bill Berry, but Scott McCaughey and Ken Stringfellow and another guy and probably more. I suppose they’re there to fill out the songs, but what happens is that they fill them up, crowding the listener out, leaving no gaps, no fissures, no rabbit holes to tumble down. If the listener’s labor used to be an integral part of an R.E.M song, now it’s pretty much superfluous.

But no hate here, just observing that the band has evolved into something I’m not that interested in anymore, as is their right. The old albums are still around, so it’s not like the new work is erasing them or anything. Meh.

BONUS: The Mountain Goats’ video for “This Year” is now online! John Darnielle! Peter Hughes! And if watching the video makes you nostalgic for the time when I wrote almost exclusively about the band, well, you can read my review of The Sunset Tree, my report on the Baton Rouge and New Orleans shows, my reflections inspired by the vinyl dream that is Come, Come to the Sunset Tree, and! revisit the magic of Gorjus’ poster for their Jackson show.

And if you haven’t killed an afternoon hanging out at the highly immersive Tallahassee (click the star) or We Shall All Be Healed virtual environments, well, then, you’re clearly a sicko.

This entry was posted on Friday, August 19th, 2005 at 9:55 pm and is filed under In the South, Professor Fury, The Rock and The Roll. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.