This week, R.E.M. released their 12th album. 13 if you count an early EP, 15 if you allow a couple of Best O' platters. Reveal hasn't revealed itself to the Pigdump office yet, which is an odd thing. There was a time when this Pigdump editor would have been camped out in front of Records on Wheels well before opening so that she could be one of the first in Hogtown to own the newest R.E.M. record.

Pigdump's musical heritage
I survived the unbearable disco era of the late 70's by listening to The Clash, Patti Smith, Elvis Costello. I had great hopes for the 80's, couldn't wait for the decade that would make the 60's look like the 50's. Ahem. But what happened? British Bisexual Haircut Music, that's what. And if you didn't like that, you could always listen to good old Bryan Adams, or Phil Collins, or watered down Tina Turner. UGH! There was so much hope coming into this decade.

Lucky for me, I had a university roommate from Pennsylvania who was plugged into a different culture. She brought these alternative (forgive me) music magazines up from the US: Trouser Press and The Bob. I read about a folk-rock-pop movement crawling from the south led by the jangly guitars of a band from Athens Georgia called R.E.M. I had to hear them. I had to get their indie EP Chronic Town. My American friend smuggled one into Canada early in 1983. And that was it. R.E.M. was the best thing that happened to my ears since Powderfinger. Since Oliver's Army. Since Kid Charlamagne.

I started requesting R.E.M. songs on the radio "Oh, do you mean REM Speedwagon?" Argh. No record store kept Chronic Town or Murmur in stock. Except Records on Wheels. Yippee! They sold me a ticket to see R.E.M. that year at Larry's Hideaway in Toronto. That was the Murmur tour. Then they came to town in 1984 in support of Reckoning. Before the show at the Masonic Temple, the guys in the band (Michael, Peter, Bill and Mike) showed up at records on Wheels for an album-signing thingy. You couldn't hold me back.

Because of R.E.M., I discovered The Replacements and The dB's. I devoured everything produced by Don Dixon and Mitch Easter. I was in a very small club with a wicked IMPORT music collection (anyone want a rare Tommy Keene or Pylon record?) I started playing the guitar. A lot. I taught myself how to play the bass guitar because Mike Mills was incredible with those bass counter melodies on his Rickenbacker. I didn't care that I couldn't understand the words to any of the R.E.M. songs...that was part of the mystery, the mood, the emotion. These songs spoke more than words. Whatever that means.

So why have I not lined up for Reveal? To be honest, Automatic For the People was the last R.E.M. album I gobbled up from release day. And here's the place where I get snobbish and elitist: I liked R.E.M. when you couldn't understand their words. I liked them before they signed a big gazillion dollar deal with Sony. I liked it when there was no Napster or the like when I traded and collected obscure bootleg R.E.M. tapes from concerts in Seattle, in Athens, in St. Louis. It seemed special then. Now it seems so everywhere, so disposable, so unlike R.E.M. But at least when I call the radio stations to request 'em, I don't get a befuddled response on the other end of the phone. Small pleasures in life's rich pageant.
 

More photos from the 1984 Reckoning Tour in the R.E.M. gallery.

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