by Tom Demi and Bryce Napier, first published December 6, 2015
Out Of Time
released March 12, 1991
Warner Bros. Records
“The band insisted that this new music was not ‘arena-ready,’ and instead was meant for intimate listening.”
When Out Of Time came out, I was primed for it like never before. First of all, it had been nearly two-and-a-half years since R.E.M.'s previous album, which was an eternity compared to their usual pace of just over a year between releases. Second, their reputation had solidified, as had the stature of Michael Stipe in the music business, aided in no small part by his guest appearances and production work for a variety of respected artists, including Indigo Girls, 10,000 Maniacs, and the Golden Palominos—his peers and the critics were heavily anticipating his/their next move. But finally, in my case, I now had a part-time job at a rock music trade magazine, doing data entry and some writing, and a Warner Bros. Records representative had stopped in to give us a preview of their new album, in the form of its lead single, "Losing My Religion."
The Warner rep was a bit taken aback that my immediate boss bluntly declared its similarity to the last album's "World Leader Pretend," but there was no doubt it was a captivating song, taking the mandolin that had floated through a few impressionistic tracks on Green and pairing it with an insistent beat, a yearning vocal, and lyrics that were slyly provocative but just ambiguous enough to feel universal. It was clear that the label was banking on this big-time, and a slew of media appearances was scheduled—but no tour. The band insisted that this new music was not "arena-ready," and instead was meant for intimate listening.
To that end, as I dutifully picked up the LP and CD on release day before my second-shift job, I couldn't listen till after midnight, so it seemed appropriate that my first listen was in headphones, and I chose the CD. On first listen, I was enraptured by the beautiful guitar tones, the richly layered vocals, and the lush but not overdone string and horn arrangements. I heartily approved of the guest vocals of the B-52s' Kate Pierson, particularly on the miraculous "Me In Honey," and I felt an underdog's pride that Mike Mills got to sing two lead vocals on the album. To top it off, they even successfully employed a rapper on the album's opening track. I could feel that they had really "arrived," and they were in fact rewarded with a #4 single and a #1 album in short order, not to mention positive reviews.
First off, I feel compelled to point out that my wife took exception to my memories regarding Reckoning. I had claimed that she only contributed that one R.E.M. title to our newly-integrated CD collection. While that might be accurate in the strictest of terms, she says she had much of their catalogue—more than I did, in all likelihood—a fact tidily swept from my consciousness because they were otherwise all on cassette, a format we officially booted into obsolescence when we moved in together. How does any of this relate to Out Of Time? Well, I relocated from California to Michigan at age 19 to move in with her, with the intention of—eventually—getting married. The actual move took place in the fall of 1991, but the plans were in place almost a year in advance. According to her, we had come to an agreement to trade off purchases of albums that we would both be interested in to avoid pointless duplicates after moving day finally arrived, and Out Of Time had gone to me, leaving her with just the one R.E.M. disc to her name to contribute to the pile.
In any case, the title Out Of Time was struck upon at the very last minute by the band, under extreme duress from Warner Bros., who had artwork and everything else ready to go, but needed a name to push the album into production. It had always bothered me how awkwardly the title sits in that curvilinear banner on the cover; after hearing that story, I assumed about thirty seconds was given over to typing and centering it before rushing it off to the printer. And though it was literally running out of time that spawned the title, it obviously dawned on someone that the phrase also means "apart from time," an apropos description of the lavish chamber pop that populated much of the album. (We should probably all be thankful it wasn't called Cat Butt, one of the potential titles pitched by Michael Stipe.) Despite the precedent-setting time lapse between Green and this new release, though, it also feels like music that wasn't quite ready to be born, and that they could have used some extra time in its creation.
To describe it as uneven would be inaccurate. "Uneven" suggests, to me, that there are high highs and low lows. Really, though, on this record I even like the songs I don't like that much. There's just some hard-to-define quality that's slightly off about it all. I was having great difficulty diagnosing it, but I think Tom may have stumbled upon it for me. There's two Mike Mills leads on the album, two de facto instrumentals, and, for the first time, guest vocalists. Was Michael Stipe encountering some writer's block? Did he fear he was reaching the public saturation point of their appetite for him? Was taking a step back from prominence his way of participating in the shifting musical roles (with Berry playing some bass, Buck playing some mandolin) that had begun on Green? Was he concerned about turning into Bono? Because even though his voice is on every song, Stipe feels strangely absent for about a third of the record. And maybe that, in turn, makes the album feel slightly incomplete.
I've never cared much for the album title or cover, to be honest. I much prefer the rough version pictured in the CD booklet. Absolutely yes, it does feel like Stipe is trying to disappear into the background to avoid oversaturation. But that strategy certainly didn't carry over into their media appearances: the video for "Losing My Religion" was the first of their videos to feature him lip-syncing ("So. Central Rain" had him recording a new vocal on top of the other one), and he was definitely putting on some intense rock-star poses in the video as well as in TV performances of the song. And then for "Shiny Happy People" (the video and especially the Saturday Night Live appearance) he was exaggeratedly bouncy and smiling. Sure, it may have been ironic, but the general public ate it up and gave R.E.M. yet another Top 10 hit. The song has a fascinating structure, with unexpected shifts in time signature, but it's just so relentlessly catchy that I think it somehow burned America out on the group, because they never had another Top 10 hit here.
As for the incompleteness of the album, it does feel that way in places. That slow-burn in "Low" takes way too long, in my view; there's just not enough happening for most of the song. Where the album really takes off for me is in the pairing of "Belong" and "Half A World Away," which are among the most gorgeous songs they ever did—the bass line and the harmonies on the former are captivating, and Stipe's vocals and lyrics on the latter are some of his most affecting. It's worth noting here that the band was beginning to stretch out to a five-piece, with the addition of the dBs' Peter Holsapple on guitars and bass for several tracks, the first time a non-member was so prominent on one of their albums. His presence does add textures that enrich the overall sound, but of course a lot of credit should also go to their producer Scott Litt, who had joined them for Document and had a keen ear for ushering them through many changes in their music.
I didn't find the cross-pollination with KRS-One all that successful, nor do I think "Radio Song" was a worthy single. But I don't feel like it's a terrible or embarrassing song, just one they tried a little too hard to make over into something it wasn't. "Losing My Religion" was a very worthy single… that completely wore out its welcome. The good news is that I couldn't tell you the last time I'd heard it before spinning it this week for this review process, so it was like running into an old friend—pleasant company, as long as it doesn't suggest we should start hanging out again. In fact, a lot of what bothers me about the record could be put down to overextension. It's weird that this is the R.E.M. that racked up all the industry accolades. For all of their landmark records, this is where their Grammys were collected. If the industry knew what was coming down the pike, I doubt they would have hitched their trailers to Out Of Time.
But then, how many of their albums pitched two songs into my personal R.E.M. top ten list? Just Lifes Rich Pageant and this one, I suspect. I love the melancholy yearning of "Half A World Away" (and I'm a sucker for a 6/8 time signature, as ever). And "Me In Honey" is probably my favorite album closer from them; it bears a passing resemblance, structurally, to another song I love, Marshall Crenshaw's "Someday, Someway," with its simple, looping two-chord riff running almost unchanged through the entire song. I agree with you that Kate Pierson's vocals send it somewhere transcendent. And lovely harmonies are all over the record. The spoken word portion spoils "Belong" for me just a little, but the intertwining howl of Berry, Mills and Stipe on the wordless chorus moves me deeply—plus, it's fun to try to find a complementary tone while belting along in the car.
The flugelhorn-infused cocktail music of "Endgame" would be a lovely intermission in the sequence of one of the longer albums that were coming up on the distant horizon, but it feels a little like a stall-out here. (Out Of Time was their longest record since the debut, but still in the low 40-minute range. It was on the early end of the trend of albums gradually stretching ever longer through the '90s—doubtless due to the available space on compact disc versus that on vinyl—that culminated in the full-on sprawl of New Adventures In Hi-Fi.) Again, I like it on its own merits, but it feels unnecessary. "Near Wild Heaven" is likewise largely pleasing, but for the "bup-bup-bup-bah-bah-bah" backing vocals. It's a litany of things like that, things that don't quite fit together seamlessly, that make this easy to listen to, likable from song to song, yet vaguely dissatisfying overall. What I like and don't like about it overlap so tightly, it may be their only album where my opinion of it during a play-through would depend entirely on my frame of mind in the moment.
It was an album of high peaks in many ways for the band, but also for me personally, because soon after its release, we were visited at my rock-magazine job by none other than Mike Mills and Peter Buck themselves, the only time I've ever met anyone in the band. Mike was clearly the businessman of the group, gamely discussing their promotional plans and their producing gigs (particularly the Chickasaw Mudd Puppies), while Peter kind of stayed in the shadows—I approached him and expressed my love of their music as calmly as I could, but I also asked him, "Why is it always you and Mike doing all the interviews?" to which he replied, "Ya know, I don't know, really." ("Uh-oh," I thought.) I got their autographs on a postcard from the limited-edition set of Out Of Time, and I even jumped into a photo op with them and our senior staff ("That took moxie," my boss said afterwards)—that's me on the far right in the shot. And Mike did confirm that they would be going back into the studio very soon to record their follow-up album before deciding whether or not to go out on tour again.
Great story, and very cool photo. I have nothing constructive or comparable to add, so I'm happy to let that be the last word.