So how exactly does a shy art student with poor skin and intriguing hair become an international pop star? How does a guy who, as a child, entertained thoughts of becoming an archaeologist because he liked the idea of digging in a ditch until a dinosaur appeared become such an unlikely object of desire?
It's a conundrum to all and sundry that Michael Stipe - the defiantly charismatic figurehead of REM, the world's biggest cult band - has attained the high profile he has enjoyed for over a decade. Unlike the other two fully paid-up members of REM (bassist Mike Mills and lead guitarist Peter Buck), Stipe is not just a guy in a band. Michael Stipe has things to say above and beyond the music. If Mills and Buck comprise the heart of REM, then Stipe is the soul.
"Part of being able to do what I do - and living in Athens instead of New York or Los Angeles or London," Michael Stipe has said, "is not having to walk around thinking that I'm famous all the time, and not having to deal with it all. People in Athens, Georgia, are really cool. They think I'm a nice guy because I am, and they're totally unimpressed by me."
Michael Stipe's life changed radically in 1975 when he saw a picture of Patti Smith on the cover of Creem magazine. "She was terrifying-looking," he noted. "All the other music was like watching colour movies, but listening to Horses (Smith's debut album) made incredible sense to me. It tore my limbs off and put them back in a different way."
Five years later, on April 19th, 1980, REM played their first concert in Athens. For the first few months of their existence, the band's repertoire consisted of about a dozen original songs and a long list of cover versions. The line-up consisted of four dropouts from the University of Georgia, and REM quickly acquired a healthy following among the college fraternity. If it wasn't for Stipe's skewed charm and his increasingly eccentric on-stage behaviour, it's likely REM would have been looked upon as just another American college bar band that depended on The Byrds for inspiration and guidance.
Slowly but surely, however, REM began to amount to more than the sum of their influences - despite being looked upon by the Athens elite as careerist. The band's country/folk sound - predating public interest in what is now known as Americana and alt.country - was counter-pointed by a throbbing bassline and a nervous urgency. Stipe's distinctive voice and his virtually incomprehensible lyrics underpinned such a straight-ahead quirkiness. In a relatively short space of time, REM sounded quite unlike any other band in America. Being challenging was simply not on the agenda, however. In those early days, songs were written on the hoof, the lyrical content receiving short shrift. "We decided the words didn't matter, because nobody cared what you were saying," said Stipe (who would later change his mind and have his lyrics printed on REM's album sleeves).
The turning point in REM's career came in the late 1980s, when they left their American indie label, IRS, for the might of Warners. REM's first album for their new label - Green, in 1988 - was also the first record on which they printed Stipe's lyrics. The words from World Leader Pretend hinted at a change of aesthetic. Stipe's noticeable obliqueness was momentarily chipped away.
To his dismay and disdain, the band's growth from credible cult act to arena Rock Gods - along with his lyrics being endlessly analysed - led to his elevation as a spokesman for a generation. Bad move . . . Says close cohort and melancholic, Vic Chestnutt: "I get great nostalgia for the olden days when I couldn't understand what the f*** he was saying". Ironically, one of the songs from Up - At My Most Beautiful - is an undiluted love song, easily the most sincere and genuine Stipe has written to date, and a clear sign that, as he matures, his wordplay is becoming less labyrinthine. For fans, the printing of all the lyrics on the record's CD sleeve is a significant event. Finally, they can sing the correct words to the songs. "Are you really sure about that?" Mike Mills inquired of this writer last year. Frankly, I'm not.
It is on such a confusing foundation that the cult stardom of REM is built. While there is no denying that Mills and Buck contribute a major degree of musical nous to the band's sound, Stipe is the glue that holds it all together. Throughout his teenage years, Stipe had more internal conflicts than short-lived hobbies, going through phases of ostracisation and self-inflicted egghead freakdom that too easily attracted the wrong sort of attention. "Celebrity status is a curse and a wonderful thing," he has said, implying that he still attracts the wrong kind, at least half of the time.
The release of Up late last year represented a departure for REM: they deliberately decided to be the anti-arena rock band with an album they instinctively knew would undersell. Their original intention of not touring the record has altered somewhat. The artistic strategy remains the same but commercial considerations kicked in nonetheless.
REM arrive in Ireland next week still popular enough to play an open air event, but they approach the year 2000 with a conundrum even they might wish to know the answer to.
"Lord knows what the next album is going to sound like," Michael Stipe told The Irish Times last year, clearly aware that something would have to change. "Who is to say? True REM fans expect us to stretch ourselves and rise to a challenge. I don't think any one of our fans wants to hear the same songs over a series of albums. True REM fans expect more of us. We expect more from us as well."
REM play Landsdowne Road next Friday. The support acts are The Divine Comedy and Paddy Casey
