R.E.M.
Accelerate

STAY CALM AND ACCELERATE (WHEN THEY OVERTAKE ON THE LEFT).

Are you familiar with the prominence of Michael Stipe's bald head, right? Expressive, shiny like the ancient and virile one of Yul Brynner, era "The King and I". Well, from the photos with interviews on a well-known music magazine and various rants, my sneaky eye quickly informed the neurotic cells of the imminent coming up of a new R.E.M. album. In the words and sure statements of the three now seasoned Athenians, the next album would be a decisive return to the electric sounds of "New Adventures In Hi-Fi". Beyond, in short, the discussions and grumblings of the latest studio works, with an abrasive and less remunerative sticker than the parental advisory: "overcooked". Michael, Peter, and Mike were preparing their little comeback, in silence, among the studios in Dublin, Vancouver, and Athens with trendy yet concrete producer Jacknife Lee. It was time to press that damned pedal and, indeed, "accelerate".

The fourteenth R.E.M. seal is by far the most guitar-driven of the last ten years. Sharp and immediate as a whip in its 34 minutes of riffs & rock impulses, with meditative decelerations suspended between folk and modernity. Compact and nervous, (almost) as if the roaring years of "Life's Rich Pageant" were still so close, and we didn't know it. No, these are not times for the secular prayer of "Fall On Me" or a "Begin To Begin" to shake our belly and head, but it can suffice. Eleven brief tracks can suffice to replenish an old passion that fuels, despite everything, the spark in these men's middle age. Sometimes with a bit wild and out-of-place attitude of Rickenbacker and amps at full volume, to emphasize a harsh and square sound, good at first and to hell with the reasoned aesthetics of the latest productions.

And the lyrics? They return meekly to the source of Reagan-era (dis)illusion of "Document", updated to Bush 2.0. This "Accelerate" has a sharp sound that the three R.E.M. orphans, an enigmatic tripod creature, had forgotten. Sharp like Kandinsky's "Composition VIII" left to rot in the dust of a dusty street in Marfa, Texas.

The frenetic opening of "Living Well Is The Best Revenge" is in constant balance between rusty Buckian guitars, Stipe's chanting voice, and bassist Mike Mills' sixties choruses. "Man-Sized Wreath" has the rocky riff of the good times, a rolling gait that fades the pop memory of the 2000s R.E.M. The honest single "Supernatural Superserious" seeks to renew a discourse that passes from "Just a Touch" to "So Fast, So Numb", while "Houston" stands out in its scarce two minutes of acoustic memories and sepia melancholies. Among "Mr. Richards" (Keith?) turning his gaze on the hill of a Dylan-electrified classicism and the somewhat abstract melody of "Sing For The Submarine", the piano intro in the dry mid-tempo of "Hollow Man" and the sustained rhythm, unusual for Our guys, of "Horse To Water" hit the mark. The ballad "Until The Day Is Done" bears the Mares Made In Athens, Georgia stigmata. And the final "I'm Gonna DJ" closes the accounts with the recent past, and opens the doors to a new desire to be heard loudly in the crowd.

Democracy is the best of the worst systems: "It doesn't always work, but when it does, it's great." (Peter Buck).