On the scale of human accomplishments, turning out a classic album ought to rank up there with climbing Mount Everest. Stoned. With one leg. And no oxygen. Given the infinite potential for obnoxious excess within the Rock genre, it's no small feat to assemble an album that's so well phrased, so deftly stated, that its impact extends far beyond the realm of the audible. Turn out two or more such albums and you're headed for legendary status. Turn out five or six and you're R.E.M.
One of the great things about R.E.M.'s musical history is how they've managed to retain a distinctive sound while releasing a series of sonically diverse albums. The wistful ruminations of Automatic for the People evoked images of the grandiose and darkly beautiful. New Adventures in Hi-Fi served as a companion piece to the barren yet oddly gorgeous landscape of the west. And despite all this change, R.E.M. has always remained R.E.M.
The good news is that R.E.M. are still R.E.M. Every song on Reveal possesses that inimitable stylistic element present in all of their work to date. And in many ways, Reveal is a comforting listen. While it does rely more heavily on synthesized sounds than any of their past albums, the songs themselves bear a stronger resemblance to the archetypal R.E.M. song than anything post-Monster.
What makes Reveal so disappointing is that the additions to the classic R.E.M. sound are all merely superficial. The increased reliance on burbling, jittering synthesizers actually makes the album a less engaging listen, turning many of its songs into messy sonic muddles. The band's better works demonstrated a certain aural economy-- each sound had a purpose; nothing was extraneous or unnecessary. But far too many of the effects on Reveal seem added to the songs as afterthoughts, and prevent the tracks from materializing into coherent, compelling pieces of music.
This, however, is only part of a greater problem facing the album: most of the songs here simply don't go anywhere. A chord progression, a rhythm, a basic structure for the song is introduced. And oftentimes, that's it. Slight variations may factor in, but far too many of these tracks just sort of chug along, uninspired and drained of the energy that once made these guys so vital. Were this lack of variation coupled with wrenchingly beautiful melodies, it would be a lot easier to swallow. But as it stands, much of Reveal simply drifts by, failing to register emotionally or evoke the kind of rich, vivid imagery that earlier albums brimmed over with.
Which is not to say that Reveal is entirely devoid of merit. "The Lifting" opens the album promisingly, with an undeniably great melody and an all-enveloping background of piano, strings, and synthesizers. But even this, one of Reveal's better tracks, can't escape from some of the record's pitfalls (most notably mind-numbing repetitiveness). Its first single, "Imitation of Life," bears a strong resemblance to the painfully awkward "The Great Beyond" single from the Man on the Moon soundtrack. But it makes up for terrible lyrics by providing two things that Reveal lacks as a whole: a catchy hook, and a sufficient degree of sonic variety. It's certainly not a perfect song, but when held up against the browns and grays of the rest of the album, it provides a welcome glimmer of sunshine.
In a documentary about the making of R.E.M.'s last album, Up, Michael Stipe spoke of "moments of clarity," glimpses of the transcendental beauty and truth that he aims to convey in R.E.M.'s music. There are no such moments to be found on Reveal. The album is so muddled and repetitive that it's almost impossible to pick out any kind of individual moments within the album's framework. When I put on most R.E.M. albums and close my eyes, my mind is flooded with crystalline imagery, with miniature explosions, with the very moments of clarity that Stipe described; when I put on Reveal and close my eyes, I fall asleep.
