Relentlessly jangly, occaisionally bouncy, pure proto-indie, sharing plenty with the chugging tunefulness of mid-80's contemporaries The Smiths.
REM was clearly a talented band, but they've never moved me. The songs crack open and pour out like yolk instead of light, strangely inert for their skyward aspirations. Stipe's reedy murmur doesn't help, penning the sound in a cramped little range. I reckon if you were there this was a revelation, but in two thousand and thirteen we've all seen the remake and can't shake the precedent 2/5
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