Before I go any further, I should briefly describe a snowy night in 1983. Driving to Poughkeepsie with Joe and Roxanne, the flakes coming at the windshield are blinding, it feels like we’re going into hyperspace on the Millennium Falcon. We press on and make it to Vassar College.
We’re here to see the English Beat, one of our favorites. But first, there’s an opening band.
“Who are these guys?” I ask Roxanne.
“They have that one song, you’ll recognize it.”
The singer is dancing sort of like Jim Morrison. The music doesn’t sound anything like the English Beat.
Then they play the song Roxanne was talking about.
“Oh yeah, this song,” I say.
The song is Radio Free Europe. The band is REM.
Most memorable moment of the evening: the Beat’s guitarist pogos clear off the stage, is propped back up by a roadie and continues playing sporting a bandaged hand.
I’m not sure how many albums the Beat put out after that. But soon I will be acquiring Murmur. Then Reckoning. Then Fables of the Reconstruction…
I will listen repeatedly to each REM album. I will try, with mixed success, to duplicate as many of Peter Buck’s catchy riffs as any other guitar player I can think of. The band just dominates the rest of that decade. Sort of in a category by themselves, somehow indie and mega successful at the same time. Maybe even the biggest band in the world at one point.
And tonight we will be opening for them.
# # #
I wake in my deluxe suite at Le Parc. It has a private balcony. I sit outside, attempting to meditate, trying to center myself in this LA world that somehow throws me off balance.
Coincidentally, my friend Scott is not only staying at the same hotel, but orbiting within the REM universe as well. He’s working with Miloš Forman on the Andy Kaufman biopic, Man on the Moon, name taken from the REM song, who did the soundtrack as well.
Scott knows LA really well. He takes me to Kings Road Cafe in his sporty red rental car. He’s got a little extra time, so he calls a friend at Paramount who puts his name at the gate. They let us in, no questions asked, and we wander the backlot unescorted, wherever we feel like, for over an hour. The place where they filmed The Godfather, Chinatown. Almost as unbelievable as the plane ride the day before.
One of my favorite (fake) buildings is one that’s been specially reinforced and has been used repeatedly in fire scenes for decades. Scott lists the various films in which it can be seen ablaze.
“It’s been on fire pretty much continuously since the 1950s,” he says.
We cruise around Hollywood after that. Past Frolic Room, Chinese Theater, Roosevelt, Hollywood and Vine. We are in the land of the stars. I could write a whole chapter on this day alone.
# # #
I get some writing done back at the hotel, make some phone calls, then it’s time to take a cab over to the Greek Theatre.
The first person I meet is Mike Mills.
“Hi, I’m Mike!” he says, introducing himself with a big smile.
You know how sometimes there’s one guy in otherwise deadly serious band photos who looks…nice? In REM press photos, that guy is Mike Mills. And in real life—that guy is Mike Mills!
I can’t tell you how reassuring it is to be greeted like this when you otherwise feel like you’re out of your depth. I can’t remember exactly what he said after that, but it was sure friendly.
We’re shown to our palatial, black-and-white tiled dressing room. Our private bathroom has enough toilets for each of us to have our own, in case some bizarre simultaneous call from nature should happen to occur over the next several hours.
We do get to sound check. We are professionals, we don’t mess around. We always have a sound man, of course, but tonight we also have someone who specifically mixes our monitors, a luxury we aren’t often afforded, except maybe at big festivals where the turnover is so quick that you need all the help you can get.
Best sound ever, at least during sound check. Seems too good to be true.
On our way to dinner, there is a veritable army of security amassing in the basement, receiving their orders. We’ve played big shows, we’re used to security, but nothing like this. These guys look like they’re ready to parachute into Somalia. This is a different world.
Dinner, just us, REM must be off somewhere. Michael Stipe is known to be a vegetarian. I think he was part owner of The Grit in Athens? We have played the 40 Watt Club in Athens several times. The mashed potatoes with yeast gravy at The Grit are transcendent, if that can be said of mashed potatoes. So it’s no surprise that there’s grilled tofu* on the menu tonight, and it’s just delicious.
(*This might not seem a big deal now but, prior to this, having toured the US in a van for years—being mostly vegetarian myself with Denny’s the only option—grilled tofu at a gig? Almost miraculous.)
Our new manager, Marcus, comes into the dressing room to wish us well. He’s flown over from the UK for this. Now is probably a good time to mention that he manages another band besides us, called Oasis.
Why are we here? REM could sell out ten nights at the Greek by themselves, they don’t need us. Maybe we have a buzz at the moment, and that adds a little something to the bill. But something else is going on.
Our surprise success in the UK has brought in big players. None of this is openly discussed in the dressing room, but moves are being made, waters tested, real money wagered. Indie band from Upstate NY, are you ready for the big time? No pressure or anything.
# # #
We are the definition of an opening band. We are that band providing music while people are slowly taking their seats, waiting for the REM show to begin. The Greek Theatre is largely empty when we begin, and is maybe half-full (as with a glass, let’s be optimistic) when we finish.
But the sound-check did not make any promises it could not keep. The sound is utterly deluxe. I can hear everyone perfectly (not just Jeff’s kick-and-snare, Jon’s vocals, and a punishing morass of what’s supposed to be Grasshopper’s guitar.) I can even hear myself! Really hearing each other brings our playing up to the next level, and is also kind of delightful. Best show in months, even if the audience didn’t entirely seem to notice.
Backstage afterwards, I find myself talking to an actress who tells me she was in a car commercial. I tell her my mom happens to drive that same car. So we have that in common.
REM goes on. The place, of course, is packed by this point, and the crowd goes crazy. A single human scream averages something like 100 decibels. The Greek holds 6,000 people. You can do the math.
At first I’m watching from “Guitar Land,” which is what we affectionately call the area where the guitar tech keeps all the extra guitars tuned and ready. The guitar tech probably doesn’t want me breathing down his neck, so I migrate to a less awkward spot on the side of the stage where others stand watching.
I’ll never understand how people can pay all that money to go to a massive show and watch a band on a giant TV screen. I mean, I know it’s a larger-than-life experience and all that, but when you go to see a band, you go to SEE a band. You want to be able to make out basic facial features without assistance.
Here we were on stage left, watching one of the biggest bands on the planet, and we can almost see their pores. Never mind that we’re getting paid to do it.
There’s a sweet spot in the room somewhere near the sound desk where the sound tends to be best. Often, even with a backstage pass around my neck so I can go anywhere, I’ll join the crowd so I can really hear whatever band we happen to be playing with. Tonight? No freaking way. Plus here at the Greek, even the sound alongside the stage is pretty good.
Michael Stipe has the audience from the minute he walks out there. He’s got the voice, the presence, he’s a real star. He also seems to have some sort of inner-ear monitor, wires hanging off the back of his head. In years to come, this will be industry standard. But at this time it’s Star Trek stuff.
One small disappointment, tonight and in general, is that Bill Berry has recently left the band. His signature giddy-up drumming style is a big part of what gave the band it’s early sound, and I miss it.
Maybe this is why they don’t do any songs off their first three albums, which denies me some of those Peter Buck guitar lines I’m dying to hear. About half the set is taken from their middle period, the MTV years, this does not disappoint.
They also play a lot of new material. Why did I not do my homework and listen to their latest album? Would’ve made this part of the set way more enjoyable.
They do play “Fall on Me,” one of the first REM songs I’d set out to learn on guitar years before. From Peter Buck’s opening riff through Michael Stipe’s soaring vocals, with Mike Mills’ backing vocals sealing the deal. Gives me chills.
Other people standing alongside the stage are all watching and digging the show to be sure, but there’s still LA stuff going on. Connections being made. Scott introduces me to Miloš Forman, who says he saw half our set and liked it. This is the man who directed Amadeus and Cuckoo’s Nest. I try not to sound too awkward when I return the compliment. The dude’s also got a really firm handshake.
The show winds its way to a conclusion after a six-song encore. That makes 25 songs total. I’m pretty sure when we’re headlining, with encore, we never come close to 20. The people who have come to this temple-like setting to see rock gods have gotten their money’s worth. Actually, I have no idea how much the tickets cost. But it was a damn good show.
Directly after their show, I meet Peter Buck for the first time, who graciously says he watched our whole set and liked it. Like I said, this is the man whose riffs I’ve been trying to figure out for over a decade. Okay, he might be as nice as Mike Mills.
I haven’t met Michael Stipe yet. I decide I should probably do this. He has his own dressing room apart from the rest of the band. Well-wishers are waiting to be admitted one-at-a-time. Reminds me of the time my friend Stephen took me to meet prima ballerina Cynthia Harvey after a performance at Lincoln Center.
When I’m admitted, at first he looks at me like I’ve got two heads, but when it registers who I am, his whole face brightens and he says, “Oh Adam!” He goes on to thank us for saying yes to playing with them, as if we would have said anything else.
Michael Stipe is one of those people with that rare gift, he looks at you with these loving eyes like you’re the only person in the world at that moment, and in that moment you’re like, “Oh my God, Michael Stipe is my new best friend!”
Then you leave the dressing room, your dopamine levels return to normal, and you figure, “Well, probably not.” A pleasure just the same.
Back in our own dressing room we are all pretty much exultant that we didn’t fuck this up. We will be playing here again tomorrow night, there is no load out to worry about, it’s time to relax.
There’s an after-show party, hosted, of course, by Mike Mills! I’m not sure our band is actually invited, but Scott is, so I hop back in his sporty red rental and go over with him.
I meet the actress from the car commercial again and we wind up talking for most of the party. I can’t tell if she’s flirting with me, if this is an LA actress thing, or if we’re just talking because neither of us really know anyone else.
It doesn’t matter, I’m not really “partying” here, I’ve definitely still got my game face on. Just blowing off a little steam before I get back to the hotel so I can get some rest and we can start this all over again.
I reckon our first night has gone pretty well. Maybe, while waiting for REM to come on, some kid who was half paying attention to our opening set turned to a buddy and said:
“Who are these guys?”
[Click here if you missed 1st installment of REM tour series]
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[Click here to continue to installment three]
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It takes some serious humility to write such a wonderful recollection of a historic musical event without even once mentioning the name of your own band. Chapeau.