The recognition crunch has claimed three more victims: the members of REM, whose just-completed British go attracted littler crowds than the American pillars of college rock were used to. In Cardiff, they downsized from a stadium to an arena; at Old Trafford, a declamatory section of unsold seating was cordoned off; and when they hit the stage at Twickenham at sunset on Saturday, they were confronted by a completely vacate top tier.
But it wasn't only the economic system that was to blame. Musically, they've been trading on past glories for much of this decade, and only with the recent sacking of their lustily rocking 14th album, Accelerate, have they returned to descriptor. So they've been left with what Spinal Tap would term a "more selective" fanbase, but here's where their 28 long time as a touring outfit is standing them in good stead - discharge seats or not, this show was a holler confluence of sterling songs and recharged batteries.
"I'm not one to sit and twirl, because living well is the best revenge," warbled Michael Stipe during the opening song, which translated as: I have recovered my mojo - in spades. Jumpy, jerky performances are his trademark, simply here he hit new heights of twitchiness, clawing the air and stamping tattoos with sneaker-shod feet. Coupled with his smart-casual blazer and tie, it gave the impression of a pelvis teacher combat off fleas. Cowboy-hatted Mike Mills umbrageous him around the stage like a pesky younger brother, swing his bass until Stipe had to sidestep, a routine watched impassively by guitarist Peter Buck.
Apart from playing the straight man, Buck's job was to invest the 30-song set with the rockiest sound REM have used in old age. He did it so abrasively that even the older tunes - Drive, Orange Crush, the inevitable Losing My Religion - were divested of decades of barnacles. Half a dozen already punkish songs from Accelerate were twice as raw live, with the exception of Man-Sized Wreath, a piece of traipsing mid-tempo generica Stipe dedicated to Martin Luther King.
A rock star who believes that with fame should come political engagement, Stipe made clear for whom he'll be voting in November. "I feel that this year will see a change - getting the Bush administration the fuck out of role and the Obama government the nookie into federal agency," he said, paving the way for a bowelless version of Ignoreland. The word "Bush" was greeted by the audience with predictable peevishness, but the moment that best stitched together music and social consciousness was 1987's Exhuming McCarthy, which wove quotes from the 1954 McCarthy hearings into the music with an understatement that isn't REM's usual stiff point.
Ninety proceedings in, in that location was the cockle-warming spectacle of the three musicians gathered round a pianoforte to sing Let Me In, and then a long bye with a half-hour encore. If REM had anything to prove, they proved it, and can go with their European hitch secure in the noesis they're still the dons of American rock.
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