R.E.M.
– Reckoning
If Murmur was the mystery, Reckoning was the revelation—sort of. R.E.M. didn’t abandon their enigmatic tendencies on their second album, but they did crank up the urgency. Where their debut felt like a ghostly transmission from some long-forgotten American backroad, Reckoning is sharper, looser, and more immediate, like a band realizing they can play fast and still be poetic.
The jangle is still here, but it’s tougher, more insistent. Peter Buck’s guitar work chimes and shimmers but never drifts into the background. Mike Mills’ bass lines weave and push, constantly driving the songs forward, while Bill Berry keeps everything tight, urgent, and perfectly off-kilter. And then there’s Michael Stipe, still mumbling, still cryptic, but with a new kind of emotional weight behind his voice. It’s an album full of hooks that sneak up on you, melodies that feel both familiar and unknowable, and lyrics that could mean everything or nothing at all.
If Murmur felt like a secret being whispered in the dark, Reckoning is the sound of a band stepping into the light—but only as much as they want to. It’s restless, it’s raw, and it solidified R.E.M. as one of the most essential bands of their generation.
Choice Tracks
So. Central Rain (I’m Sorry)
A heartbreaking, rain-soaked lament buried under one of the band’s most gorgeous melodies. Stipe’s voice cracks with regret, Buck’s guitar spirals into sadness, and Mills and Berry keep everything moving forward. Simple, devastating, and unforgettable.
Pretty Persuasion
R.E.M. at their most anthemic. A driving beat, a slashing guitar line, and Stipe delivering one of his most urgent vocal performances. It’s rock, but it’s got that weird R.E.M. magic—familiar but just out of reach.
(Don’t Go Back to) Rockville
Mike Mills takes the lead on this country-tinged road song, and the result is both funny and bittersweet. What starts as a playful twang-fest slowly turns into something more desperate, more real. It’s one of R.E.M.’s most endearing moments.
Time After Time (Annelise)
The dreamiest moment on the album. It floats rather than drives, full of atmospheric guitar work and ghostly harmonies. It feels like getting lost somewhere beautiful and slightly unsettling.
Harborcoat
The perfect opener. Jittery, fast, and built around one of the band’s most infectious guitar lines. It’s got all the classic R.E.M. trademarks—murmured lyrics, layered harmonies, and a rhythm section that’s always on the move.
Reckoning didn’t explain R.E.M., but it proved they were here to stay. It’s rawer than Murmur, catchier than Fables of the Reconstruction, and still sounds fresh decades later. They weren’t trying to be mysterious—it just came naturally.