Probably the main reason for this is their abrasive sound. Lead singer Michael Stipe has a very coarse voice, and the challenge posed by the bass, guitar and drums of Mike Mills, Peter Buck and Bill Berry is quite an ominous one. With their rugged sound- predominantly a mixture of rock, country and folk- there’s nothing sweet and sugary about them, and you get the feeling they don’t really care if you don’t like them. This is a collection of songs that requires a lot of hard work on the part of the listener. Some people will appreciate this, while others will point out that music should be a relaxing, pleasurable experience and not a taxing one. Beyond this, though, is one crucial question which needs answering- is all this work worthwhile?
Well, for one of the tracks anyway, it certainly is. ‘Driver 8’ is a classic. Its simple structure belies its incredible poignancy. Stipe’s vocal performance is perfect for this melancholic, musical tale. The feeling of innocence lost, hope destroyed and freedom unattainable is what makes it so moving. “The walls are built up, stone by stone/The fields divided one by one,” the song begins, before moving into the chorus: “And the train conductor says/‘Take a break Drive 8, Driver 8 take a break/We can reach our destination, but we’re still a ways away.’” Stipe’s comment on this mythical “destination” is that it is "something that's almost unobtainable, it's almost an idea, almost this fantasy or this dream, and you're fooling yourself into believing that it's almost obtainable, when in fact it really isn't."
The other ten tracks, though, are not of the same standard. And yet there is something strangely compelling about them: strange, because they sound so similar and listening to these songs one after the other, again and again, can, at times, feel like the drip…drop…drip…drop…drip…drop…of Chinese water torture. Depending on one’s mood you can revel in the tone and consistency of the album (and it is an album- rather than a disjointed collection of songs) or be driven to the brink of insanity by its sheer monotony- that abrasive sound is always there, in your face, never letting up.
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