Radio song
Michael Stipe: "I hope people have enough of a sense of humor to realise I'm kind of taking a piss at everyone, myself included. Hopefully, they'll get the humorous intent of the song, with my opening plea about the world collapsing and KRS-One's closing rap, which I find really funny and thought provoking." With a style that veers from street boogie to epic string-laden ballad, this takes a scalpel to the medium and its place in our lives. Bill Berry, 1991: "We don't owe radio shit. Commercial radio never wanted to play us, but we sneaked through the cracks just because we had a fan base that couldn't be denied. It's not like wer'e biting the hand that's feeding us; it's more like wer'e biting the hand that's dicking us around." Peter Buck on rap music: "It's like everything else. Ninety five percent of it is shit and the other five percent of it is great."

Losing my religion
Mandolin kicks off this song of loss and confusion, riddled with spiritual/romantic desperation. Michael Stipe admitted that it "could be a comment on the state of the world, very easily. Infact, it's an extention of 'World leader pretend'." He also called it a "song of unrequited love." Not that anybody else saw it that way, and many of the more po-faced religious-minded took offense. Stipe later dismissed these views, calling the song "nothing more than a fairly well-written obsession song that was widely misinterpreted... I was trying to write 'Every breath you take'. Is that embarassing? I don't think so. It's a great song; I was trying to write a better one." Supposedly, the title is a Southern expression meaning to be "at your wit's end," or "at the end of your rope." Was this romance related to depression? Who knew? But Buck told The Independent that he thought the song was autobiographical. Peter Buck: "That's totally live- acoustic guitar, bass, mandolin and drums. No overdubs, no changes. Mike put down the string part."

Low
An old song that has been tested out live; bass and organ dominated. Seems to be about manic depression ("howling at the moon/morning finds me laughing"), with its talk of highs and lows. Then again, that also sounds just like love. Michael Stipe: "It's just a song. It was written on the road, and I put together a bunch of nonesense phrases. I never meditated on it, it is as I wrote in a feverish moment somewhere touring around the world. I think it's kind of funny, actually." Referring to the line, "I skipped the part about love," he said, "That's how I felt about love songs, about pop music. It was like, 'Get them out of my face!' They're all so horrible and manipulative.'" Michael's vocal is the original 'scratch' vocal (normally only a guide for himself later on) laid down while the band were recording rhythem tracks.

Near wild heaven
The Beach Boys meet the Fifth Dimension, and go to the country. Elegantly crafty pop song, a giant leap from anything you could have predicted of them previously. Lyrics by Mike Mills, supposedly.

Endgame
Almost an instrumental, but for Mills and Stipe la-la-la-ing over the top of it. "Endgame" is a chess term, also a Samuel Beckett play... This has echoes of Mason Williams, The Beatles' 'Sun king'.

Shiny happy people
The Mamas and Papas and live! Probably the most upfront, no-nonesense pop song in the entire R.E.M. catalog, kicked into another dimension by the presence of Kate Pierson and the three way vocal harmony. Peter described it as being "so relentlessly upbeat you want to throw up. Sometimes you can revel in a little bit of naivete, and that's just me and Michael's little wish." Michael Stipe: "The last thing I wanted to do was write a song that was ostensibly happy but very tongue-in-cheek. i just don't want to be a cynical person at all. there are elements of cynism in myself I'm sure trickle through, but I just don't think this is a time for cynism. It's too easy to say the world is a mess and I don't give a shit and why even bother? That's why I think music like this is so important. It's not a diversion tactic, it's not a distraction from the world at large, but it's a sign of hope, and I say that with no irony." Critisized for writing this rather than airing his views on, say, the global political situation, Stipe responded: "With everything that's going on on a global level right now, a song that will make people happy, and lift them out of the general melee of the world, is not a bad thing. Maybe we can help turn the tide a little bit with a really good, really positive, really happy song." Hear, hear. Of the tricky time changes, Bill Berry admitted: "We tried over and over to get the parts to fit together right, and in the end I still don't think we nailed it exactly."

Belong
The spoken word vocals were recorded by Michael on a walkman in his garage. He later said that it was about "a mother and child, especially the strong bond that exists between them. The voice is neither hers nor the child's, however. It's someone else commenting on the sense that the bond between a mother and child is the most powerful love of all." The refrain makes the whole thing sound like a joyous Native American chant, gate-crashed by beatniks with a piano and a stand-up bass.

Half a world away
More baroque pop, again in the epic love song vein. Michael Stipe: "This is about someone who thinks they're in love, but they're probably not." He also said that it "doesn't make sense to anybody but me. It's a complete fabrication, but there's something there." Featuring Mike's distinctive yodel, a harpsichord and a lyrical steal from John Keats' 'Ode to a nightnale.'

Texarkana
Countryish rocker, named after the town on the Texas/Arkansas border (Bill Berry: "It's a beautiful place, but you wouldn't go there for enlightenment"), with the string section keepingup the 'epic' feel. Most of the lyrics were written by Mike Mills, supposedly. John Keane on pedal steel guitar.

Country feedback
Michael Stipe: "That's a demo tape we did prior to making the record. We liked it so much, we left it like it is. My vocal is the first and only time I sang the song. In fact, when I went in to sing it, it wasn't even a song. I had a number of quatrains on a piece of paper, and I just started singing. It was like a projectile-vomiting catharsis. The next day I came back and listened to it, and by golly, it was a pretty powerful song." Peter Buck: "We didn't have a song. I walked in, I had four chords. I put them down with Bill playing bass. I put the feedback on it. John Keane put the pedal steel on it. Michael walked in and said, 'Oh, I've got words for that.' the next day he just sang it. The total recording time, not including the mix, was, like, 35 minutes. It's really nice if you can get it to flow like that." Buck also revealed that: "Usually, (Michael) has pretty concise words. We get to look them over. With 'Country feedback', he just had two little drawings on a piece of paper-an Indian head and an arrow, I think-and he just kind of shouted." Michael: "It's a love song, but it's certainly from the uglier side. It's pretty much about having given up on a relationship." He's also called it his "favorite R.E.M. song on record." Slow, and reminiscent of Neil Young brooding about something painful, this is, as David Cavanagh has rightly pointed out, a country song with feedback. Don't you just love R.E.M.'s simplicity when it comes to song titles?

Me in honey
Michael Stipe: "Specifically, that song to me is an answer to 10,000 Maniacs' 'Eat for two'. It's a male perspective on pregnancy, which I don't think has really been dealt with. There's a real push me/pull you issue, saying 'I had nothing to do with it', yet on the other hand saying, 'Wait- I have a feeling about this'." Kate Pierson yodels over a driving rhythem introduction, then Stipe comes in to yell his pain over what I'd call a raga if Spinal Tap hadn't killed off the word forever. This time the beatniks have gatecrashed a skiffle group: the results - and the whole album - raised the standards of modern pop music, and of what it could achieve when it really tried.