That's Great, It Starts With an Earthquake: How R.E.M. Remade the Mainstream Music Scene

"Not everyone can carry the weight of the world," R.E.M. singer Michael Stipe makes into a mantra on the band's song "Talk About the Passion."

For a time, these darlings of college radio seemed like an institution capable of carrying almost anything. The era started shortly after R.E.M.'s first full-length album, "Murmur," was released in 1983 and ended after drummer Bill Berry suffered a life-threatening brain aneurysm on stage in Switzerland in 1995.

"When they put out 'Out of Time' (1991) or 'Automatic for the People' (1992), you had this sense that these guys had their finger on the pulse of the culture. They were making music that didn't sound like anything else on the radio but was the perfect sound for that moment," says Peter Ames Carlin, author of "The Name of This Band is R.E.M.," a new biography of bassist Mike Mills, drummer Bill Berry, guitarist Peter Buck and frontman Michael Stipe and their cultural impact in the 1980s and 1990s.

"Think of when 'Losing My Religion' became a hit in '91," Carlin says. "That was a time when so much music was so electronic. And here comes this song where the lead instrument was a mandolin. It just leapt off the radio."

Carlin has authored some of the most esteemed rock biographies of all time, including works on Brian Wilson, Paul McCartney, Bruce Springsteen and Paul Simon. He credits R.E.M.'s success in large part to the band members' remarkable focus.

"[R.E.M.] were among the most emotionally mature bands to ever exist," Carlin says. "They came in with a lot of assets. They all came out of stable, good families with supportive parents. There wasn't a lot of that kind of core darkness that animates a lot of rock musicians."

Carlin notes that all four members of the band are highly intelligent and driven, which helped them avoid many of the distractions which derailed many bands — most significantly, inter-group politics.

R.E.M.'s stability sprung in part, too, from the robust network of support they enjoyed in their hometown of Athens, Georgia, a place to which all four remained deeply connected. The band played their first show at the birthday of the friend who had initially put Stipe, Mills, Buck and Berry in touch with one another.

R.E.M. was just one of a number of highly successful bands to come out of the northeastern Georgia college town in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Others such as Pylon, Love Tractor and the B-52s — who became major stars in their own right — all came out of the same music scene. Carlin delves deeply into the history of the Athens music scene and its roots in the Lamar Dodd School of Art at the University of Georgia.

"The faculty there included a lot of professors who were not only elite visual artists and well-trained but were super interested in music and folk culture. They created a group aesthetic where the idea of expression was more preeminent than craft," Carlin says.

This intellectual atmosphere encouraged young artists to try their hand at modes of expression in which they had no particular expertise. In several instances, prominent Athens bands formed before their members even knew how to play their instruments. In the case of R.E.M., high school friends Mills and Berry, both from Macon, Georgia, came to the band with the lion's share of musical experience.

Typically, Stipe would write the lyrics and figure out the melody after the other members of the band created the chord progressions and figured out the architecture of the songs. From day one, the four members of the band split song royalties evenly.

Stipe's ethos as a performer differs profoundly from that of the Beach Boys' Brian Wilson, the subject of Carlin's best-known book, "Catch a Wave" (2006).

"Brian [Wilson] was the central creative force in the Beach Boys and did everything for them. He was the font from which their music and their songs and their artistry came. Whereas Michael [Stipe] was in the happier position of being 25% of his band's creative energy," Carlin says. While Wilson was reluctant to appear on stage, Stipe embraced the role of frontman and proved to be a dynamic performer.

"[Stipe] understood how to channel the band's story and identity through himself," Carlin says, contrasting him with Wilson, the quintessential studio rat. "Michael explodes on the stage and you can't take your eyes off of him. He projects the energy and feeling of R.E.M.'s songs through himself."

R.E.M.'s roots in musical expression rather than technical expertise can be heard on "Murmur," juxtaposing Stipe's esoteric lyrics and vocals with an immediately evident melodic and even danceable quality. Many longtime fans regard "Murmur" and its predecessor, the EP "Chronic Town" (1982), as the band's finest work, yet despite the near-universal critical acclaim of both recordings, it wasn't a sound that reached a mass audience.

"Part of the evolution of their sound was the way ... they figured out how to make records that were sonically powerful with words that you could actually understand while still maintaining their very distinctive artistry," Carlin says, dismissing accusations that the band gave up on its founding values as its audience expanded.

"Record companies appreciated how hard those guys worked. And R.E.M. chose to work with people that would respect their artistic integrity," Carlin says. The band chose labels wisely, beginning on I.R.S. Records, one of the top 1980s independent labels, and Warner Brothers, the major label at the time most committed to supporting career-long artistic expression.

"Every time R.E.M. put out a record from the 80s well into the 90s, it would be bigger than the one before," Carlin says. In each instance, the album would sell more copies, and the band would play to larger audiences in larger venues. Carlin highlights the band's work ethic and unity of purpose. These shared values enabled the band to chase their muse for the long haul.

"They had the ability to write incredibly catchy songs that also had complicated lyrics and ideas and they just worked incredibly hard," Carlin says. "A lot of the other arty bands like Pylon were a little more limited in what they wanted to achieve as musicians."

R.E.M. did not traffic in rock star cliches. There was no Joe Walsh cutting hotel room TVs in half with chainsaws or Led Zeppelin holding motorcycle races through the Ritz-Carlton stories. If anything, R.E.M. helped invent a new kind of pop star cliché — the thoughtful rocker who uses his or her platform to bring attention to a range of social issues.

Carlin's book is not a sex, drugs and rock-n-roll story and it doesn't mine particularly deeply into any of their personal lives. This is a biography of the life and times of a band.

After Berry's departure from the band in 1997, which he later said he partially regretted, R.E.M. continued to record but gradually lost much of its momentum. The band stopped recording in the 2000s and has appeared together sporadically since then. It seems as if members of the band are completely comfortable with their legacy and have embraced the limitations of time and passing stardom.

"I think they've aged gracefully," Carlin says. "They succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. It's been easy for them to age in the way that normal people age and adjust their expectations and lifestyles accordingly." Buck and Mills remain heavily involved with making music while Berry continues to play in bands around Athens. Stipe has spent his time making visual and performing arts in a range of mediums while traveling the world.

As much as any rock book ever written, Carlin's "The Name of This Band is R.E.M." offers tangible lessons on how to thrive in a musical group while pursuing artistic expression and trying to have a durable career.