When I first read about R.E.M. in Trouser Press in the early fall of 1983, I had no idea they would become one of the bands that would define my life.

Shortly after that first encounter I picked up their “Radio Free Europe” single and, a few months later, their Murmur LP. At the time, the album frustrated me. Listening to it felt like trying to make out objects in an out-of-focus photograph. But one weekend in October of 1983, I saw the band perform on Nickelodeon’s Livewire, and I was blown away. Seeing them play live completely changed my perspective.

The second song in their set, “Carnival Of Sorts (Box Cars),” hooked me immediately. It began with the three lead instruments all coming in at once. Bill Berry was pounding on his bass drum while working the hi-hats, and since I was a drummer, that pulsing rhythm grabbed my attention right away. Then I noticed the chiming sound of the gorgeous black guitar Peter Buck was playing. Mike Mills was playing a black Rickenbacker bass that sounded like a lead instrument in its own right. Michael Stipe’s lyrics were hard for me to decipher, but that didn’t matter once the chorus hit and the background vocals came in.

I was mesmerized. The band’s sound was unique, yet they looked like normal guys. Unfortunately, the show cut them off before they finished the song. Determined to hear the ending, I headed the following week to my local record shop in my hometown of Rochester, NY. At the time, I did not know I was actually searching for their Chronic Town EP. Eventually, in December 1983, I found the song on a 12-inch UK single for “Talk About The Passion.”

My immediate love for the band’s music led me to scour any music magazines or newspaper clippings I could find to learn more. I had the heartbreaking realization during my search that the band had actually played Rochester the previous April, opening for the English Beat. This almost killed me, as I recalled wanting to go to the show as I was a fan of the English Beat, but when I saw the show was on a school night, I knew I would be hard-pressed to find anyone to attend with me or drive me there, so I passed on buying a ticket. And I had not yet discovered R.E.M. at that point, so it never occurred to me that they were the opening band for the show I opted to skip.

By the spring of 1984, their second album, Reckoning, was in my hands, and I quickly bought tickets to see them perform at Rochester Institute of Technology that July. I was such a devoted fan that I attended that concert on my own, as none of my friends could join me. There was no way I would miss my chance to see them this time! Feeling almost alone in a half-full ballroom in my hometown had me awestruck, finally witnessing these guys in person. What I heard them perform live was even better than any of the vinyl I had poured over for the last 18 months.

Two years later, my obsession with the band led me to Athens, GA. It turned out that the place held some magic for me, too. Enrolling at the University of Georgia and moving to Athens allowed me to form relationships that would shape the rest of my life. On my visit to Athens for freshman orientation, I met a guy named James Williamson, all because he was wearing a pink R.E.M. “Little America Tour” shirt. James and I became fast and dear friends during our freshman year, taking road trips out of Athens to see R.E.M. play shows around the Southeast. Those weekend nights, when we left Athens for Greenville, Durham, and Atlanta to catch the band on their Pageantry tour, are ingrained in my memory. Seeing R.E.M. again and again on the same tour, just as they seemed poised for superstardom, was thrilling. James remains my brother-in-R.E.M.

Another first came on my first night as a UGA student: seeing a live band in Athens. I heard music drifting through the air from the window of my small room in Russell Hall, beckoning me like the Pied Piper. As I made my way down Baxter Street toward the source of the sound, I saw a three-piece band making a glorious racket in the basement of the Chi Phi house. The bass player instantly caught my eye because he was playing a black Rickenbacker, the same kind of bass I associated with Mike Mills. After the band’s set, I introduced myself to the friendly-looking bassist, David Barbe. He told me the band was named Mercyland. David would go on to become an important mentor to me in the music business. I made many attempts to find my own path and firm footing in the industry after graduation. I would routinely reach out to David to pick his brain for advice, or just watch his career from afar and try to reverse-engineer how he was achieving success on his own terms. All these years later, I was able to do my part to share my admiration for that first Athens band I saw when my label, Propeller Sound Recordings, reissued Mercyland’s complete discography. It has been a joy to work alongside David and the rest of the band to bring their music to a larger audience.

And finally, I met my wife, Elaine, in a local bar during our final year of college. It was one of the rare nights when I was not out seeing a band, playing a show with my own band, or drinking, since I was the designated driver for my group of friends. She passed my music-fan test instantly as we talked about music, and I invited her to my band’s next show. Yes, R.E.M. was discussed at length.

Elaine and I went on to have three children, now young adults, who all became R.E.M. fans in their own way. I suppose that, thanks to my deep love for the band’s music, they heard plenty of R.E.M. growing up, whether they were riding in the car or listening from another room while I worked from my home office with music playing constantly. I can proudly report that the band’s name has appeared on many T-shirts worn by both of my daughters, and that posters of the band hang on their bedroom walls. Our son has his own handful of favorite R.E.M. tracks in constant rotation, helped by the ease of barking requests at his smart speaker. All of this makes me a very proud father.

Athens is still a place I have the pleasure of returning to for music-related business, and I still feel its magic whenever I am back there. To this day, when I hear “Carnival Of Sorts (Box Cars),” I am instantly transported to the first time I heard the song on television. When I first set up my home office, only one poster hung on the wall for the first few years. It featured a screenshot from that Livewire performance, a reminder of the exact moment I fell in love with that song and of what the band came to mean to me.

I recently returned to the Rochester area to attend my 40th high school reunion. In anticipation of the event, a few old classmates reached out to let me know they planned to attend as well. Each message essentially said the same thing: “Whenever I hear R.E.M., I always think of you.”

I guess that is a testament to how openly I wore my adoration on my sleeve. Once I became a fan in 1983, I told everyone I knew who was into music to listen to the band. To say that R.E.M. changed my life would be a gross understatement. Actually, I would amend that sentiment: R.E.M. shaped my life.

JAY COYLE is a lifelong music enthusiast and self-described “superfan” with deep experience in direct-to-fan marketing, digital strategy, project management, and fan engagement.Since 2014, Jay has been an adjunct professor at Berklee College of Music’s Online division, teaching music business, music marketing, and artist management. He co-founded the indie record label Propeller Sound Recordings in 2021 with Jefferson Holt (where they have worked on many Athens-centric projects). In 2024, Jay co-founded Propeller Sound Services to offer artist, label, and manager services to a larger array of artists.

JAY’S LINKS:

Propeller Sound Recordings website
Jay’s Instagram
Propeller Sound Recordings’ Instagram
Propeller Sound Services website

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