Philips Arena

REM were perhaps the epitome of an underground band growing large gracefully. They became an arena and stadium filling act, selling squillions of albums seemingly without putting a foot wrong. No gimmicks, no dodgy politics or questionable financial affairs, nothing but superb music and hard work. They also stopped before they got rubbish and diluted their own legend.

As heroes then, they were almost without peer. As humans, it turns out, they – or at least Mr Stipe who dropped in to a show in Atlanta – were exactly as wonderful as you’d hope. Understated, polite & gracious and supremely talented – truly an inspiration.

The soundcheck in the empty arena was pin-drop silent. When they cautiously began to pick through the tune, the vast space echoed cavernously. Somehow the simplicity of the tune and the stripped arrangement seemed made for this particular space. One has to wonder whether the sign of a truly awesome song is that in every environment and every time it’s played, it creates a moment?

Come showtime, the audience went predictably and spectacularly bonkers. Twenty thousand or so individual moments becoming a communal crackle. Very special.

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