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R.E.M., possibly the most commercially successful and critically applauded new American rock band of the last decade, was born as the rock & roll clock struck 1980. It was in late

January of that year, in the small, swinging college town of Athens, Georgia, that guitarist Peter Buck, singer Michael Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and drummer Bill Berry rehearsed together

for the first time. The following April 5th, they made their concert debut — without a name — at a free beer blast in the old, converted Episcopalian church where Stipe and Buck lived.

Playing a mixture of hip covers and their own hastily written originals, the future members of R.E.M. lurched through their set with a lusty abandon fully in keeping with the Athens

art-and-party tradition already established by the B-52’s and Pylon. But R.E.M. was destined for greater things. That show marked the beginning of the band’s remarkable and sometimes

troubled passage from local notoriety to mainstream acceptance and, with it, the rise of America’s postpunk underground. “I hate to hearken back to the ‘good old days,’ because they

weren’t,” Buck, 34, says now, with an ironic chuckle. “But it was a real interesting time. I lived in a town where a lot of stuff was going on, and no one knew that it was different for a

town to have a scene: ‘Oh, everybody plays in bands, and everybody has a friend who made a record.’ “ R.E.M. did not change the face of U.S. rock in the Eighties single-handedly; the band

shares that honor with the likes of X, Black Flag, the dB’s, Hüsker Dü, the Minutemen, Mission of Burma, Sonic Youth, the Replacements, the Dream Syndicate and, of course, R.E.M.’s fellow

Athenians. But R.E.M. was in the thick of the fight from the very start. The band revitalized the independent recording scene with the success of its stirring 1981 vinyl bow, “Radio Free

Europe” b/w “Sitting Still,” issued on the tiny Hib-Tone label. _Murmur,_ the group’s 1983 album debut, set the standard for new American guitar rock, with its masterful blend of gauzy,

lyrical impressionism and driving folk-rock passion. With the support of college radio and the fanzine press, R.E.M. was also instrumental in creating an alternative club circuit that

catered to the growing market of young fans disgruntled by arthritic AOR programming and formulaic arena-rock spectacle. EDITOR’S PICKS “We played cheap,_ anywhere,_” Buck says proudly.

“We’d always get more people every time we went back. We were fairly decent, and if nothing else, our show was a nice way to spend an evening for a dollar.” The venues are bigger now; the

ticket prices have gone up. But R.E.M. (which cracked the platinum barrier in 1987 with _Document_ and again in 1988 with _Green_ ) has not lost any of its renegade enthusiasm over the

years. Between R.E.M. tours and recording projects, Buck, for instance, has become an in-demand freelance producer specializing in young, outlaw bands. He also remains an insatiable record

collector and a keen observer of the American underground — or what, in his opinion, is left of it as the clock strikes ’90. “Now Athens is a real professional scene,” says Buck, who was

interviewed at Bearsville Studios, in upstate New York, during a break in overdubbing sessions for R.E.M.’s next album. “People move down to form a band, they do a demo tape, make an

independent single, tour the East Coast — same places we used to play, if they’re still in business. “In those days, there were different ways to do it,” Buck says. “Pylon would only play

New York and Georgia. They never went up and down the East Coast unless they had to. They just didn’t want to tour. We, on the other hand,” he adds, laughing, “had nothing better to do.”

When R.E.M. started rehearsing in January 1980, what were your ambitions and expectations? Did the dawn of a new decade hold any particular meaning for you? I never thought of it that way.

To me, the Seventies ended in 1977. You have to remember, growing up at the time I did, there wasn’t anyone who made records like us. Rock & roll was full of superrich guys that had

mustaches and were ten years older than me. I was twenty-one, and it didn’t make any sense to me. So for you, the punk uprising of 1977-78 was the demarcation point. That was the beginning

of the Eighties for me. Because there was a realization that there were ways to work outside the music business. In my scene, it was predominantly white kids doing it. But I think it was

liberating for everybody. I never lived in New York, and I wasn’t there when they invented rap and scratching. But I started listening to that in 1979, ’80, and I went, “Wow, this is really

interesting.” For me, the Seventies were over early, and I was really glad, too. RELATED CONTENT Did you see the Sex Pistols’ U.S.-debut show in Atlanta? Yeah. I gave my mother the money

because she had a credit card; you needed a card to reserve the tickets. Then I got down there, and they’d sold all the tickets. I was with this crazy guy, a friend of a friend who didn’t

know anything about the Sex Pistols. But he was so incensed — I was supposed to be in there — that he kicked the door in, and we got in. He got to see the whole show. They caught me and

dragged me out. I saw one song. But it was pretty great.