It was 25 years ago, give or take a couple days, when my sister came home from her first year at Marquette University. Like so many older siblings through the ages, she arrived for her summer stay carrying a mountain of dirty laundry, cheap beer company trinkets, interesting books, photos and albums and a new attitude and outlook on life.

Despite the first lengthy absence in our lives, it didn't take long for us to rekindle the bickering that marked much of our childhood. One of our regular skirmishes came over control of the stereo.

I was in the crest of a phase where all I cared about were the arena rocking British bands of the day -- The Who, The Kinks, The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin. I alternately studied and worshiped those groups, seeking out the founders who influenced their music and trying to ignore a lot of the crap airing endlessly on MTV, which was still in its infancy but rapidly becoming an unstoppable force in the recording industry.

With the parental units at work and the turntable in my control, I blasted "Live at Leeds," "Tattoo You" or a cassette that I'd received from classmate / collector Damian Strigens, who went on to become a fixture in the Milwaukee music scene and has played in too many bands to mention.

Whenever Amy was in charge, she blasted this album from an "alternative" group of scruffy dudes from Athens, Ga. The group was R.E.M. The album was called "Murmur," which I thought was entirely appropriate because whenever I listened (and believe me, I tried to avoid it) I couldn't understand a damn thing the guy was murmuring about.

Though I howled in protest and derided the bands' lack of "balls" (read: power chords, guitar solos and decipherable lyrics), I actually found the music interesting and a bit addictive. There was something dark and mysterious and "underground" about it. The more I heard, the more I wanted to hear. I figured R.E.M. was a band worth following and might some day make it big.

I caught a bit of the band's Summerfest show that year at the old rock stage and was blown away by the intensity of the performance, not to mention the staggering number of attractive college girls in the audience.

A little more than a year later, when Amy brought home R.E.M.'s second album, "Reckoning," I chuckled the first time I heard Michael Stipe's bleating "I'm sorry!" during "So. Central Rain (I'm Sorry)."

"Well, so much for these guys making it," I thought, an opinion that probably would bar me from working in A&R at a major label. With a few more spins, the album began to grow on me, too.

As R.E.M. continued to release albums, I continued to keep the band at arm's length. There were always a couple tracks that I really liked, but I didn't embrace the group as one of my favorites. Like many casual fans, I think I liked the idea that R.E.M. and other "college bands" existed more than I liked many of the actual songs.

Everyone over the age of about 25 knows what happened next. R.E.M. sold a gazillion records, took over MTV, sold out stadiums and racked up awards. Almost overnight, the "alternative" became mainstream and R.E.M. had paved the way for the Nirvanas and Chili Peppers and countless other bands that followed.

Because the band didn't break up and none of the members died (though drummer Bill Berry came frightfully close), R.E.M. suffered through the commercial backlash and creative inertia that engulfs many longstanding outfits. They never became a "greatest hits" act, but they didn't put out much in the way of compelling new music.

After 2004's "Around the Sun" flat lined, the band appeared to be fizzling into the "Well, we had a great run..." category.

I saw the band on the "Vote For Change" tour and was impressed by the passion and power. I wondered if the group could ever approach the urgency of those early albums or mega hits.

The band's 14th album, "Accelerate," released on March 31, answers that question.

Amid a backdrop of searing guitars and razor-sharp, politically-charged lyrics, which Stipe spews through gritted teeth, R.E.M. returns to its roots. Though older and unimaginably rich, Stipe, Peter Buck and Mike Mills -- aided by longtime sideman Scott McCaughey and ex-Ministry drummer Bill Rieflin -- recapture the spirit of a band of brothers who toured the country by van, living on bologna sandwiches and crashing on fans' couches.

The opening track, "Living Well is the Best Revenge," could have been an outtake from the late 1980s, but the lyrics are clearly a swipe at the Bush Administration:

"Don't turn your talking points on me
History will set me free
The future is ours, and you don't even rate a footnote."

You wonder if "Mr. Richards" is a blast at Scooter Libby, Dick Cheney, Karl Rove or all of the above when Stipe sings: "Mr. Richards, your conviction / Had us cheering in the kitchen."

At the urging of U2's The Edge, R.E.M. enlisted producer Jacknife Lee, who has worked with Editors and Bloc Party. The result is a sonic punch in the nose. Unlike the languid songs that marked the bands' early work, there is no time for reflection in these cuts. The album's 35-minute run time, which is really the only true drawback of the work, doesn't permit it. Just when you begin wondering if a track would have fit on "Green" or "Out Of Time," it ends and another slamming track follows.

Before you know what hit you, Stipe and friends are wailing away on "I'm Gonna DJ (at The End of the World)," a natural companion to "It's The End Of The World As We Know It," and a seemingly natural set-closer.

"Accelerate" doesn't break new ground. It's simply a refreshing and rather optimistic reminder of why we liked the band in the first place. Listening to the jangly guitars, jagged lyrics and Mills' soaring harmonies is like welcoming back an old friend, or an older sister, after too long an absence.