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.

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