The real Monster created by R.E.M. isn't their latest album, but the numerous bands created in their image, with their twangy guitars, creaky vocals and get-back-to-nature style . . . it's hippie-college rock, dude.

Among them are The Winebottles, who on their release Sober sound like a band trying very hard to get into a fraternity party but end up being excluded from the guest list.

Take a listen to their attempt at melodic pop on songs such as "Breathe" and "Little Girl" and then, after a heavy dose of No-Doze, select any of the other 15 tracks (yes, this album is an excruciating 70-plus minutes long). There is little progress as the album meanders along, repeating the same riffs on tracks like "I Won't" and the insipid ranting of "Government."

Granted, the title track "Sober" flirts with being bearable while the uptempo "New Rags" is a definite pick-me-up from the previous drudge. But the album's finale, "Marijuana," with its trite opening dialogue about the joys of Phish, the H.O.R.D.E. tour and the obvious drug of choice (one out of three isn't bad) is a lame attempt at bandwagoneering with its out-of-the-blue reggae beat.

While listening to Sober, which was released in 1992 but just now getting a promotional push, I was more interested in reading the sleeve credits. A curious message reads "Wait! . . . some day, someone will give us a check, a big one . . . and we'll record a fine album . . . promise." One word of advice guys -- don't get your hopes up.