______________________________________________________________________________ // // The \\kyway \\ // skyway@novia.net Issue #65 February 25th, 1999 ______________________________________________________________________________ (c) 1999 Bastards of Young (BOY/BetaOmegaYamma) Productions list manager: Matthew Tomich (matt@novia.net) always thanks to: Bob Fulkerson ______________________________________________________________________________ SKYWAY SUBSCRIPTION/LISTSERVER INFORMATION Send all listserver commands in the body of a letter to "majordomo@novia.net" To subscribe to the //Skyway\\: subscribe skyway To unsubscribe from the //Skyway\\: unsubscribe skyway THE //SKYWAY\\ WEB PAGE Check here for back issues, lyrics, discography, and other files. http://www.novia.net/~matt/sky/skyway.html ______________________________________________________________________________ Send all your submissions to: skyway@novia.net ______________________________________________________________________________ 0. Lookin' Out Forever I. Hellos and stories: first times, favorite albums, and wish-I-coulda-been-there's. II. The Paul part: opinions, reviews, interviews. III. Missing people: people to rock with, people to be related to. _____________________________________________________________________________ 0. LOOKIN' OUT FOREVER Unless you just in the past 24 hours joined any of the internet's fonts of Replacements fandom (such as this list, or Kathy's or Xre's web pages, or alt.music.replacements), or you just started listening to the band last week, then you probably know that Tuesday, Paul released his third solo album. The preliminary results are that the critics either love it or hate it, and that the fans either love it...or hate it. Take your pick: piano, acoustic, rock-less, half-assed, mature, down-to-earth, beautiful, boring, honest, his best, his worst. Check back in five years for the score. Whether there's a correlation or not, I just blew one of the speakers in my stupid car. Time for a new car! Now that this is out, and since the theoretical apocalypse on December 31st is still a boring three-digits in days away, it's time to count down for the new Star Wars flick. And maybe, just maybe, Paul's will get sick of sitting around the house and he'll go on tour, big f'in Steinway and all. See yah there! - m@. _____________________________________________________________________________ For the week of 2/23/99, PAUL WESTERBERG is the "Band of the Week" on the Ultimate Band List at http://content.ubl.com/bow. There's audio clips of "Lookin' Out Forever", "You're The Best Thing", and "Born For Me" from SUICAINE GRATIFACTION. There's also a chance to win a poster or specially packaged copy of SUICAINE GRATIFACTION that includes notes from Paul, lyrics & special photos. (Hurrah!) _____________________________________________________________________________ I. THESE PEOPLE PROBABLY DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE GRAMMYS. From: "Tom Tirabasso" Date: Sun, 7 Feb 1999 19:17:47 -0600 I know everyone will be talking about Paul's new record but it's not out yet so I've been listening to some boots from the Christmas trade of tapes. There is one show that jogged my memory and I would like to tell you about it. I first heard the 'Mats in '84 with Let it Be but it was Pleased To Meet Me that really got it going for me in a big way. I made a "best of" tape from Hootenanny to PTMM (along with Nowhere is my Home and If Only You Were Lonely) and listened to it ALL the time. Anyway, the 'Mats came to Chicago, and I first saw them at the Riviera Theatre in August and thought they were good, but they didn't seem to enjoy themselves. Paul seemed pissed off most of the time. Luckily they came back three months later again to play the Riv. The Riviera is an old theatre turned into a nightclub with an open main floor with tables one level above. There's a big bar in back and maybe three balconies. Just a great place and recommend it if you come to Chi town. Well I got a boot of the show I saw that night and will give my recollection and promise not to embellish anything. Me and my girlfriend (I'll call her Mia) got there early and were maybe 30 people from the door. It was cold out and I didn't have a coat. The guy in front of me was stoned on something and would get about a foot away from me and just stare at my face while we talked about what we hoped they would play that night. Mia was into the 'Mats too but really liked the slower stuff, especially Skyway, but she loved Alex Chilton and especially I Don't Know too. So they let us in and we couldn't believe it when everybody went for the tables and the front of the stage was wide open. We had a decision to make. We saw the Kinks there about 6 months earlier and were up against the stage and had a great time. But this was different. At the show three months ago we saw security pulling people out of the crowd up front because they were being crushed. What to do? I talked her into it and promised nothing would happen (yeah right!). We staked out center stage with me directly behind her. I got to tell you there's nothing like being that close. Tom Verlaine opened and sounded great but no encore. I remember a big squeeze happening when the lights went down. The crowd was LOUD! The 'Mats came stumbling out doing SUMMERSALTS! They were spilling beers and crashing into each other. The funniest thing was that they were all wearing matching grey (pinstriped?) mechanics overalls. It's too bad somebody didn't video this. It was classic. They ripped into I.O.U., Never Mind, and Hold My Life. The place was loud and rocking. Here's a few things I remember: we were packed like sardines and I had my hands locked on the stage pretending to be Samson while I protected Mia from the crush. Some dickhead reached over and played with the top of Mia's head. I wanted to kill this guy and shouted at him to meet me after the show. I was pissed when I should have been having a good time. Some other things I remember. A crowdsurfer falling on my head before we threw him onstage where security caught him and dragged him off. Another one kicks me in the head with his boot. Tommy's laying flat on his back while Paul stands on his stomach. During I Will Dare, Tommy wades into the crowd about 10 feet to my left. Paul has got a big grin on his face (on the boot tape you can hear the crowd roar about 30 seconds into the song). Paul really fucks around with Nightclub Jitters singing like he drank a fifth of Jack. I yell Heyday at Paul and he looks down at me with that same goofy face that's on the back of Boink (eyes bugging out and twisted mouth). There's a lot of cool covers (seven) and a great Answering Machine and Color Me Impressed. At the end they play Alex Chilton and we lose the grip on the stage and sway around in big swells. Earlier, Mia tells me that we are dead if they play I Don't Know, well our time has come! Mia is crying by this time and I was pretty scared for a moment there. We get about 15 feet back and finally we can breathe. I take Mia off to the side and she was pretty shook up. They end the set and go off the stage. That place was incredibly loud. We go to a side bar and get glasses of water. We now realize that we are soaking wet down to our underwear. My arms are killing me from pushing against the stage. By now we're laughing about it but consider ourselves lucky. We're off to the side and the 'Mats come back and go into Gimmie Shelter with the lights on the main floor. This is one of those moments I'll always remember. I'm seeing the size of the crowd for the first time. Everyone's on their feet getting into it. The 'Mats are playing the opening to Gimmie Shelter and I'm getting goose bumps just thinking about it. They finish with Bastards of Young with all the lights up. What a night! We laughed and I got threatened a few times all the way home. I really miss those days. Here's to a great new album, Paul. Tom Tirabasso From: "Mark Slagle" Subject: greetings and salutations Date: Sun, 7 Feb 1999 22:47:58 -0500 Well, after months of reading back issues and nodding my head in agreement to the tales of discovering the 'Mats for the first time, I finally decided to go ahead and write in, despite a natural aversion to joining any kind of club or group. I'm Mark and right now I'm a freshman at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Having more or less missed out on the heyday of the 'Mats (I was four when "Let It Be" came out), I came across the after seeing Paul's "World Class Fad" video on MTV. My interest thus piqued, I slapped down my ten bucks for the "14 Songs" disc and was pleasantly surprised. For a thirteen-year old kid who thought Phil Collins represented the epitome of musical innovation, this was impressive stuff. After reading a couple of reviews, I found out that Paul had previously been in a band called the Replacements, and that he and his bandmates had become well-known for writing exemplary pop/punk songs and being drunken hooligans. I didn't think much about it until a couple of years later I was in our local used-CD store (I had finally updated my stereo equipment) and found a copy of "Tim." Willing to gamble eight bucks on the chance that it might be good, I took it home. When I listened to it, I was blown away. The things I had liked about "14 Songs" were all there, but there was a lot more. "Bastards of Young" was the anthem of every alienated high school kid I knew, and "Little Mascara" had a bittersweet aura I couldn't forget. I quickly acquainted myself with the rest of the 'Mats' discography and my admiration grew accordingly. Everything from "Hootenanny" to "Pleased to Meet Me" was the music that would have been the soundtrack to my life, had it been interesting enough to make a film out of. So now I'm an ardent fan, and while I'll never see one of the legendary shows, I look forward to the upcoming Twin/Tone box and the possibility of maybe catching Paul on tour. As for what else I listen to, my CD's (neatly arranged in alphabetical order, of course) range from Tori Amos to Neil Young, with Beck, Big Star, Pavement, Liz Phair, R.E.M., Wilco and Yo La Tengo all in between. (Yeah, Phil is still in there too.) Anyway, that's my overly long and pointless narrative. If I was successful, then I suppose some of you know what I'm talking about. Later. Date: Mon, 8 Feb 1999 06:04:47 -0800 (PST) From: Mike Hey! First of all I wanna plug my amazingly crappy website: http://www.geocities.com/sunsetstrip/vine/4477. Come tell me how bad it is! Also, after reading the last Skyway (my first issue), it occurred to me that I really hadn't introduced myself. So here goes: my name's Mike Conti, I'm 16, and I'm from Watertown, NY, one of the absolute worst towns anywhere. The Replacements are, of course, my favorite band, and aside from them I listen to a lot of Husker Du (I guess that's sort of a given), Hendrix (yeah, I'm a guitarist) and all kinds of ska (I don't know what other 'Mats fans think of this, so somebody let me know). Being 16, I obviously got into the 'Mats a little too late. I never got the chance to see them in concert, so if anyone wants to hook me up with a tape or something, I'd be eternally grateful. The 'Mats became my favorite band almost exactly a year ago, about February 1. No, I'm not completely pathetic, I do have a good reason for remembering the day. My girlfriend, Emma, who I managed to fall incredibly in love with in the space of about a month in a half, moved to Oregon, leaving me a big lump of sad. Quickly discovering that my cheesy Led Zep albums (no, I don't listen to them anymore) weren't gonna help me wallow in my tears, I pulled out the three 'Mats albums I owned at the time: Pleased to Meet Me, Sorry Ma, and Let it Be (about a week or two before, when thinking about Emma leaving, this became the first album ever to make me cry). I soon noticed that I found a band that I could really relate to, and since then I've been spending as much of my meager savings as possible buying everything I could get. So, since then, I've gotten every 'Mats CD except Don't Tell a Soul and All Shook Down and every Paul CD including Grandpaboy. Oh, and I'm still madly in love with Emma and can't wait until I get to see her again (thus making it pretty obvious why my favorite song of all time is Can't Hardly Wait). So, that's pretty much my story. If anyone wants to know more, e-mail me at shacknastyjim@yahoo.com. I'll probably have more babbling to do when Suicaine Gratifaction comes out, so I'll talk to you then. See ya. Mike From: Wcmts@aol.com Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 13:52:15 EST Subject: The Last Stumble I will never forget the first and last time I attempted to tape a Replacements show. It was March 16, 1989 and the 'Mats were playing a dive called the Lost Horizon in Syracuse, NY. In celebration of St. Patrick's Day, they printed green tickets and I remember being pissed at the guy at the door when he refused to give back ticket stubs as mementos. The place was a basically a bar that had a very small pit area in front of the stage, and the ceilings were only about 10 feet high (which doesn't seem too bad until you see a bar and up on a slightly raised stage). I was long past being "converted" and felt a bit on the spot as I dragged my brother and a few friends to the show - they were not yet 'Mats diehards. And then out strolls the band.. Westerberg literally stumbled up to the mic, slurred a couple of words, and they launched into "Color Me Impressed". We were standing about 15 feet away from Paul, and I couldn't believe how horrible he looked. The black rings around his eyes were so pronounced that it looked as if he might have been punched out before the gig. And man, was it was loud! It seemed like they had enough power in the joint to fill an arena. The show itself was wild. I remember Tommy shimmying up and swinging 'round and 'round a beam near the stage while still trying to play his bass. At one point they played "I Won't", a song which I really didn't care for. Instead of doing the repetitious, "I wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-won'ts", Paul stopped the band dead at those points, and then as he felt like it he would just shout "Won't!" once to cue the band to start up again. Their timing was atrocious all night, and it was purposely highlighted on that tune. As they left the stage to break before the encore, Tommy (grinning) announced that the band needed to go "score some blow", but at the time my ears were burning so badly that I had to ask the others what they hell he was saying. The local papers ripped them apart the next day and I think Paul, when asked about the show in a RS or Spin article, admitted being embarrassed about it. Late into the following day our ears were still in pain. My roommate and I began our long journey down to Myrtle Beach. As we drove down I-95 I popped in the tape of the show, ears still ringing madly, and we thought it sounded pretty good. We were thinking we were cool 'cause we had a tape of this crazy show. It wasn't until about 2 days later (after the ringing stopped) when we listened to it again and realized how worthless it was - barely audible at all accept for a drowning bass line and the consistent sounds of the tape recorder being bounced all over the place. Oh well, at least we got that one good listen (I have no idea where the tape is now). This may have been the band's last truly out of control show. Sure, there were other sloppy ones later in '89, but I think this was perhaps the last of their truly classic and definitive flops. And I really couldn't blame them for their behavior- they had a Top 40 hit at the time and they were still playing dumps. So the show marked the end of an era which was kinda sad. Don't get me wrong, I am glad Paul sobered up, and that Tommy, Chris and Slim have all moved on and seem content. But, on nights like those The Replacements were just like any of us that ever went out, drank too much and ended up saying stupid shit to people we didn't know. From: "Geoffrey Robertson" Subject: Replacements Date: Wed, 17 Feb 1999 20:15:19 +1100 I'm pleased to see that my old faves still have fans. Back in the 80's they were pretty unknown either in New Zealand where I grew up or in Australia where I moved in '88 and I never could understand why. A couple of fan credentials ... I bought a CD player when All Shook Down came out because it was the first Replacements album not released on vinyl - here in Australia at least - and I wanted to hear it (still think CD's are a marketing con though), and my son is named Tim after - well, you can guess... Anyway, a couple of questions - does anyone have sales figures for all of the records? And I am I the only one who thinks that Don't Tell a Soul is the best album, maybe not song for song but in terms of sound quality if nothing else? The early albums suffer from that mid 80's tinny sound which I guess resulted from the digital studios replacing the old analogue mixing desks around that time. Husker Du were also a victim - I loved their records back then but find them pretty unlistenable now - not because the songs aren't great but because the mix is so shitty. Tim and Let It Be don't sound that bad to my ears but possibly would have sounded better if they had been made either a few years earlier or a few years later. Maybe I just don't have the volume up loud enough anymore... But I hope the upcoming release of old Replacements stuff gets a decent mix. Regards Geoff [Ironically Geoff, several Husker Du albums and Let It Be were both recorded by Steve Fjelstad, who judging from the mix on his work, must have lost 85% of his treble-range hearing prior to these records. - m@.] Date: Thu, 11 Feb 1999 00:20:08 -0800 From: "Thomas F. Banks" >I just hope people won't get pissed off that I dissed Paul's solo work. >I think the best stuff he's done has been the non-album material (such as >"Stain Yer Blood", "Seein' Her"). Most people I know see Paul as "The >Replacements" and I strongly disagree with that. I think the lure of the >Mats is the combination of rag-tag personalities coming together to make >some very personal & dynamic music. Paul just spearheaded the effort. I >don't associate Paul with the Replacements anymore because he doesn't >anymore, musically or professionally. I judge him solely on the merits of >his current work, not any of his past affiliations. I do the same with >Tommy, Chris, & Slim. but the thing about recorded music is that it doesn't die when the band does. i have no issue with anyone's criticism of the man's current work, but for me, it's impossible to "judge him solely on the merits of his current work" because i had a relationship with his music before that (and i say "his", because as much as i think every single replacement was a necessary element to their music, I find the idea that anyone can "just spearhead" a band slightly oxymoronic). and i don't think i can simply flip some mental switch and forget all that music when i listen to his current work -- and i wouldn't want to -- if anything offered me a standard by which to judge the quality of music that i use to this day, twas the replacements. >It's interesting to see people get so excited about a new Westerberg >album. I don't anymore because it doesn't "grab me" - there is nothing >"dangerous" about Westerberg's work. I'm more excited about the Twin/Tone >box set slated for 1999 release. music can be good without being "dangerous". i dunno, maybe even better? and really, what's more "dangerous" anyway? new material, or another box set? one brings something new into the world, the other just cashes in on nostalgia and all those past reputations that we're supposed to unremember, right? i am sorry if my first post to this wonderful list has a tinge of bitchiness. it's just that fer me, Paul _could_ go and join f'in Night Ranger, and i wouldn't have any problem with it, because he's already helped to make more beautiful and dangerous music than most people manage in thrice as much lifetime. uh-oh. have i just gotten pissed off because some guy dissed Paul's solo work? fuck school, fuck school, fuck my school. tomb. -- It is hard for us to live up to our own eloquence, and keep pace with our winged words, while we are treading the solid earth and are liable to heavy dining. Besides, it has long been understood that the proprieties of literature are not those of practical life. George Eliot, 1876. -- ...nor are the proprieties of music -- t banks, 1999. _____________________________________________________________________________ II. ST. PAUL From: "Brian Wilson" wilsonb@clarkson.edu> Subject: Limited Edition Release of Paul's new album Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 07:38:14 -0500 I'm Brian Wilson, a proud member of Skyway, and I just received notification from cdnow.com that they are selling a limited edition release of Paul's new album. Paul Westerberg - "Suicaine Gratification" If the upcoming release of a new Paul Westerberg album is not enough, pick up this limited edition copy. Contains special packaging, lyric sheets and drawings from Paul himself. http://cdnow.com/switch/target3Dalbum/lcc3D7777+98939+2/from3DreX:X:cdn:urao67 Just thought I'd let you know. Brian Wilson I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that. - Lloyd Dobler From: "Dave Liljengren" Subject: Online Suicaine Review Date: Wed, 17 Feb 1999 23:12:48 -0800 There's an excellent review of Suicaine Gratification at http://seattlesquare.com/pandemonium/cdreviewstext/PaulWesterberg.htm dl ---------------------------------------------------------- http://seattlesquare.com/pandemonium From: CaroCncr@aol.com Date: Thu, 18 Feb 1999 08:48:57 EST The entire Skyway clan should start a mass mailing campaign against one Mr. Anthony DeCurtis, a schizo reviewer if ever there was one. In the Feb. issue of Men's Journal, DeCurtis reviews Suicaine, quite favorably, ending with "Whether Westerberg is rocking out or crafting ballads of rough-hew elegance, this album provides pure gratification." But take a look at the March 4 issue of Rolling Stone, with Jennifer Aniston on the cover. DeCurtis here gives it three stars out of five ("good") saying the former Replacements lead singer "still hasn't found what he's looking for" and that the album title's combination of words suggests the twin pulls of a divided soul. I've been reading rock reviews for a long, long time but this one wins the hypocrisy prize hands down. Mike Scaletta From: psorce@webworldinc.com Date: Fri, 12 Feb 1999 08:03:57 -0700 Hola Cabron! The latest Maxim reviewed the new PW. Here 'tis... Paul Is Alive Former Replacements singer Paul Westerberg resuscitates his career with the pulse-pounding pop of Suicaine Gratification. After losers like the Goo Goo Dolls copped his warped-humor songwriting style & rode it to the top of the charts, it's high time Paul Westerberg shows us how it's really done. The latest--and by far greatest--solo effort from the former Replacements frontman does just that in spades (even if the dorky title makes us wanna whack him). Gutsier than his recent albums, Suicaine Gratification (Capitol) finds Westerberg rocking maturely without losing any of his trademark sarcasm; and the smooth-but-not-too-polished production from big shot Don Was matches him step for step. "Best Thing That Never Happened" is a raucous ode to unrequited lust, while the ballad "It's A Wonderful Lie" (in which Paul admits that bullshitting still helps him get by) reminds us of the wistful songs he wrote years ago, even when he was tearing apart dressing rooms with the notoriously shit-faced Replacements. Whether serenading his wife ("Born For Me") or sampling his screaming rug rat ("Whatever Makes You Happy"), Paul never comes off as sappy, ultimately making the punk-to-poppa transition look downright easy. We should be so lucky--Dan Catalano. The photo caption reads... Our advice: Go Westerberg, young man! They also review some singer named Kelly Willis who covers "They're Blind." Adios Milky Way, P Date: Tue, 16 Feb 1999 12:23:22 -0600 From: Peter Kosciewicz kosciewp@michaels.com> Dallas Observer Online - dallasobserver.com | Music | February 11 - 17, 1999 Bastard of middle age: Paul Westerberg digs into a deep, dark place and makes a brilliant, horrible record By Robert Wilonsky "On those first two solo records, I needed to prove that I could do what the Replacements did," Paul Westerberg says. "And maybe what I did was prove that I couldn't." Bob Stinson died alone on February 18, 1995. He was discovered on the couch of his Minneapolis home, a syringe laying next to his slumped-over corpse. Nine years after being adiosed as the Replacements' guitarist, good ol' Bob dress-wearing Bob, fun guy Bob, crazy fuckin' ob kicked his drug habit the real hard way, leaving his friends and former bandmates to ponder a life well-lived but wasted nonetheless. His funeral a few days after the 35-year-old's overdose would reunite the Replacements one final time: Paul Westerberg, Chris Mars, Bob's younger brother Tommy, and Bob all dressed up with no place to go. So much for getting the band back together. In the words of another famous Minnesota boy, the former Robert Zimmerman, "Death can be the result of a most underrated pain." But as Westerberg sat there looking at his old friend lying in a coffin, he couldn't focus on the task at hand; grieving Bob, burying him in the hard ground. He was too busy trying not to listen to the music blaring from the speakers Bob's mother had set up; those old Replacements songs, especially the loud, fast, and sloppy early ones from Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash and The Replacements Stink, coming back to haunt the man who wrote them and barely sang them. As Bob lay in his coffin; "stiff as a board," Westerberg recalls now, his voice a deadpan drone bereft of sadness; it was all Paul could do to keep from leaping from his seat and bolting from the funeral parlor. All Westerberg could think about was: I sound like shit. He felt foolish, selfish, like a real asshole. But still, Paul couldn't stop thinking it: I sound like shit. "There is Bob, laying there, and then 'Fuck School' comes blaring over the speakers," Westerberg recalls. "God love him, God rest his soul. But I could only think, like, 'How could I have fucking sang like this?' To me, I was in hell. There's a guy I loved who's dead, and to punish me, they had to play my music, and that was really tough. If there's going to be a movie ever about the Replacements, that has to be included. That was one in a million, really. They played the entire catalog. I walked in as they were playing 'Johnny's Gonna Die.' There was some irony for sure." And then Westerberg lets out a sad little chuckle. "Please don't play my stuff when I die," he says, almost begging. "I want nothing but John Coltrane." Westerberg, now 38, would like nothing more than to leave the Replacements behind him, a speck in the rear-view mirror. That band has been broken up for almost the entirety of the 1990s; its final album, 1990's All Shook Down, wasn't even a real Replacements record at all, more like a Westerberg solo record with some special guests, among them bassist Tommy Stinson and drummer Chris Mars, reduced to cameos where once they had been featured attractions. He participated in the assembling of Warner Bros. Records' 1997 two-disc best-and-rest-of All For Nothing, Nothing For All, but only because he was resigned to the fact that it would be done with or without his assistance. Better to choose your own fate than leave it in the hands of the label you abandoned when they couldn't sell your records. Westerberg is on his third solo album now, Suicaine Gratifaction, due in stores February 23. It is a disc full of home demos recorded on piano, fleshed out later in a studio with old pro Don Was making things slick and shiny. The new album; its lyrics ambiguous and poetic, sung in hushed tones by a man who used to scream as though each performance were his next to last; is so far removed from the Replacements or even Westerberg's first two solo albums, it might as well have been made by someone else. And maybe it was. Westerberg has no time or desire to look backward, to consider his past mistakes or his ancient triumphs. That's for other people to ponder those of us who came of age with Hootenanny, Let It Be, Tim, and Pleased to Meet Me; those of us for whom songs such as "Unsatisfied" and "Within Your Reach" and "I Will Dare" and "Bastards of Young" were title tracks to the college years. No other 1980's band save, perhaps, R.E.M., who stuck around too long to become legendary, has been so romanticized by the survivors of the Amerindie revolution. No other band back then wore its heart on its puke-stained sleeve, or sang unrelenting heartbreakers after getting fall-down drunk in the van, or got its kicks from playing slatternly Jackson 5 and T. Rex and Thin Lizzy covers before passing out on stage. The Replacements exist 19 years after their formation as a symbol now, an emblem ; The Last Great American Rock and Roll Band. At least, that's what the Replacements' tombstone reads. And while Westerberg is more than willing to engage in a discussion of his past, it's clear he would prefer to talk about the here and now; the new label after a decade on Warner Bros., the nervous breakdown and "dark places" that accompanied the making of Suicaine Gratifaction, his desire to stay away from the stage as long as possible. He is a far, far different man than he was during his days in the Replacements. He's a father of a son less than a year old. He has been sober for almost a decade. And now, when he rocks, Westerberg does so only as a side project and in the shadows. In 1997, on a tiny label out of Boston, he released a five-song EP called Grandpaboy, with Westerberg assuming all the parts. The disc, credited to "Winthorpe Marion Percival V," sounds more like an echo or a vestige than the real thing, like B-sides recorded around the time of Pleased to Meet Me in 1987; lots of horns, lots of silly jokes, songs titled "Homelessexual" and "Psychopharmacology." Yet the latter also hints at the mood-enhancers Westerberg took during the recording of Suicaine Gratifaction: "I need somethin' to calm me down / I need somethin' to keep me focused / Narcoleptic and paranoid...ADD, PCP, F-U-C-K-E-D, that's me." "I like that Grandpaboy junk," Westerberg says. "I like it, I miss it, I love it. But to think that it matters or means anything is ridiculous. I don't know if the stuff on Suicaine Gratifaction does either, but I'm just sort of betting on the smart money, hoping that in the long run, someday I'm going to touch somebody or influence somebody deeper with the music of the new records as opposed to 'Homelessexual.' I think I finally came to the point where I've made my bed: I'm a solo artist. Rock and roll can no longer be my forte if I'm going to be doing this alone. I'd love to do it for a weekend, but, you know..." His voice trails off. As far as he is concerned, the new record is his most honest, vulnerable work. No more hiding behind the band; no more ducking out of sentimental moments by throwing in the bad wisecrack; no more giving the fans what they want. It's the sort of record made by a guy who has only now figured out what he wants to do; which, in this case, means writing songs about growing up and growing out of rock and roll and trading in the guitar for piano. The album begins with a song, "It's a Wonderful Lie," about a man trying to figure out whether he's "past my prime" while wondering "was that just a pose?" And it ends with a song about a father who abandons his family, crushing his daughter "like the petals of a flower between the pages of a novel." In between are signposts that lead the way to a songwriter conflicted about where he's been and where he's going: Westerberg portrays himself as "an idiot and a genius," "the best thing that never happened," "a bad idea whose time has come"; and he's a man who believes "I've started to go out of my head." "It has to do with depression, and it has to do with like, to use a scenario, like a dark place in your mind where you go," Westerberg says of Suicaine Gratifaction, a record that has confounded even his oldest, closest friends. "I went deeper in there than I've ever gone before, and the only danger is that you don't know exactly how you're going to come back out, and I just kept going in deeper and deeper and deeper. I had a good two months, almost like a hermit at home. It was very stressful for whoever was around me. It led to medication and treatment and whatever. But through it all I knew that that's kind of where the gold lay. "It was like, I could stop now and pull myself back and go up and read a book and watch TV, or I can keep hunting for this thing that's gnawing away inside of me. I kind of chose to go deep. I hate to think that every single time, one would have to go that dark to get it, but if that is the case, then I guess you deal with it or make the decision to do what I really can at the risk of my own mental health. That's kind of why I feel like I'm starting over again. "I'm not prepared to go to that dark place again and again. I don't know what my next move is. I'm not prepared to reproduce these songs or go perform these. The other day, someone asked me, 'If this was your last record, would you be satisfied with it?' And I guess I would. It never crossed my mind that this was my final record, my swan song. But if I was hit by a truck tomorrow, it would sort of appear that way, because I went as deep as I've ever gone before. Who knows where I was supposed to go?" To answer that question, you have to go back to where he's been; Minneapolis in May of 1980. It was then that a 19-year-old Paul Westerberg gave a four-song demo to Peter Jesperson, who was then working at a local record store and running a Minneapolis record label, Twin/Tone. Jesperson has told the story so often it's become myth, a tale too good to be even a fraction of the truth, but he repeats it once more: Peter didn't even get halfway through the first song on the cassette, "Raised in the City," before he stopped the tape, phoned three friends, and begged them to come down and listen to the damned thing. He told them he was either crazy, or this brand-new band called the Replacements was the best thing he'd heard since the Rolling Stones. Perhaps no one can tell the Replacements story better than Jesperson, who immediately booked the band at the Longhorn Club in Minneapolis, where Jesperson worked as a DJ, and signed the band to Twin/Tone. It was Jesperson who took the band into the studio to record Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash, released on Twin/Tone in 1981. It was Jesperson who pissed off half the Twin Cities' other punk bands by jumping the Replacements to the head of the line, in front of so many other groups who had been biding their time for the shot he'd promised them. In 1980, the Replacements were nothing more than a band fronted by a teenaged ex-janitor with broken-glass vocals, a lead guitarist whose main influences were Johnny Winter and Steve Howe, a drummer who adored Aerosmith, and a 12-year-old bass player who signed on with his brother. Their song titles included "Shut Up!" and "More Cigarettes" and "I Hate Music" (because "it's got too many notes!"); their sound was crap by way of shit, garage hardcore played by dudes who were convinced their junk-rock was arena-ready. They were first-rate screw-ups, bastards of young who bragged about writing songs "20 minutes after we recorded" Sorry Ma. And Jesperson, who was so often told they were a waste of time, insisted the Replacements were worth the small amount of agony. "It was such an incredible rush," he says of those early days recording and managing the Replacements. "We were lucky to have found each other. I don't know who was luckier. I had been in the Minneapolis scene for a long time when they came along, and people made fun of me for the Replacements. I remember people saying, 'A 12-year-old bass player? Real cool, Peter.' The Replacements didn't come into the scene being friendly to the other groups. They made their own space and weren't real sociable. People resented how quickly they made their claim." But there would never be any disputing how compellingly they did so: On 1982's The Replacements Stink, recorded just months after the debut, Westerberg was writing short, sharp anthems for every "White and Lazy", "Dope Smokin Moron" in the audience who had said "Fuck School" and still needed a "Goddamn Job." The music was hardcore with a furtive melody, a joke with a point, a punch line with a serious purpose. It was as though the 'Mats were performing an entire album's worth of responses and follow-ups to "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" and "My Generation." Westerberg's songs were nothing more than snippets of conversations overheard and borrowed, everyday dialogue set to a train-wreck beat for dancing and drinking. But they seemed enormous at the time, even bigger today. In retrospect, it's quite possible that later records; 1983's Hootenanny, '84's Let it Be, and the next year's Tim have been overrated by the fanatics. They are not the perfect gems they're often portrayed as, not the sloppy masterpieces of a band known for drinking itself into oblivion before going into the studio or onto a stage. They contain too many half-assed moments to be considered truly great, too many songs easily skipped over once they were transferred to CD. And Let it Be, considered by the disciples to be the most perfect Replacements album, is a complete mess, full of cheap throwaway jokes ("Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out," "Gary's Got a Boner") and a horrible cover of a horrible KISS song ("Black Diamond") and at least one unlistenable song about cross-dressing ("Androgynous"). But there were a handful of songs on Hootenanny and Let it Be that seemed to mask all the flaws, that made them essential albums for the lost and lovelorn who found solace in electric guitars and drunken howls. "Within Your Reach" off Hootenanny revealed for the first time the softer, lonelier side of Westerberg: "I can live without your touch," he sang, the drum-machine-and-slide-guitar music sparse and empty behind him, "but I could die within your reach." That it was sandwiched between "Mr. Whirly" (which mutated the Beatles' "Strawberry Fields" into a punk-rock rant) and the surf-rocky instrumental "Buck Hill" only made it seem that much more an anomaly; The Geek hanging out with all The Jocks. Certainly the transcendent moments remain on Let it Be: "I Will Dare," "Answering Machine," and "Unsatisfied," three songs that could, and did, cover a multitude of sins. The first track on the record was this weird little pop song, so catchy and inviting, so desperate and real: "Meet me any place or any time or anywhere / If you will dare meet me tonight / If you will dare, I will dare." And the last was so utterly pathetic, the sound of a coward trying to proclaim his love for a woman and finding only her answering machine to talk to; and "how do you say I love you to an answering machine?" Westerberg wondered over nothing more than the sound of a furiously strummed electric guitar, his voice ripped in half. But it was "Unsatisfied" that remains Westerberg's gilt-edged moment, and it's nothing more than a ripped-off KISS riff ("Hard-Luck Woman," actually) and a man yelling over and over again: "I'm so...unsatisfieeeeeeeeeed." You could feel the song in your bones. Westerberg was always a wimp deep down, a softie, a broken-down romantic; the later records on Warner Bros., including 1987's Pleased to Meet Me and 1989's Don't Tell a Soul, were full of such lullaby moments: "The Ledge," "Skyway," "Achin' to Be." But the way Westerberg explains it now, he was almost too ashamed of those songs, afraid the guys in the band wouldn't understand that he didn't always want to write stoopid drunk-rock songs the rest of his life. "I'm proud of something like 'Unsatisfied,' but I probably would have written lyrics to the thing if I had written it now, and I probably would have ruined it rather than just screaming out," Westerberg says. "It's like, that was my way of making it appeal to the guys. Now, I probably would have written more. You'd have to go back to, like, 'Answering Machine' and stuff like that. You can hear me trying to include the group in almost everything. It's like...I don't know. Does it fucking matter?" Jesperson says that every now and then during the early days of The Replacements, Westerberg would write a ballad, record it at home, rush the tape 20 blocks down to Jesperson's apartment and slip it in the mailbox, then disappear before Peter ever got to the door. Jesperson explains that Westerberg was too afraid that he would either erase the tape or that one of the other Replacements would find the song and laugh at it. One such song, the Paul-alone "If Only You Were Lonely," made it to the B-side of a single in 1982. Another such track actually made it to a band rehearsal, a song titled "You're Getting Married," which features among its lyrics such lines as "You're like a guitar in the hands of some fool who can't play." But when Paul offered it to the band for inclusion on Hootenanny, Jesperson says, Bob Stinson stopped him cold. Bob is said to have told Westerberg, "That's not a Replacements song. Keep it for your solo record, Paul." "I have a live recording of them doing 'You're Getting Married' made on February 11, 1984, in Trenton, New Jersey," says Jesperson, who has spent the past several months compiling dozens and dozens of unreleased Replacements songs for a Twin/Tone boxed set he hopes to release within a year's time. "They attempted to do it in a completely drunken stupor, and it's one of the most precious things they did in their entire history. Paul makes up words, and I remember him singing this to a really hardcore crowd, this mohawk audience, and I thought at the time, 'They're gonna kill him. But by the end of the song they're transfixed. And at the end of the song, Paul tells them, 'At least you fuckers ain't enemies. That's nice to know.'" Eventually, Westerberg would begin slowly dismantling the band, crawling toward the inevitable solo career. When he finally debuted all alone on 1993's 14 Songs, he sounded very much like a man still trying to reconcile who he wanted to be with who he thought he should be. Half the songs were tepid ballads; the other half, tepid rockers. It was ironic that when he toured for 14 Songs with a four-piece band, the Replacements' replacements; the songs came alive, sounding whole instead of like fragments of old reverberations. Eventually, released in 1996, was even more dull. Lord only knows how many times the words "James Taylor" appeared in reviews for the album, which can now be purchased for $4.91 in local used-CD bins, alongside his contributions to the soundtracks for Singles, Friends, and Melrose Place. Replacements fans couldn't help but shrug at the sad irony that while Chris Mars, booted from the band because he wanted the band to perform a few of his own songs, was recording in quick succession some brilliant, Ray Davies-fronting-the Replacements mini-gems, Westerberg was struggling without his old bandmates to prop him up. "On those first two solo records, I needed to prove that I could do what the Replacements did, and maybe what I did was prove that I couldn't," he says. "But either one, it's history. This is what I do. Now, people will say, 'What would the Replacements have added to this?' Well, we wouldn't have gotten around to doing 90 percent of it. When you have the guys of the group; even if it's just a small group, three or four people; it frees you a little more to make statements like, 'We are this,' or, 'We're gonna do this.' When you're all alone, you realize you've got to lay yourself on the line, because that's all you've got. No one is really covering you from behind anymore." Even less so now: Suicaine Gratifaction, his first album for Capitol Records, is the sound of a man so far out on a limb, even a fireman couldn't rescue him. It's a confusing, beautiful, unlistenable contradiction; the former Replacement recording with cellos and guitars turned down to one and guest vocalist Shawn Colvin brought in to sweeten up the sour moments. It's the sort of record that reveals the world about a man so many indie-rock fans have grown up with, and a record those very same fans will surely despise, wondering what the hell happened to their rock-and-roll hero. The Replacements left in their wake both the best and worst that rock and roll has to offer: Nirvana and the Goo Goo Dolls, idols and enemies. They never became popular, never went platinum, never achieved the stardom they secretly pined for. And now, the Replacements will never get back together. Tommy Stinson recorded an EP and a never-to-be-released album with his own band, Perfect; now, he is paying the rent with Guns N' Roses, and the mind reels at the implications. Chris Mars has disappeared into the basement with his tape recorders and his paint brushes; when he will return is anyone's guess. Slim Dunlap, who replaced Bob as well as anyone could, is still making wonderful records no one is buying. And Bob, well, he's still dead. As for Paul, he will not tour for this album. He doesn't see how it's possible to sit behind a piano and perform these new songs for an audience that will keep shouting out requests for "I Will Dare" or "Bastards of Young" or "I.O.U." or "Unsatisfied." He is content now to sit in his tinfoil-covered basement, black lipstick smeared on his face, and record in front of a new video camera with which he's become infatuated. Jesperson says he's heard rumors of Westerberg's showing up at South by Southwest in Austin next month, but don't count on it; Paul seems very much resolved to holing up with his piano and his son, shut out from the rest of the world with his Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane records to keep him company. He does like to say he is an unabashed misanthrope. And perhaps it's just as well that he has chosen to shelve his rock-and-roll side. The Grandpaboy record has its moments; indeed, Westerberg insists the song "Lush and Green" is among the best things he's ever recorded, and maybe he's right; but it sounds too much like a thousand steps backward, right into a land mine. Suicaine Gratifaction is by no means a flawless record, but at least you can hear, feel, the ambition and thought and pain that went into its making. If nothing else, for all its faults, the new record feels like the most genuine record he has made since breaking up the band. And that's hardly an apology, simply a fact: Suicaine Gratifaction may be a mess, even a bore at times, but never does it feel like a fake. "I'm now at a place where I ask myself, 'Why do I do this?'" he says. "You kind of have to slap yourself upside the head and go, 'You do this because you can do it better than most.' That's maybe not as rewarding, but if you're going to continue in life and have a place or a job or a purpose, you have to use that. I do it because I'm good at it and it's a challenge to myself to top myself. I want to make a better record next time. But I'm not holding this up against someone else's record and saying, 'Well, it doesn't sound as good as them.' I've learned the trick of only listening to my last thing. "It all comes down to manic depression. When I'm in an up cycle, I'll go with it. Sometimes that down cycle lasts a long time, and it's horrible if you're caught either way. You're in an up cycle making a record, and then you just slowly slip down. I do have sort of a polar personality. I'm not an even-keel guy. Right now I'm starting to be in an up vibe again. If only I could just bring intelligence with it." Date: Sun, 21 Feb 1999 20:27:47 -0600 From: Timothy Nokken tnokken@uiuc.edu> Subject: cool pics Very nice story on Paul and the new record in the Minneapolis Star Tribune. Also had a glowing review and a bunch of cool pics. Can get there by going to www.startribune.com Then head to the Variety section. Will be in line to buy Suicaine Gratifaction at midnight. best, Tim Published Sunday, February 21, 1999 Riffing With Paul Westerberg Vickie Gilmer / Star Tribune Paul Westerberg, former frontman of the Replacements and longtime antihero to the disenfranchised, is holed up in a downtown Minneapolis hotel suite. He smokes imported cigarillos and patiently answers a litany of questions. He's not really what you'd call the talkative sort, but he's never short of an answer or less than candid. Here are additional quotes from an interview about Westerberg's new album, "Suicaine Gratifaction": 'Suicaine Gratifaction' I love it. I love it as much as I can. I was non-excited about writing it. Almost like, I don't know if a surgeon is excited about heart surgery. Maybe he is if it's his first one. But it's something that I had to simply do to survive. I got excited about the little Grandpa Boy thing because it was fun and it was spontaneous. A good deal of this record is not upbeat, it's kind of sad. I don't know what the right word is that you could call it. I don't know if I could even be 'proud' of it. I guess I'm proud that I followed the muse where it took me, which was a very solitary dark place. I had no thought whatsoever toward 'Is this commercially viable? Will I be able to play this in front of people? Will I remember these chords next week?' None of that entered into it so it was very artistic, I guess, on that level. That was the first time I ever approached recording that way, because I didn't even know I was making a record. I came home from the tour and started to write songs and record in my basement and it was only after about two months that I had six or seven songs and I thought, 'Hey I have a record here, the beginning of a record.' The hit factory I've got words scribbled all over the joint at home and there are still melodies that I try to use. I think I use them over and over, actually. Simply the title will start a song. Usually there's a catalyst, there's a song or something that signals 'Ah-ha, now I've begun my new record.' It sparks you into action or you take a certain amount of time off from doing the last thing. But this was the quickest that I ever wrote. I literally came from the airplane from the tour and went down to the basement and put my fingers on the piano and stayed down there for months. It was a real kind of outpouring of the downward spiral of the tour. Recently, I wrote an instrumental and there's a song that I'm working on. I've been banging around a sequence that I know I'm waiting to use. Sometimes I know that I've got something good and I keep putzing with it until that person [the song's character] enters the room one day and then it becomes theirs. It's like it's still waiting for the title or the thing to make it explode. So it's like I've got a few of those. I've got a few blueprint molds. The songs Specifically, I was afraid of 'Bookmark' because it's so delicate and everything. I'm very proud of it now. Lyrically it stands on its own. 'Bookmark' is the first song I've written in my life that doesn't rhyme. You can read it; it's a good read. I didn't want 'Fugitive Kind' on there. I wanted 'Wonderful Copenhagen Is Dead' just because I always liked the song. But that's why I had a producer [Don Was] because I don't know what people like. It's like I can't guess anymore what they like -- I only know what I dig. I kicked the title [of 'Born for Me'] around for a while because it seemed to me that it must have been used before. I'd never heard of it and just the feeling in the one sentence of life and death, [recites the lyric] 'You were born for me/I could die right here with you.' That's like, that is me. That sums me up. Fools will see that as 'Oh, what a sugary sweet ballad.' And it's so incredibly dark [laughs]. You know, it depends on if you want it to be pretty. They were desperate to put a woman's voice on it to make it more what it is and that's why Shawn Colvin sang on it. I'm proudest of 'Self Defense,' 'Actor in the Street,' 'Bookmark,' 'Sunrise.' I really like 'Final Hurrah,' as far as like stupid little three-chord rock songs. I like that as much as anything of the Replacements. Maybe there's someone more daring than I and maybe there's someone with a better voice, but I think putting all the elements together, I think I do it the best. I think that my ideas that I was afraid of I decided I must actually let them out, and when I do I can be proud of that. I mean, I never listen to my piano playing and think, 'God what a....[moans]. I think, 'I should have put another chord on that -- that's pretty good.' Studio time I wanted Quincy Jones [as a producer]. I think I understand something that some musicians don't understand, and most people don't understand, and that is that the role of the producer. People think it's like a director of a movie and it's not. The producer is the guy who's on the horn to the label and saying everything's groovy. He's the one who gets you an extra little bit of money if you need to fly in somebody so they can play their one little delicate lick. So in a way, a good producer is a good actor. He has to be a sort of a glad hander. I recorded a lot but I was making the music. Don [Was] allowed me to make the record I wanted. If he hadn't been there, people would have come in and said, 'Why don't you change this?' Don was there to simply engage people or physically strike them if necessary. He was like the protector/overseer. And he did help. If I was lost or didn't know about a song, he would give his opinion. He said 'Bookmark' has got to go on the record and I'm like 'No, man, it can't.' And he's like, 'Paul, it's got to go on.' Stuff like that, that's why I paid him. I had to struggle to leave things alone. Rather than overdub a song to death, we would leave it in its naked little performance, re-record it in a different way with a hundred instruments and see where we could take it. All that, and all the while knowing that we would probably return to the simple little narrative. Flying solo On my solo tours I felt, not the need to apologize, but the need perhaps to go out once or twice with a steady band, play the good songs good for the people who might have missed them. But ultimately it left me feeling just hollow and 'I don't care.' I don't have that sort of ego, where ... the thrill of a sentence, of putting two words together that no one ever had before is what gets me off. The fact that people cheer or clap really loud got to the point where that didn't mean anything to me. Unsatisfaction I'm mad that they wouldn't let me write a song for the Blondie record, but that's because they didn't let Frank Infante back in the band -- he was the guy that I sort of knew. He used to always come see me play. You know, you reach a point where you'll take anything. I'm not that old or far gone that I feel warm and good about any sort of nostalgia. I mean, I still have enough pride to want to be vital. I've never felt competitive, even when we [the Replacements] were supposed to be the hot thing. I always felt that we paled in comparison to the Church or someone like that. So I still feel kind of like that. It's what keeps me from being satisfied, I guess. Scene report I always get asked these kind of things....I don't know what's happening on the scene, I don't know what the local groups are, I don't go out anymore to see local bands, or haven't lately. Maybe once a year and I'll kind of enjoy myself, but I'll leave after five minutes. It's funny, I'll find myself in the corner of the room and it's like 'Wow, that's what I did when I was 20 and that's what I did when I was in kindergarten.' There are some things that don't change and I don't necessarily feel comfortable in a social atmosphere. And on the other hand, to watch a performer, some performers are like this, if you're not on the stage it's weird to watch someone else do it. Playing in the Band I'd like to steal somebody's band. These are the things that I think of that I'd like to do -- steal a band, just walk into somebody's existing group and join or make my own band out of it....I can't think of another group, like the Spice Girls or something. But I'd like to write, direct and compose and handpick the people to do it. Those are things I've always wanted to do. It seems kind of cheap. Actually, Karl Mueller called me yesterday. We don't really talk much, but we were just kicking around ideas and I said, 'Why don't you go find us a singer and I'll get a drummer and we'll create a mock Spice Girls. [laughs], or I don't know what. If I'm going to go tour, I'll put a band together or something. But I can't remember the last time somebody called me and said, 'Let's play music. Do you want to just go hang out?' I mean, I can't even....decades, you know. I guess it's my own fault. I must have a reputation as a tyrant, which is probably true. But that's the only way a band ever works. If everyone has an equal say it fails. It's like in the end, you're going to hate the guy that calls the shots, but without him you're not going to leave the basement. Working-class hero I never have looked at this as a job. I sure know a lot more guys now who do than I ever had, which is maybe part of the reason it sent me back to my basement. But what is it that I do? Why do I do it? And why am I doing it? I don't have a clear answer. OK, I am under contract. I was given money so I guess it's a bargain, it's a deal. So it is a job. But in a way, the job is over. I had the goods. They bought the goods. So I sell my art to them to sell. But I think my job is to be an artist. Grandpa Boy There may be an opportunity for one more [record] but Grandpa Boy may be gone for now. Who is he? Well, he was born somewhere, he plays the guitar and do not try to be his friend because he will not like you. Copyright 1999 Star Tribune. All rights reserved. Lonesome stranger: Paul Westerberg lets down his guard on new CD Vickie Gilmer / Star Tribune Paul Westerberg is looking out the window of a downtown Minneapolis hotel room. He's rented a 16th-floor suite for a photo shoot and interview, but he seems more focused on the fat snowflakes slowly cascading outside than the events at hand. He's here only out of necessity, to promote his new record. He's also exhausted. It's only 4 o'clock in the afternoon, but the Minneapolis singer/songwriter is suffering from a herniated disc, a condition that makes sitting and standing painful. Paul Westerberg For once, Westerberg's physical and emotional pain are in sync. It's this pain that his new CD, "Suicaine Gratifaction," revels in. Personally, though, it's nothing he aspires to possess. He lights up when talk turns to his 9-month-old son, Johnny, and their walks around the neighborhood. He chuckles and shakes his head, saying that before they even make it to the corner Johnny is face-forward in his sled, fast asleep. The first time, he panicked and had to make sure that little Johnny wasn't frozen stiff. As Westerberg continues chatting, slowly and skeptically, he begins to relax. Cracking a few jokes, letting fly with some punk-issue sarcasm and even laughing and smiling, it becomes apparent that this is a man who simply wants to be understood. His guarded stance, he explains later, comes from a long line of people with agendas, false friends and fanatics who won't let him live in the here and now but would rather pigeonhole him in his punk-rock past with Minneapolis' fabled Replacements. "You have to be somebody's has-been to qualify as someone else's hero," he says. "Suicaine Gratifaction," arriving in stores Tuesday, is the album that should make Westerberg a hero again. Easily the feather in his cap, it captures the itinerant struggle between hope and hopelessness. This interpersonal war is what has always made Westerberg's songs resonant with a hollowed emptiness that welcomes the lonely hearts, losers and leftovers -- a space reserved only for the lonely. "It's kind of sad," he says of the record. "I guess I'm proud that I followed the muse where it took me, which was a very solitary, dark place." It's a territory defined by the kind of insecurity that, paired with their outrageous antics, made the Replacements an unforgettable cast of misfits who were more comfortable creating chaos than living without it. Now, Westerberg fights his own internal chaos by cutting to the bone with lyrics that question a man's prime of life, fate, love, final chances and lies. A collection of thoughtful, spare ballads and three-chord rock songs, "Suicaine Gratifaction" proves that Westerberg's verve and venom are as potent as ever. "He's an incredibly creative guy," says the record's producer, Don Was, who has collaborated with Bonnie Raitt, Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones. "If I could've worked with John Lennon at his creative peak, that's what Paul reminds me of. He doesn't want to repeat anything anyone has done before; he makes sure the mikes in the studio are not set up the same way they were the week before. Nothing with him is rote." Basement tapes In keeping with his solitary nature, Westerberg recorded most of "Suicaine Gratifaction" in his basement. "I didn't even know I was making a record," he says. Back home after a concert tour following the release of his last album three years ago, Westerberg started writing and recording. "After about two months I had six or seven songs and I thought, 'Hey, I have a record here.' " Bumped around on Capitol Records' release schedule -- partly because of the departure of label head Gary Gersh, who signed Westerberg and is now acting as his manager -- the album was initially slated for release last summer, and it seems a distant memory when Westerberg talks about it. But the record carries special import. "This one, for whatever reason, is unique," he says. "From the beginning of making it, to this very moment, it doesn't ring like any of the other records. The closest it does is to the very first one I ever made. The difference is when I was done with that one I was so excited to go out and tell the world and play. That's not the case here." He's adamant about not going on tour immediately -- regardless of what his record label might want. The thrill of the spotlight has long faded, and Westerberg takes more comfort holing up at home with a book or his son, or in his studio. "Last time out, it mentally exhausted me and I had become depressed halfway through because of expectations I had on myself or simply just chemical, clinical depression. Somehow being on stage playing rock music with guys that weren't in my band, per se, for the first time felt wrong, like 'Gee, I've done this. This might be a waste of my talent to be known as a guitar-slinging performer.' A little voice told me that this was not what I was born to do. And going home and making the record, it was, 'Now it's about time to see what I can do.' " History lesson: Forget it Westerberg knows all too well the importance that fans place on his history with the 1980s' most applauded punks, the Replacements, but he has no desire to go back. "Minus all the bad stuff we did and took, the [Replacements'] performances were creative," he says. "We would reinvent songs, do things differently, wear odd clothing. Over the years it had gotten to the point where there was so much pressure to go up and play the songs well -- like the records, like the people want to hear. We disintegrated." This disintegration had many pointing the finger at Westerberg. He knows many blame him for being a "tyrant" and "ending the party." He says with resignation: "I've distanced myself from the Replacements, what they represent, what they are, so much that I barely know they exist." His first two solo records, "14 Songs" and "Eventually," got a lukewarm greeting from critics and fans. But it's the thrill of the song that keeps him from worrying about commercial viability or mainstream stardom. "I was probably 36 when I started recording this album and it dawned on me that I don't know what [kids] want -- I'm a fool to even guess. So I have to do what I want at the risk of being considered a has-been, an old man or whatever. When they rediscover me when they're 25, they'll see that I was very cool." His need to write and perform had him working with his wife, Laurie Lindeen, on her solo debut "Pregnant Pause," and he assumed an alter ego, Grandpa Boy, for a 7-inch single and an EP on the tiny Soundproof/Monolyth label. The Grandpa Boy tracks, which rail with a spittle familiar to Replacements fans, were an outlet for Westerberg, who says he's become "more fearless in my art," looking for personal satisfaction rather than mass endorsement. Was became involved after Capitol sent him "a third-generation cassette [that] sounded like crap." Nonetheless, he says, "I knew they were great songs and if there was any plan, it was to stay out of the way of the songs." Although he wasn't Westerberg's first choice as producer (Quincy Jones was), Westerberg admits that Was pushed him in the right direction, insisting that he include "Bookmark," a personal and delicate ballad that sounds like a last rite. Was enlisted Shawn Colvin to sing on the touching "Born for Me" and brought in pedal steel guitarist Greg Leisz, drummer Jim Keltner and keyboardist Benmont Tench. Soul Asylum's Dave Pirner sings background on "Fugitive Kind," as does the studio's secretary. "Someone at the label kept saying we need more female voices. I walked up to the secretary and said, 'You -- can you sing?' " Westerberg says, laughing. As the conversation winds down, it's clear that music is still what makes him tick. He mentions a Bad Company CD he wants, says that he joked with Soul Asylum bassist Karl Mueller about putting together a band and that he enjoyed co-writing with Carole King (even though they didn't release anything) and is disappointed he couldn't contribute a song to Blondie's new album. Then Westerberg eases himself off the couch, signaling the end of his duty. "I don't feel like I have any answers," he says. "I feel like I've reached a new level where I do understand Bob Dylan a little bit now. And Picasso. It's like 'Don't look back, don't explain, don't apologize.' You create this mystique. . . . People hate you, but it's not of your doing, it's of necessity to do what you do. And if you really believe in what you do, to dissect and talk about it, you can't. You don't know how." He may not feel that he's well-liked or that he articulates his motives well enough. No matter. Because even if no one else understands, Westerberg knows that in the end, it's about the music. Copyright 1999 Star Tribune. All rights reserved. Published Sunday, February 21, 1999 CD review: Paul Westerberg's ''Suicaine Gratifaction'' There may be truth in the notion that old punks get soft when they age. And touchy-feely sentiments occasionally colored Paul Westerberg's earlier solo albums, 1993's "14 Songs" and 1996's "Eventually," which were rock 'n' roll free-for-alls that sandwiched in horns and organ along with the usual guitar onslaught and a few thoughtful ballads. But "Suicaine Gratifaction" (Capitol) is a soul-searching effort that strips away all nonessentials. The result is a pained, chilling and forceful excursion into the darker recesses of insecurity, loneliness and doubt. Relying on simple piano ballads and a straightforward rock structure, Westerberg sounds like the year's most bittersweet bard as he struggles to rise out of his murky purgatory toward redemption and hope. It's a place where dreams scribbled on paper remain stashed under the bed, overridden by fate and the realization that "the best thing that never happened" ultimately becomes part of one's personal history. "How am I feeling? Better, I suppose. How am I looking? I don't want the truth. What am I doing? I ain't in my youth. I'm past my prime or was that just a pose?" he sings on the opening track, "It's a Wonderful Lie" -- drawing on the self-doubt and alienation that made his Replacements antiheroes to the disenfranchised more than a decade ago. As always, Westerberg's greatest songs come out of the most solitary places, elevated by cutting lyrical confessions that ring with excruciating honesty. "Best Thing That Never Happened" kicks it up with a full band, and while there's a tone of vengeance, Westerberg isn't as angry as he is regretful. Lost opportunities resurface on "Fugitive Kind," which grows from a quiet piano intro to a full-on rock 'n' roll explosion as he asks, "Is this where I belong?" But amid all the downtrodden confessions, Westerberg doesn't lose sight of his search for clarity and meaning. "Born for Me" is a haunting, heart-wrenching ballad that draws a parallel between life and death as he sings, "You were born for me, I could die here with you." "Bookmark" is the album's most introverted, seemingly personal track, sounding like a well-constructed eulogy for the death of a relationship. Westerberg is no has-been, and he's clearly back to form with "Suicaine Gratifaction." While it keeps satisfaction at arm's length, the characters in his songs struggle to escape the darkest depths -- a determination that infuses them with the strength to survive. And so, too, Westerberg -- the snotty punk, lonely guy, outsider and songwriter -- has become a survivalist of the highest order. Copyright 1999 Star Tribune. All rights reserved. _____________________________________________________________________________ III. MISSING PERSONS Date: Tue, 09 Feb 1999 15:51:29 -0500 From: morenoan To anyone in central Michigan: I'm a huge Replacements/Husker Du/Uncle Tupelo fan looking for anyone to make muzik with those bands in mind. Desperate in East Lansing Tony morenoan@pilot.msu.edu From: Date: Mon, 11 Jan 1999 14:17:58 -0500 Subject: Stinson info You may think this is a kind of crazy request, but anyway, here goes. I'm doing research on the internet for a good friend of mine who is trying to assemble some kind of picture of her biological family. Here is the info. that she has. Her biological father is a Robert Stinson who had family in the Minneapolis/Rochester, MN area. She was born in 1960. Robert Stinson played in a band called the Stinson Brothers mostly in nightclubs but they did do some recording for Everest Records and Canadian American Records. Among their recorded songs are "Number One in Your Heart", "The Joker", "Make Me Know You Love Me" and "Jenny Twist". Apparently they were semi-successful in Las Vegas, appearing with Lawrence Welk and Jimmy Durante at the Golden Nugget. Among the brothers were a Ronnie, married to a Joan, he died of alcoholism and another brother Ray who died of the same thing. I've found out that Robert is still alive but is on the lam from the law for swindling older women. My friend is looking for connections/cousins/possible half-sibs, etc. Considering the correlations between the info. we already have and the Stinsons from the Replacements (geography, music and alcohol abuse) I'm wondering if they are somehow related. I realize that [everybody's] interest in the band is probably more musical than personal but thought you might have some ideas/thoughts/connections on how to pursue this line of inquiry or just confirm the connection if there is one. Sincerely, Susan B. fin. ________________________________________________________________________________ The //Skyway\\: The Replacements Mailing List (digest only) http://www.novia.net/~matt/sky/skyway.html Matt Tomich | 117 Green Street | Chapel Hill NC 27516 | USA ________________________________________________________________________________ "Don't waste your youth growing up." - Lau Tzu