| the 'Mats | | Date Created: Apr 12, 2005, 04:22 PM |
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"Everything we do is based on the Replacements..." Jeff Tweedy, WILCO
How do you describe the sound of a train wreck? How do you infer the details and emotions of a near-religious experience? What the hell does a drunken stupor sound like? So how do I explain the sound of the Replacements?
In 1984, the term 'grunge' had yet to be coined, which meant any of us who traipsed on stage wearing flannel were likely in a band that was neither profitable nor cool. Such was the case for the scruffy trio I was a part of - Lions and Dogs (I waxed nostalgic about the group here). We were sort of the Next Big Thing in Lawrence, Kansas, which meant very little other than we got the chance to be the opening act for a lot of great bands.
But the Replacements were different than any other group. Affectionately called "the Mats" by their fans (a derivitive of distorting the name to "placemats" then shortening it to just 'mats.), featured four not-always-loveable misfits: a charismatic leader, Paul Westerberg, whose drunken and blustery punk protestations failed to hide a brilliant songwriter and sensitive soul; a bass player, Tommy Stinson, who was 11-years old when the band formed; a rock-solid drummer, Chris Mars, who later became an artist of the paint-brush variety in addition to the drum-sticks; and a lead guitarist, 'Smokin' Bob Stinson, who often played on-stage in a diaper, a dress or sometimes less, and later died from years of alcohol and substance abuse.
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 In auto racing terms, the Replacements were the rock-and-roll version of Tim Richmond. Obviously brilliant, but tragically flawed and self-destructive. (Except none of the Replacements were nearly as pretty as Richmond, 'cept maybe Tommy on a good day.) The band hid their insecurities like most young punk groups: by playing louder, faster and drunker than any human ought to... They seemed to drink not for the sake of the party - but rather to mask some sort of deep psychic pain or shyness. OK, well, maybe they did drink to party as well
I had never seen the Replacements live until we were invited to their hometown of Minneapolis to be the opening act at the 7th Street Entry club (most famous because it was a part of the larger club where Prince filmed "Purple Rain.") I had no idea what I was in for.
We got to Minneapolis the night before - driving straight from Lawrence in a van borrowed from dad's used-car lot. Crawling off the floor of a friend at the crack of 2 pm, we went to the local record store- Oarfolkjokeopus - owned by the band's manager and label owner. (Their early records were released by the brilliant Twin-Tone Records.) When I walked to the back room to use the phone, I encountered a familiar face at the desk, reading a British rock magazine. Halfway through my call, I realized it was R.E.M.'s Peter Buck, in town to play guitar and mandolin on a Replacements song that would open their next album ("I Will Dare" from the "Let It Be" LP, arguably the band's best.)
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 On top of the celeb sighting, the store was alive with the arrival of the first copies of the new single from Prince. Pressed on 7" of purple vinyl, I can still recall the wonder of hearing "When Doves Cry" for the first time. This was before the release of the Purple Rain album or the movie, so none of us had a sense of the sort of impending storm of fame we were glimpsing.
Once we made it to the club, we nervously played our set to mixed reviews from the late-arriving crowd. We did a strange mix of originals and cover songs, even breaking into a snippet of R.E.M. when Buck arrived at the club. (We thought we were cheeky little bastards.) Our biggest ovation came when Todd Newman, our front man, announced "this is our last song," before blasting into a what-the-hell?! cover of "Don't Fear the Reaper." |
 We moved our crappy gear off-stage and walked into the dressing room where I encountered Westerberg for the first time. Talk about contradictions: he was in a sleeveless flannel shirt (the 'uniform' of choice among Minneapolis punk bands) but his eyes were circled by a thick layer of eye-liner - a tribute to the glam look of the late Marc Bolan of T-Rex. He looked as if he could barely breathe (he suffered from pleurisy) and as if he wanted to be anywhere but there.
Once the band hit the stage, it was like 43 snarling race cars had been unleased at once... each of the four members thrashing and careening in their own manner, barrelling into each hairpin turn at breakneck speed - near disaster at every teetering moment. But, they didn't crash and the didn't burn, and it was the single most impactful live show I've ever seen. They played with fury and rarely let up to slow the tempo or the volume. Where a lot of bands lose melody or definition in the volume, the Replacements seemed to thrive on the noise.
After the show, we walked back to the dressing room, in awe. Westerberg was back in the same seat, eye-liner streaming down his sweaty face. One of us made some inane comment like 'that was great,' which was met with a sort of grunt and a shrug. Paul needed a beer. |
We jammed and played with the Replacements numerous times after that night, but they were never again as blazing or as brilliant as that cold Minnesota night. In fact, they became a drunken parody of themselves: hailed as rock heroes by the critics, the band handled the pressure by becoming fall-down drunks and doing entire shows of obscure cover songs that seemed to mildly amuse them but drive most of the audience to the exits. They even released a limited-edition live recording on cassette tape called "The Shit Hits the Fans." (The band also shaved off their eyebrows at one point - on a dare - and played a series of shows looking like... um... well... the complete retards they were trying to be.)
Smokin' Bob was kicked out of the band before (or was it just after?) they made their major-label debut, and it seemed as if they were never the same after. He died in the mid-90s, a tiny rock-and-roll footnote, especially in the wake of Kurt Cobain's suicide. But, the Replacements' place in history will live through their albums and their influence on countless bands to come... I could write thousands of words on the band - but the best bet is to listen to the music. You can link to listen to: The Best of the 'Mats. |
 The three remaining members have all produced a series of solo records, Westerberg remains the most critically hailed, while Tommy Stinson has released some great solo pop records (and a superb effort under the band name "Bash and Pop"). His latest is called "Village Gorilla Head" and he is also a member of the 'new' Guns & Roses. The drummer Christopher Mars put out a few gems of his own, playing all of the instruments.
But don't take my word for it: LISTEN to the songs. |
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