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Post by FreeRider on Jan 26, 2011 11:23:03 GMT -5
Well, he's always got something interesting, some gem or observation in these interviews. Here's another one:
By Keith Phipps, The Onion AV Club
Few bands made as profound or lasting an impact on American rock music as Paul Westerberg's group The Replacements. Living up to some shambolic ideal of its own invention, The Replacements influenced virtually every band emerging in the early '90s, both in its punk-informed songs and in its career arc. The band achieved small-scale success in the early '80s with Sorry Ma, Forgot To Take Out The Trash and Hootenanny, but its great creative breakthrough came with 1984's Let It Be, which found the mix of toughness, tenderness, exhaustion, and wit that became Westerberg's trademark. Snatched up by Sire on the basis of its cult success, The Replacements released two more classic albums—Tim and Pleased To Meet Me—but then began to fracture. Guitarist Bob Stinson was fired for a substance-abuse problem which shamed the other members' excesses. (Stinson died in 1995.) Sire's sales demands began to be felt on 1989's Don't Tell A Soul, and the following year, All Shook Down marked the group's demise. Westerberg launched a solo career by contributing the hit "Dyslexic Heart" to the grunge-era Singles soundtrack, an album that now looks like a changing of the guard, as it nestles Westerberg among many Replacements-influenced acts. Two subsequent solo records, 1993's 14 Songs and 1996's Eventually, offered pleasant variations on Westerberg's well-established themes, but failed to connect with a large audience, leaving him without a label. Resorting to pseudonyms, Westerberg began a second career for his alter ego Grandpaboy, later carrying his newfound stripped-down approach into his solo discs Suicaine Gratifaction (1999) and Stereo/Mono, a 2001 double-album debut for the small label Vagrant. The coming weeks will see a flood of new Westerberg material: The concert film/documentary Come Feel Me Tremble makes its DVD debut on October 21, alongside its soundtrack and Dead Man Shake, a new Grandpaboy album on the blues label Fat Possum. From his Minneapolis home/studio, Westerberg weighed in on cigars, stardom, and fatherhood in a conversation with The Onion A.V. Club.
The Onion: In virtually every scene of Come Feel Me Tremble, you're smoking a cigar. What do you look for in a cigar?
Paul Westerberg: The nearest available one. I would send a runner out every day of the tour, because obviously I didn't know where the local tobacconist was, and they would get me whatever they could find. It does look like I smoke a lot, but most of the action is right before I go or right afterwards, which would be the two times I'd be tending to smoke more.
O: You wouldn't call yourself a cigar aficionado, then?
PW: No. Not by any means, although I was given a few Cubans along the way, which was very nice.
O: Did you give up cigarettes?
PW: Yeah. I started to get chest pains and emergency-room panic attacks, and figured it was due to the ciggies. So I quit that by sort of weaning myself with those thin cigars, then worked myself up to the big stogies. Now, I gotta be careful that I'm not just inhaling these, which is like 10 cigarettes at once.
O: You don't seem like the type of guy who would enjoy being followed around by cameras. How did this film project come about?
PW: Well, it came out of us sitting around talking to Pete, the T-shirt man. I thought, "Gee, we ought to give him a job, give him something to do rather than just..." A lot of the venues, he would go and they would sell the shirts for him. So I suggested we get a camera, and he started shooting stuff. I was very comfortable having him do it. Then they set up a professional shoot for the last gig in New York, which came out pretty well, although my voice was a little ragged, so we don't see as much of that. Then we got the idea, "Why don't we just enlist the fans and see what footage they have?" And it came. Tons of it. A lot of it was really poor quality. Some of it was poor quality but the performance was good, so we used the best of that, and used their photographs, too. My theory is that everyone who gets the movie will recognize one scene, because their friend probably had that tape. We used about 20 seconds of every tape.
O: You created the Grandpaboy alter ego to avoid label issues. Why has he stuck around?
PW: It's a good way for me to be able to release as much material as I want to. It sucks when you've got... Even on a smaller-scale independent label, they still have schedules. I love the idea of writing a song, cutting it, and having it released in two weeks. That's not going to happen, but at least this way I can have an outlet to play the guitar. To play my more rockin' stuff. They're pretty cool at Vagrant, to let me do that.
O: Are you a prolific songwriter? I've talked to people who can't stop writing and people who have to be whipped to write...
PW: I have to be whipped to stop. That's where I am right now. It's kind of frustrating. I can't really write more, because I've got a whole album's worth already ready to go. They start to stockpile, and I start to record over them. I've erased songs, whole tapes of brand-new songs, with another batch of brand-new songs, because I was too lazy to buy a new tape. I have stuff that goes way back to 1980-82 all the way up to last year in funky forms that might be spruced up. It could masquerade as the unheard basement tapes, but I've got no time to work on that or worry about that.
O: Your habits sound almost Prince-like. Is there something about Minneapolis that makes people record like that?
PW: There's nothing else to do! Half of the year, you're inside. You tend to write in the winter, and I'm not much of a lover of the sun, so I tend to write in the summer, too. I went maybe a year without writing, and instead read books. Then I'll write for a month solid, like four songs at a time, and then I can sort of lay it down and get away from it. But it's always nagging at me in the back of my mind.
O: Was there ever a temptation, if only for your career, to leave Minneapolis?
PW: No. I always thought it was more helpful for me to stay. L.A. gobbles you up, and New York does the same. To me, anybody who has to move somewhere to become something they're not isn't the real thing. If you've gotta move to Los Angeles to make it, then you ain't got it.
O: Next year's album is called Folker, so I assume it's more roots-based. Have you been getting more into that sort of music?
PW: I always have been. That's been my bread and butter. I've always loved acoustic-based music and blues. When I heard punk rock, that took a big chunk of my mind and vision, and I've sort of been melding the three for 25 years, or whatever the hell it is. It's not like I discovered Woody Guthrie yesterday or something. I've been playing acoustic guitar and writing ballads since day one.
O: You used to have an aversion to playing acoustic, though. Did the last tour change your mind?
PW: It's the first one I've ever made money on. It shows how stupid I am. I've toured about a hundred times and lost money every time, just because it all goes to the drum tech and all that shit. I realized that a lot of my songs were singalong quality, and yeah, I can get out there and have a hootenanny vibe. Some of the stuff can't be reproduced without backing, but I've got a back catalog a mile long.
O: It also brings you face to face with your fans in a way that other gigs don't. How would you describe your relationship with your fans?
PW: I got pretty close to them on the tour, because I started doing the after-show meet-and-greet thing, just because I was doing in-stores. I figured, "Well, if I'm signing autographs in Seattle and wherever, then I suppose I have to come out and sign a few in Boston and New York." Every show turned into a... Everyone came on stage toward the last couple of songs, then followed me out to the bus, and after I changed my shirt and had a swig of Coke, I saw a lot of the same people. It got to be, "Oh, it's you again. Get the hell out of here."
O: Did anyone stump you with requests?
PW: Stump me? Yeah, it's not like I'd never heard of it, but I certainly wouldn't remember how to play half the things they were yearning for. I've got a lot of songs, and a lot of those older ones were in funny tunings. Those often seem to be people's favorites, and I've never been able to transpose them into simple chords. I'm not a musical genius, and I sort of paint myself in a corner sometimes. I've got two records right now, and if I had to play the songs, I couldn't tell you how any of them go without listening to them and learning how to play them. I'm a writer. I write and then purge myself of it, and then it's gone for me. It only lives again if I have to play it for an audience.
O: You co-wrote "We Are The Normal," one of the first Goo Goo Dolls songs to get any airplay. Have you ever considered working as a writer for hire?
PW: That was such a convenient thing they did. Johnny [Rzeznik] sent me a blank piece of music, and I just put the melody and the lyrics to it and sent them back, which was really fun. No one else has really done that yet. I wouldn't be a good one to sit down, knee-to-knee, to try to write a song with someone. I did it with Carole King, oddly enough. No one hardly knows about this, but we wrote a couple of songs together. I was in between labels or something, and the publishing company suggested it. I went over to her apartment. Boy, she just sat down and was like, "Okay, let's write." She started hitting something, and I was just rifling through my little grab-bag of scraps of paper and started giving her words. We wrote about three songs that were pretty schmaltz, the sort of thing that sounds like what happens when two people get together and want to write a song for someone else.
O: Do you think they'll ever resurface?
PW: Oh, I don't think... I'm sure somebody will find versions of the things, but we were literally trying to write for Michael Bolton or somebody. I wasn't writing my songs, and she wasn't writing her songs. But I mean, that's the way she's always done it. I've never worked with a person like that.
O: You tell a story in the film about taking a silent elevator ride with Kurt Cobain. As you saw all these bands coming up that were influenced by The Replacements, did you ever feel the need to act as a mentor or give advice?
PW: Oh, no. I mean, crap, I'd be the last one to give advice.
O: If nothing else, you could see some mistakes that were made, like not making money on tours.
PW: Yeah, but I was probably in no position to tell him, "Hey, clean up your act, kid." I could have told him, "Enjoy it, it will be over soon." But he didn't stick around long enough to feel the wonderful pain of the slide down. [Laughs.]
O: How did that go?
PW: It goes fast. You turn around and go, "Oh, that was our peak?" [Laughs.] Suddenly, you do the same venue you did the year before, and only half the people show up. It only hits as hard as high as you go. It didn't really affect me, because the 'Mats never got to the level of superstardom. We went from cult figures to unpopular cult figures.
O: You did tour with Tom Petty.
PW: That was pretty much the beginning of the end. Obviously, the label was trying to get us to appeal to a broader, wider audience, and Tom's fans are Tom's fans. There were a lot of altercations in the audience. Maybe 1/20th of the audience came to see us, and they would get in fights with Petty's fans, because they were booing us. It wasn't really a cool scene, actually.
O: Did you mind Petty swiping your "rebel without a clue" line? [That line, from The Replacements' "I'll Be You," turned up in Petty's "Into The Great Wide Open." —ed.]
PW: It miffed me a little bit, but it's all... I'd steal something back from him, if I could find something I liked.
O: The Replacements and other bands of that era had a tremendous impact on music. At the time, were you thinking long-term at all?
PW: It's funny, because while you're doing it... We didn't stop and smell the roses, so to speak. We envisioned going further than we did. It was kind of a letdown when we sort of fumbled and fell apart, because we thought we were on our way up to the next level. We weren't sure quite like what. But the fact that The Ramones never broke through always haunted us. We thought, "If The Ramones can't make it, then what are we doing? We're not as cool as them by a long shot."
O: If you were going to pick a mistake you made, what would it be?
PW: Listening to other people. It got down to when the four guys in the band started to have different ideas, and like, "Well, my wife thinks that..." You know. As soon as "My wife thinks..." or "My friend thinks..." enters it, it's over. Too many cooks. When it was the four of us and we wouldn't listen to anyone and they would listen to me, we got along great. Then, suddenly, they wanted to stretch their legs and make their own music, and that was cool with me. It just sort of happened, and then suddenly there was no more band.
O: You now do most of your music at home. Do you see yourself working in a proper studio again?
PW: No, I don't. Slowly, the proper studio is becoming my basement. I'll go back when I need to. Right now, I don't want to and I don't need to.
O: You've said that the first three solo albums you did were an extension of your career with The Replacements. How did Stereo/Mono mark a break?
PW: I guess going back into the basement and playing everything by myself is sort of the new version of what I do. Going into the studio and playing with the 'Mats and then other players whom I tell what to do... I thought, "God, I've gotta learn how to play the damn thing, so I can stop being the worst frontman in the word for drummers."
O: Your early days have sort of faded into legend at this point. What's the strangest untrue story you've heard about yourself?
PW: I don't keep up on what the latest are. There was a flurry of them a few years ago.
O: You apparently had a lung removed.
PW: Lung removed... They had me showing up and playing all kinds of weird places, New Orleans and northern Minnesota. Real freak things. Someone would give the song list and what I was wearing, when all along I was at home, perfectly unaware of all that shit.
O: At one point in the '80s, there was a fake version of The Zombies touring America. Maybe there's a fake Paul Westerberg.
PW: I think there's about a hundred of them. [Laughs.]
O: Do you want to name names?
PW: I think that's your job.
O: Do you read a lot?
PW: I do in phases. I'm reading a book about [Vaslav] Nijinsky now, which stems from reading a book about Serge Diaghilev. And why I'm reading about Russian ballet, I have no idea. I've sort of run the gamut... All sorts of entertainment interest me. I enjoy people who were pioneers in a style.
O: Doing ballet is not something that interests you though, presumably.
PW: No. I don't have the, uh, teeth for it.
O: Has fatherhood changed your approach to making music?
PW: If anything, it's made me make music faster. Not necessarily in tempo, but I'll think, "Oh, he'll be home in 10 minutes. I'd better finish this thing up." Johnny's all over these records. He's pounding on the door. I listened last night, and he's on both of the records. At the end of a couple of songs, I go, "Yeah," because I know he's at the door. It's good. It's like my producer now is a 5-year-old, who's like, "Hurry up. Get it done. Scooby-Doo is on."
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Post by brianlux on Jan 26, 2011 11:36:00 GMT -5
These are great, FreeRider. You've got quite an extensive "library" of Replacementium and Westerbergia. Maybe we can persuade you to put together the next 'Mats/PW bio!
And please correct my suffixs if used improperly!
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Post by FreeRider on Jan 26, 2011 14:04:49 GMT -5
Thanks, b-lux...the suffixes seem fine! Sheesh, I dunno about putting together the next bio. That's real work. I'll leave that to someone who can write.
I saved some interviews that I thought were revealing about his art or about himself; that's why I'm bolding certain passages. You know, when others on the board comment about the acoustic nature of Mr. F and all, well, we can see his response to all of that in some of these interviews. He has said that he's always been doing the acoustic stuff and writing ballads from day one. Additionally, I enjoy a good interview. I think a good interview will help reveal something about the person you didn't know before, or you find out there is some pearl of wisdom or insight the subject has. Or other times, you find out the subject is a moron just like you suspected all along!
Alas, I'm starting to run out of interviews. But at least we have this thread as reference guide.
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Post by FreeRider on Jan 27, 2011 12:21:43 GMT -5
Paul Westerberg
Summer 1996
Interview with Paul Westerberg On his new album, Eventually, Paul Westerberg proves what can be achieved by WISTFUL THINKING. by Erik Philbrook
As the scrappy front man for Minneapolis' legendary Replacements, Paul Westerberg rose to fame in the Eighties with his booze-infused live performances and an arsenal of raucous pop/punk anthems such as "Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out," "Kiss Me on the Bus," "Left of the Dial," "Alex Chilton" and "I'll Be You." But no matter how rowdy or indifferent the Mats (as the Replacements were called by their fans) came across, one thing was for certain: Westerberg was one of the great and highly influential songwriters of the modern rock era. In fact, before "alternative" music had a name, the Replacements and Westerberg were it.
After recording seven classic albums with the Replacements, Westerberg released his first solo album, 14 Songs, in 1993 to critical acclaim. Now he has returned with 12 more trademark gems on his new album, Eventually. Although Westerberg's newest material is more reflective and melancholy than ever before, he is -- as the following interview reveals -- still sardonic after all these years.
EP: In taking a look at some of the other artists that have come from Minnesota -- like Garrison Keillor, The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, Ethan and Joel Coen, Bob Dylan -- it seems that there is a streak of quirkiness in your blood. Do you think there's something about the region that seeps into your sensibility?
PW: There's the age-old idea that it's so cold in the winter that there's nothing to do but stay indoors and work on what it is that you do -- your art or your music. That's true. You tend to have more of a vivid imagination if there's not the rolling, crashing surf to watch.
EP: Did you stumble into music or did you actively pursue it as a kid?
PW: I resisted lessons as a kid. My uncles were professional musicians and my mom played the piano, so music was always around. I remember trying to write songs at eight or nine years old with my friend on the piano. We were starting to like Bobby Sherman or whatever was on the radio.
EP: So you picked up the piano first?
PW: Yeah. I picked it up, hurt my back, and put it down. Then I bought a guitar from my sister and that became my passion for the next 20 years of my life. She sold it to me for eight dollars when I was 13. I remember it to this day. It was an acoustic Harmony guitar. I got a little Mel Bay book that showed me how to play four chords and it's still the mainstay of what I know. I started writing little ditties around the age of 14.
EP: What was your first band experience?
W: I was in a band call Oat and I was the lead guitar player. We played a few school dances. I was in another band called Neighborhood Threat that played a couple of parties. But the Mats was the first band to get into an official nightclub.
EP: In the early days of the Replacements you really made your mark by embodying the true essence of the rock and roll lifestyle -- the smoking, drinking, bad-boy type. At that point, how much care did you put into your actual songwriting? Did you work at it?
PW: I did work at it. I've always been proud of my songwriting and I think it was my musicianship -- guitar-playing and singing -- that took a backseat. But the image of the group and what I was saying in the songs were the two most important things.
EP: So you realized early-on how much you could do and say in those three minutes and thirty seconds?
PW: I think it was out of necessity. I wasn't Jimi Hendrix and I didn't have that golden-throated voice. I kind of had a knack for writing.
EP: And you felt you could make an impact lyrically?
PW: I think so. I didn't study much in school and, ironically, when I got out of high school it was only then that I started to go to the library and read books. I had no idea what I was going to do. I wanted to be a musician but I didn't know how to hook up with anyone. So while I was practicing songwriting, I also read a lot of fiction. I think that sort of influenced what I was writing, or how I was writing. I read a lot of short stories and they showed me how to give something a beginning, a middle and an end.
EP: Let's switch gears. Talk a bit about image vs. artistry in your post-Replacements work. How has the image of that band affected your transition into being taken seriously as a solo artist?
PW: Sometimes I'm taken too seriously, I think. People tend to have this image of me now as this sad, lonesome poignant guy. I have a hell of a good time sometimes. People tend to think you are the songs. That's a little weird. I used to have an image of being a decadent, living-on-the-edge partyer, and now it's this other thing and I don't know if either one is quite right.
EP: Do you think now that you are a solo artist, perhaps more attention is being paid to your songs than before?
PW: When the Replacements ended and I made 14 Songs, I was very nervous because suddenly I was out on my own and I didn't have that role as leader of the group to fall back on. I really played up the fact that I was a songwriter, even calling the album 14 Songs. I sort of went back to the days before I had the band and eased into what I am now. I am a musician. I do write good songs. I'm comfortable with what I am and I think people will get it.
EP: It's been three years since your last album. Did you feel pressure to get the new album out by a certain time or did you let your muse decide what was right?
PW: There was no pressure at all. I had waited three years and I could have waited another. I just needed to go back and write more tunes.
EP: Did that sort of inspire the title of the album, Eventually?
PW: Yeah. I felt a lot of the songs dealt with the passing of time or this moment. It was a nod to giving a time-like title, but also it reflects the attitude that the Replacements always had, which had a lot to do with me, in which everything was kind of a joke and who-cares.
EP: A lot of your songs deal with relationships. Do you find that you're still inspired by the same themes that you've always been inspired by, or has getting older changed your point of view?
PW: You can't beat the biggies: life and death and love and hatred. I guess there is less hate in my life and in my music. I used to kind of rant back then about what I didn't like and I don't want to do this and I don't like that. I don't waste much time singing about that anymore. I feel it's a waste of time to sing just about the negatives in your life. I do sing more about the positive things.
EP: You've always fluctuated between writing very rambunctious numbers and quiet, introspective songs. When you sit down to write, are you more apt now to sit down at the piano or pick up your guitar?
PW: Who's in the house kind of dictates that. When no one's home, I can strap on the guitar, but more often than not, it's the piano. I think that comes from, when I'm by myself, I sit down to write a melody. When I have a drummer and a bass player, I instinctively want to write a rhythm.
EP: So you usually start with a melody line or a chord progression?
PW: Yeah. And the greatest thing that I've discovered lately is to not be afraid of using the same chords. I used to be deathly afraid of using the same progressions, and a lot of young writers are that way. Now I'm not afraid of sounding like something else. Those clichés that there are only three primary colors and only three chords, they're true. Once you have succumbed to that, it relieves you of the responsibility of having to invent a new scale. I'm not out here to invent totally new music for anyone.
EP: On a final note, as I'm sure you'll be hitting the road this summer to promote the new album, do you still enjoy going on tour?
PW: I do like it. I used to like it for different reasons. When you're younger it's more of a party on wheels. When you take away that aspect of it, I still like to perform. I like to think that here's new people coming. It's difficult to play a hundred shows to the same people that you've been seeing for sixteen years. But my gut is that there are new people. The first single, "Love Untold," is getting played in places that wouldn't play me before, so who knows?
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Post by FreeRider on Jan 28, 2011 11:48:56 GMT -5
Do you remember Paul's radio interview on WXRT some years back? There was a question from a caller about the in-store appearances and how it was for Paul to sit there and sign autographs and meet everyone. There's a backstory to Paul's answer to the caller. Here it is: "....Later on when Rick and Alpha lived in LA, he somehow managed to do the impossible. He called me at college, "Do you want to know who I've been hanging out with?" I was in awe of his answer, he and Alpha had been spending time with the Replacements, hanging out together before and after shows. Tommy Stinson stayed at their house one night and made them breakfast in the morning. At one show they invited him on stage to drum with them while Chris Mars took a breather. Their relationship with them was reinvigorated every time their tour swung back towards California.
This, of course, made my stock rise among my new, cool college friends. When the Replacements came to Champaign-Urbana after "Let It Be" was released, I was the one whose name was on the guest list and who got to hang out with the Replacements afterwards. "Rick, I want your sister" was scrawled by Paul Westerberg on one of my record flats. It's not as if they even remembered my name, but they knew who I was in relationship to Rick, and that was enough for them to treat me well.
Ever since Rick died, a mission had been hanging over my head. I wanted desperately to get a letter to Paul Westerberg, to let him know that Rick had died and to convey to him how important his music was to Rick, and to me. I am happy to report that my mission has now been completed. Paul recently came to Chicago to perform and have a record signing. (Side note: His new album "Stereo" is great. Go buy it!). After his heart-stopping show, he stayed to sign albums and meet fans for close to 3 hours. I was able to talk to him about Rick and give him a letter. Michelle, who went with me, was able to help him remember by pointing out the picture that's at the top of this page. He remembered Rick quite clearly and he seemed genuinely saddened. Later, in a radio interview he referred to our exchange:Question from caller: "I was at the Virgin store last week and your performance was amazing. What I wanted to ask you was… when I got up to the desk I told you that you looked pretty tired and you said 'no' as you were writing Penelope instead of Paul on my CD. But given that, there were so many people that you had to do that with and you were so cool about it and spent time with all these people. How was that for you?"
Paul: "I enjoyed it. For every, you know, 1 out of 10 sort-of-lunkheads, there was a couple of people that brought me to tears. You know, I was given things where, you know, your long lost buddy from California passed away and you know, 'NEXT!'. And then the next person's there and I have to choke that down and smile. It's emotionally draining." Turned out his friend was Rick Sortwell. There was a link to a memorial site that had the aforementioned story but the site is now gone, www.ricksortwell.org/mats2.htm
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Post by FreeRider on Jan 31, 2011 10:52:50 GMT -5
Bringing It All Back Home With his two-CD release, Mono/Stereo, recorded in the wee hours in his home studio, former Replacements frontman Paul Westerberg mines familiar territory and hits pay dirt B Y A N G I E C A R L S O N Paul Westerberg's public is having a hard time letting him grow up. As leader of '80s rock icons The Replacements, famed as much for their onstage train wrecks as Westerberg's achingly pure songwriting, the now 42-year-old singer-songwriter set a standard by which all other young rockers would be measured. It's a past that dogs him like a pound pup--that of a scrappy young rocker heading up his own theatre of the absurd with a cast of Minneapolis ne'er-do-wells that seemed equally bent on creating chaos as music. People needed to believe in The Replacements and their myth. Like Cool Hand Luke, we relished every time Paul flipped off the record industry when they laid one of their "You got to get you mind right, boy," strictures on the man's conflicted soul. Like other bands created by rockers whose careers saved them from lives spent either busting suds or pushing a broom, there's a humor and cut-to-the-quick lack of crap exuded by these non-book-learned, outsider artists--guys who'd probably be sweeping the walk of industry execs rather than being courted by them. And when these artists try to "mature," to write songs about aging, doubt, fatherhood, and other non-rock topics, we're collectively let down. Which is why Westerberg's recent emergence after the big-money, major-label disappointment that was Suicane Gratification (produced by Don Was) is providing a knee-jerk reaction to his fans, nay, followers: It's a return to the reckless, here's-mud-in-your-amp street rocker we hoped still lurked within his breast, despite the fact that he's cleaned himself up and, these days, spends as much time as he can watching Johnny (his nearly 4-year-old son) grow. Time hasn't dulled Westerberg's wit; he's as brutally honest as ever--you get the feeling that the mantle that's been bestowed on Westerberg by the rock press is about as comfortable as a hair shirt. As always in interview situations, one wonders if he's playing the character he's created--an iconoclastic diviner of all things false and crap--or if he's truly a crabby fuck. More importantly, is he able to laugh about all of this? Yes, to all of the above. This is the guy who once dismissed an overly earnest interviewer's question about Nick Drake to the effect that "the guy sucks as hard as anybody has ever sucked," and, in recent interviews, not only debunks Nirvana ("I was never a big Nirvana fan; to me, it had too much plod in it"), but torpedoes any lingering sentimentality for the old Replacements days by talking about how he "hated Bob's [Stinson] guitar playing." As for a 'Mats reunion, with Tommy Stinson playing bass in Guns N' Roses and Chris Mars' successful career as an artist, don't hold your breath, although Westerberg is open to the idea. The two-CD Mono/Stereo release is an intimate look into the way the man works--false starts, tape machine snafus and all. We see a musician still striving to understand and harness the creative process while addressing his past, giving fans both a ragged, electric rock album with Mono (using the persona of Grandpa Boy, Mono's shambolic vibe recreates a Replacements session), and Stereo, a collection of acoustic songs that have more in common with Nebraska-era Springsteen, Jimmy Reed, Woody Guthrie and that other famed Minnesotan, Bob Dylan. So now, without a band behind him, Westerberg is letting these songs live outside of his home studio on his solo tour. The Indy catches up with the rocker in his Buffalo hotel room. (We're given a 45-minute interview notice.) He's open and relaxed, answering questions with the bemused irony and bluntness characteristic of his hometown. The fact that critics are pitching a tent for his latest offering doesn't delude him one bit. The Independent: What's it like now to be back in the critics' good graces?
Westerberg: Well, fuck 'em in the head [laughs]. Go fuck every last one of them, because my last record was great. I remember one time when [Reprise president] Howie Klein told me, "I love it [one of his other albums]; this is great, this is gonna fly." And then a bad review came in from Rolling Stone and he called me the next day and sort of said, "God, that was a shame. As of today we're going to pull the plug on it"--because it got a bad review. This was one day after he told me how much he loved it. So these guys can't think for themselves. They can't. They think that if whatever is deemed the literary bible of the moment does not give it that proper star [rating]--four or five, or what it needs to get--then they do not open their check book and promote. When you got released from your last major label deal was it like, "Run free, little bird?" That's the secret that I feel that I can be the one to let out of the bag. When the label gets to say that they dropped an artist that means that they paid them. And when it's a mutual parting, that means that they did not get paid. So Capitol officially dropped me for the price of a record. It was the best deal I ever made. It was like, "Give me money to go home and not play? Cool." How did you end up on a punk/emo label like Vagrant Records? Weren't they all kids when The Replacements came out? The head of the label, Rich Egan, worked at a firm that manages bands, a firm that I talked to to see if they were going to manage my solo career. They had Faith Hill and I told 'em, "You gotta lose this chick. She ain't gonna sell shit [laughs]." And they said, "No Paul, you're wrong," and I said, "Whatever." Then when I was walking out they said, "There's someone here who really wants to meet you." It was the office boy who'd made me a cup of coffee, and it was Ritchie. I said, "Hey man ... " and took the time to be civil to him. Twelve years later, the guy now owns the biggest indie label, and he signed me. That old saying about "the people you see on the way up" ... it's all the people who had their time who I pissed on their shoes. I think I'm set with all the younger people. Is putting this album out a response to the critical drubbing you got for Suicane Gratification? To strip the music back down after having done a big Don Was production? Don wanted to have it stripped down, too. We would have left it naked as hell, but it's the same old thing: There's $100,000 left in the budget, and until you spend it, the company doesn't believe you're doing anything. Half the record was done when I brought it to him. So when you record in your home studio do you engineer everything yourself? Yup. If goose bumps are a by-product of what just happened then I leave it, whether a mike got knocked over or the tape ran out, which it did a couple times in both cases. Those [instances] aren't phony, like, "The tape ran out." Well, the fucking tape ran out. Then somebody [who hears the tape] says, "Of course we can fix it with Pro-Tools." And I'm like, "The whole point is that I work with amateur tools." What is the gear like in your studio? Black. Black shit [laughs]. It's not analog but I've found a way to do a couple things really wrong. I don't know what I'm doing, but I did a couple things where I ran it digitally through an old amplifier and ran the amp through a CD burner; so it's like putting a hula-hoop on the beauty queen or something. It's like taking the highest technology and then pissing on it and making it warm and go through tubes, making it sound to me like rock 'n' roll. Speaking of songs just stopping mid-take--on "Like Dirt To Mud," did you just get tired of playing or did the tape run out? That was an act of God [laughs]. I didn't have another line. Whenever I look and see just a little smidgen of tape left at the end of a reel I figure, "Well this is fun," because I can write something right now, spontaneously; and sometimes it's crap and sometimes you catch yourself writing something really, really good because you know that it might run out and wreck it. It's kinda like being hung out on a ledge or something. Had there been another human being there who would have said, "Here, let me rewind this and do it again," I would have probably done it again. And then someone would have added another instrument and it wouldn't have been as good. What is your crap detector? If you record tons and tons of stuff, do you get up the next morning and play it for anybody right then? No. I never play it for anyone. I sit on this stuff for years sometimes. I found that the stupidest thing to do is to play it for someone immediately--they never like it as much as you do. ... Some of these [songs] I sat around with for a year or two and didn't even listen to, then listened to a year later and then got really scared and then I knew I had something. Fear is a good emotion to go by. You've brought in producers like Don Was, Lou Giordano, Brendan O'Brien--is it hard to trust somebody else's opinion at this point? It's just impossible at this point. For where I am right now there's no one who knows what I do better than me. The big thing is the singing over [doing endless vocal takes until the producer thinks it's right]. And I did so much of that at the end of The Replacements that by the time the engineer was smiling because everything was in key, it was like, "This sucks; I don't like this--this isn't the way I sung it the first time." I want to hear everyone else one-take it. And then take it one step further. I want to hear everyone else engineer it, write the song on the spot, run to the chair and one-take it. If you look at it like that, I'm at least in the top five of the people who do that. How do you feel about The Replacements having become a reference point? When people say a show is like the Replacements they mean the show was exuberant, energetic, havoc wreaking and probably involves drunkenness. Yeah, I know. It was more like theater of the absurd than we were allowed [by critics] to be. They saw us as drunks so they thought we were dumb, but we were a lot closer to Morrison-esque antics than crowd riling and stuff like that--in a good-humored way. The greatest thing we ever did when Chris [Mars] was in the band was we actually wallpapered one dressing room that was full of this priceless graffiti, according to the club. It had what some guy figured was real famous. ... It had James Brown and Wilson Picket and everyone who ever played there. We ordered wallpaper and we wallpapered it. Well, we got some painter dude to bring it and we wallpapered the thing and it was Warhol-esque. It was the most pro, destructive thing we could ever do. Do you look back at that and say to yourself, "I was a dick?" No. I look back and I can say that I would still do that, but I don't have three other guys to help me. You started a whole bunch of kids thinking they had to get wasted to be able to play. Yeah, and the thing that they missed is that The Replacements wallpapered the dressing room. Those were the things they didn't understand. The Replacements would get together and sell tickets for Madison Square Garden and then go onstage and play cards. Well, never on the ticket did it say, "The Replacements are going to play music." We'll get together ... that's something we would do. We always claimed that we broke our share of stuff but we never broke other people's stuff. We didn't hurt other people or other people's things--only our own careers and lives [laughs]. Speaking of health, have you cleaned up? I've found the up switch from Hades--the escalator was taking too long. I am now firmly planted on earth, but I occasionally feel a grasp around my ankle [laughs]. I can't go any further than that other than say that I am, I am ... ugh. What am I? You a member of any 12-step programs? I'm not a member of anything and I never have been. I've been in bad places in my life and I think I'm in a good one right now. www.indyweek.com/indyweek/bringing-it-all-back-home/Content?oid=1187184
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Post by FreeRider on Feb 2, 2011 14:34:21 GMT -5
The in-store incident with the heckler has a back story too. LIKE AT VIRGIN Lisa Hix Sunday, September 5, 2004 www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/chronicle/a/2004/09/05/PKGK28HDIK1.DTL&type=printable"Headed out to San Francisco, definitely not L.A. ..." -- The Replacements, "Left of the Dial". When Paul Westerberg took the stage at the San Francisco Virgin Megastore in April 2002, he was clearly feeling self-conscious and awkward. The former Replacements front man interrupted his show when he noticed his own face on the store's video monitors. "Turn that s -- off. I don't need to look at it." And it's not at all surprising that in a sea of rapt, adoring faces, the '80s garage punk pioneer could hear only one voice while he laid his emotions bare in stark, acoustic ballads -- the negative voice. A comment from a heckler struck a raw nerve, and Westerberg bolted from the stage into the crowd, confronted the wise guy and stormed away. That notorious in-store incident still riles up his San Francisco fans. But that's Westerberg for you -- the consummate misfit, craving attention one minute and then feeling horribly uncomfortable when the spotlight hits him. And that's why his fans love him: He records his emotional ups and downs with an awkward honesty in rough-hewn, country-fried rock tunes. In a recent phone interview from Minneapolis, Westerberg acknowledges that his latest album, "Folker," is "no grand departure" for him. But his hardcore fans are sure to buy the album -- which ranges from the cheeky "Jingle" to "My Dad," a heartfelt ballad about his father's last days -- and memorize it word for word anyway. Westerberg says he made this record after learning what his fans wanted during his record-store signing tour -- catchy, folky songs with drums, bass and electric guitar in the background. San Francisco fans have been awaiting Westerberg's return since the abandoned in-store fiasco. In the months after the incident, it seemed that Westerberg was studiously avoiding this city. He took his full solo tour to the East Coast that summer, and even set a date for Los Angeles, which was canceled. "I remember the San Francisco outing not being the most pleasureful one," Westerberg says, recalling what happened. "It was once again set up in a way that wasn't my style. It was stiff and it was 4 in the afternoon."
Westerberg fan Mark Wickum of Guerneville was there and witnessed the moment: When Westerberg got tripped up by a mistuned guitar, the heckler called out: "This is so Sonny Bono!"
"Sonny Bono? That's it!" Westerberg said, and ran into the audience. Suddenly, he had his hands around the guy's neck, not really sure what to do with him. Westerberg asked, "Do you even like me? Why are you here?" and gave him a playful slap. Then he disappeared upstairs.
"I think I was just sick of playing," Westerberg says today. "I've always been like that. When it's one person heckling and it's really inappropriate during an acoustic performance, and you could hear a pin drop. ... I just snapped there for a minute. I felt instantly bad as soon as I went upstairs. I feel bad that I ruined everyone else's time. It sucked all around." After relaxing backstage at Virgin, Westerberg finally calmed down enough to do the CD signing. He took the time to talk one on one to each of the 100 or so fans who had waited in line for hours. Wickum recalls watching Westerberg hold a long, painful conversation with the young man ahead of him in line at Virgin. "At the end of it, Paul was crying," Wickum says. "And Paul leaned across the table and kissed the guy. I gave him a few moments because he was clearly wiping away the tears, and he looked at the guy who was next to him helping him through the whole thing, and just he gave a look like, 'Oh my God, I can't believe this is as tough as it is.' " "It's a little much of a burden when people say, 'You've changed my life. ' Or 'I lived my teens through you,' " Westerberg says. "You know, I can kind of understand it, but I try not to let it get to my head." What most fans don't know is that Westerberg and his heckler eventually made up. The man flew out to the Twin Cities and hunted Westerberg down.
"He was almost trembling with fear and just sort of asking for my forgiveness so he could go back and live in peace, because he said that people were making his life hell in San Francisco ever since," Westerberg says. "I hugged him and said, 'Man, it's no big deal. Go back and tell them all to go to hell.' " The dust-up appears in the Westerberg concert documentary, "Come Feel Me Tremble," which had its world premiere in San Francisco in July 2003, an event sponsored by the NoisePop Festival. Watching the film, local fans got a preview of songs from the 2003 CD "Come Feel Me Tremble" while feasting on live performances (Bay Area devotees couldn't help but feel envious watching New Yorkers curl up on an onstage couch with Westerberg while he finger-picked "I Will Dare"). Westerberg, who is writing songs for an animated feature called "Open Season," says he think it's the honest quality of his performance that appeals to people the most. "I'm done making records where we do 20 takes of something and make everything perfect." Another record is definitely forthcoming, he says. His fans have been eagerly speculating online about whether he will hit the road soon. Westerberg himself seems unsure, but sounds less than enthusiastic about the idea. "No, I don't plan on going on tour, but everybody wants me to," he says. "I've done it so many times where it leans toward nostalgia." The legacy of the Replacements shadows Westerberg everywhere he goes. Some hold it against him that he hasn't re-formed the Replacements, or that he doesn't write the same anarchic, youthful rock he used to. And if he were to go out on tour, Westerberg doesn't want to play with any slick young admirers. "It would have to be some grizzly veterans who know me and have been around the block a few times. They probably don't look as pretty but would know how to follow me if I wanted to, like, switch gears and play Jimmy Reed instead of my own stuff. "You know, next time I (go on tour), maybe I'll end up toward San Francisco," Westerberg says suddenly, as if the idea just came to him, "when I'm warmed up and have got a bunch of shows under my belt and things are a lot more casual."
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Post by anarkissed on Feb 2, 2011 15:54:00 GMT -5
"Sonny Bono? That's it!"<<
Hope Paul was more irritated by the act of heckling than the actual reference to Sonny Bono...Poor Sonny...He never got any respect...He actually wrote a few decent songs, was a pretty good producer, and certainly understood the record business in the early 60's...Yeah, he couldn't sing worth a damn, but occasionally did a passable stab at Bob Dylan with a really bad head cold...
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Post by FreeRider on Feb 2, 2011 16:03:31 GMT -5
oh there was more than that....here's the recounting of the incident that was posted on alt.music.replacements:
Date: Thu, 25 Apr 2002 10:28:07 -0700 (PDT) From: Thierry Cote Subject: the story of the San Francisco in-store... I don't know if you've read this already (it's taken from alt.music.replacements) - the heartbreaking tale of our Paul's dealings with a misguided, moronic, deserving-of-a-slow-painful-death heckler.... Thierry
"I have a feeling that the San Francisco in-store will go down as one of the legendary Paul Westerberg performances, to take its place alongside all the Bob-in-a-dress, Paul-broke-his-finger, Chris passed-out-on-the-drum-stool stories that have been told and retold over the years. Luckily, or unluckily, I was one of the few who who got the complete picture of the beautiful/ugly episode and I'll try to pass it on with as much accuracy as I can muster. This is going to be long, but I thought it was a story worth passing on. Based on the reports from Seattle, I feared that I would have difficulties even getting in to the show at the Virgin Megastore, so I arrived about 3 hours early to buy my copy of Stereo and get my pass. They hadn't even set up the stage at that point and there was no sign of rabid PW fans anywhere, so I went out to get something to eat. I called my sister who had seen the Portland show the night before and her report sort of squelched a little of my enthusiasm. She said that she actually had a hard time watching him clearly struggling onstage in front of an audience that was relentlessly calling out old Mats tunes. By her count, he only finished four or five songs in the hour that he was onstage, and as she witnessed his exit to a backroom where he promptly laid flat on his back in exasperation, she realized that she wasn't going to be able to bear meeting him face to face.
I returned to Virgin a little over an hour before showtime and there were exactly ten people standing in front of the small stage. I'm not saying that this is going to be the case for every show on this tour, but there was no line, you really didn't need to buy the CD at that particular store to get in, and to top it all off, the "pass" that was handed out with the purchase of the CD meant absolutely nothing. I never even took it out of my pocket. After milling around the store for a half hour, I figured I'd better get in position. It was around 45 to 30 minutes to showtime and there were around thirty people around the stage area. With the the next ten minutes or so, the crowd multiplied, and by 5:00 there were maybe 100 to 200 folks waiting for Paul to take the stage. At one point I heard an employee say that they were expecting 800 people. A few minutes later, another employee said that they only sold 150 copies of Stereo. You do the math.
Paul was about 15 minutes late when some guys behind me became restless and started yelling out Goo Goo Dolls song titles. I only half heard what was going on, but it was clear that their behavior had started a minor argument with some other folks. Paul came out a few minutes later, wearing a beige suit covered in paint splotches, a bright green western-style shirt, bowling shoes and shades. He recognized a group of three or four guys who had caught the Seattle and Portland shows (I didn't talk to them, but I overheard them talking about the trek) and said, "No, not you fuckers again. I'm sick of looking at you guys."
The moment Paul picked up his guitar, I was shoved hard from behind. (Keep in mind that the crowd really isn't that big, and everyone has a generous amount of personal space.) He had his arms folded and pressed into my back, so I turned around and said, "Are you going to hug me?" "What?" he mumbled without moving back. "You want to take a few steps back or do you planning on hugging me the whole show?" He looked at me for a few long seconds, apparently not noticing that I was a head taller, and said, "Only if you buy me a drink, bitch." Paul kicked into a laid back rendition of The Best Thing That Never Happened and I stared this idiot down until he became uncomfortable enough to take a step back. I wasn't going to miss the show because of some jackass who wanted to rub up against me, even though the urge to headbutt him was almost irresistible.
Next, Paul comfortably slid into Lookin' Out Forever and I felt somebody push my shoulder aside. I turned around again and glared at him for a really long time, just trying to fight the urge to kill. My wife put her arm around me and told me not to kill him until the show was over. I turned back around and felt someone grab her arm and yank it off me. I spun around ready to spit blood, and saw her fists in the air about to swing. It happened fast, but apparently the idiot's friend thought that her arm was his, and in trying to stop a fight he pulled it away. He apologized profusely and wisely moved his friend about 5 feet to the side of me. I put it out of my mind as Paul moved into a medley of Eyes Like Sparks and Dylan. He kept muffing the lyrics to the Dylan song (I can't even think of the title, so I understand) and interjected, "There's only one good line anyway." He seemed in really good spirits and quickly eased into a confident and a relatively flub-free set of Mats classics and new and recent solo tunes.
There wasn't a whole lot of chatter between songs and he really seemed to be giving his all. It was a really emotionally charged performance, with many lump-in-the-throat moments. Unfortunately, my antagonizer decided to start heckling. The first thing he yelled--after Paul flubbed the Dylan lyrics--was "Play something you know!" After Paul spat out a few lines of some UK (he sang with a British accent) punk song that I probably should know but don't, the idiot yelled out, "Play something you know that's good!" Paul was clearly pissed off at that point, but brushed it off and took it in stride. The guy just kept up the heckling, though. He talked and laughed through the quietest songs and kept screaming out completely moronic comments. For instance, when Paul started playing Swinging Party, the guy decides to break the spell by screaming, "Is this one of those Replacements songs?"
After a tremendously moving rendition of Lush and Green, where Paul added heartbreaking lyrics that explicitly detailed the suicide of a friend ("She ended her life as best she could/That morning in Emily Woods"), I thought that the heckler was shut up for good, but he yelled something idiotic and some real anger flashed across Paul's face as he said, "I still know how to fight." Paul glared at him to let him know that he was serious, and unbelievably, the guy actually muttered, "I better shut up now." Unfortunately, he did not shut up. Just a couple songs later and he was talking to his buddies, laughing at Paul's most emotional moments, and occasionally belting out some out of tune lyrics (I should point out that the show was very quiet and the rest of the audience listened in complete silence--followed by enthusiatic applause of course).
When Paul went to the side of the stage to change from his dark shades to some light blue-tinted glasses, the idiot yelled, "Rock star!" Paul, still trying to keep his good humor, stepped up to the mike and said, "That's rock and roll star." Everyone applauded and when it got quiet again he added, "Actually, I just wanted to see who was heckling me," and shot another long stare in the asshole's direction. Again, this idiot muttered something about it being "time to shut up before I get my ass kicked." And again, he apparently couldn't control himself. Paul started playing Someone Take the Wheel on his hollow body, but after the first verse it was clear that the guitar was tuned wrong. "This is fucking F," he said as he took the guitar off and handed it to his tech guy. He strapped on an acoustic and picked up the wrong amp cord. His roadie tried to get his attention and give him the right cord, but Paul was a little too frustrated to see what was going on. At that point, the guy behind me yelled, "That was a real Sonny Bono move!" For a split second, Paul looked like he was going to fight back with another joke, but instead he got pissed. "Sonny Bono? That's it," he said as he flung down his guitar.
He bolted off the stage, broke right through the movie theater-style barricade between him and audience and went straight for this asshole. I involuntarily exclaimed, "Exactly! Thank you!" as Paul shot past me and wrapped both hands around the guy's neck. He throttled him one quarter-jokingly/three quarters-roughly for a few seconds, then pulled one hand back to punch him in the face. He stopped short, and with one hand wrapped firmly around the guy's neck he slapped him hard across the face. Paul turned quickly and stormed away from the stage and up the escalator. The crowd was completely silent and Paul clearly muttered, "Thanks, Bob," as he made his way to the second floor.
When he was halfway up the escalator and it was clear that he was going, the crowd burst into applause, no doubt hoping that they could coax him back. Paul waved over the railing and disappeared upstairs. Everyone fell completely silent and turned accusingly to the asshole, who was beet red. I couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or inflamed from Paul's all too gentle beating, but this guy was frozen in his tracks. In the dead silence I called out, "He's right here if anybody wants to kick his ass!" As a small, but solid, guy pushed his way through the crowd, I thought it was going to happen, but he just got right up in his face, poked him hard in the chest and said, "Get up on that stage and apologize to everyone. Right now!"
The heckler sheepishly walked up to the stage, but the roadie started yelling at him to get off and then gave him another push back into the crowd. The same audience member got right up in his face again and snarled, "Apologize." "I tried," the moron said weakly. For some reason, he and his two friends just stood shell-shocked while everyone else looked on, most of them trying to figure what exactly had just happened. His friends decided to slowly usher him out, and since I felt that the asshole hadn't been humilated enough, I yelled out to the silent crowd, "Somebody's got to kick his ass on the way out!" Well, nobody did, and I'm actually glad for that since I'm usually not such an instigator, but I did feel that the memory of the public humiliation he suffered would prevent him from proudly retelling "Paul Westerberg kicked my ass" stories for the rest of his life.
Everyone shook their heads and started to shuffle off, certain that Paul was gone for good. A Virgin employee announced that Paul would be signing on the second floor and most of us headed up the escalator, not really expecting to get anything signed or shake the hand of the man who had just put on such an amazing/horrible/beautiful/painful/hilarious/pissed off performance. We all sort of naturally fell into a long line in front an empty table, and soon there was an announcement that Paul was "calming down" and would be out in a few minutes. As I expected, the concept of the signing passes was pretty ill-conceived. Nobody could really enforce the rule that "those with passes go first" and nobody even really tried. Everyone fell into line as they came up the escalator and there were no arguments as far as I could see. Of course, most everyone was trying to process what had happened, and I had to tell the whole story a number of times as more and more people tried to gather all the details. Paul waited long enough for the general mood of the crowd to change, and my little section of the line discussed how the SF show was probably just as long as the other shows and probably better in many ways.
He eventually shambled out and took a seat in front of a corner window. It took me about 20 minutes to get up to the front and I saw that Paul was clearly having a difficult time. This was no normal CD signing. Many people took just a few seconds to say a few words and have him sign the disc, but there were many others who engaged Paul for a decent length of time. A few people in front of me had what appeared to be some lengthy heart-to-hearts. Paul became fully engaged with these people and was clearly willing to speak to anyone for as long as they wanted. Nobody seemed to take advantage of this, but as some people left the table, Paul was very emotional and needed to take a few moments to rub his eyes and take a deep breath.
The kid in front of me moved in very close to Paul and after only a few moments of speaking, Paul rose from his seat, gently cradled the back of the boy's head and kissed him on the cheek. Paul sat back and spoke with him for a few minutes before my turn was up. I waited a few seconds as he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked up at the Virgin employee who was guiding the line and gave a look that said, "This is getting tough." I decided to lighten his load with an enthusiastic handshake. "I had your back, man," I said jokingly. "What?" He was still in a bit of an emotional fog. "I had your back. We could've taken him." He chuckled and rolled his eyes. "There's always one asshole. What are you gonna do?" "Well, I thought slapping him was a damn good idea," I said. I introduced him to my wife and he took my CD out of my hands to sign. We told him what a beautiful performance it was as his pen hovered over my disc trying to place the best spot to sign his name. Instead of signing it, he leaned back and said, "Well, the sound was much better here than at the other two shows, that's for sure." He was obviously willing to hold a relaxed conversation, with no pressure to move on to the next one in line, but I only wanted to thank him and shake his hand, so he signed my disc and we were on our way. I was really impressed with how open and genuine he was with the fans. On the ride home, listening to Stereo for the first time, I recognized the same openess and genuine sentiment that I had seen in person. He's obviously a troubled man, which makes his empathy and williness to connect on a personal level with his troubled fans all the more impressive. It was an amazing show."
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Post by raccoon on Feb 3, 2011 15:01:16 GMT -5
Freerider - thanks so much for posting your account. This seems to be the definative take on the event. Not that it really matters but did the guy seem drunk to you or just a natural a-hole? That was an odd tour for sure. There was some weird but very palpable tension in the air which seemed to come from Paul but after about 3 songs he absolutely owned the audience just like old times..
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Post by FreeRider on Feb 3, 2011 16:13:57 GMT -5
Freerider - thanks so much for posting your account. This seems to be the definative take on the event. Not that it really matters but did the guy seem drunk to you or just a natural a-hole? That was an odd tour for sure. There was some weird but very palpable tension in the air which seemed to come from Paul but after about 3 songs he absolutely owned the audience just like old times.. ooops, sorry for not being more clear in my post! that wasn't my firsthand account, that was someone else's who posted it on alt.music.replacements awhile ago. i'm just merely passing along the firshand account and to add more to the backstory of the heckling incident. That must've been very tough on Paul, beginning his forays into these solo gigs after being away for so long and to have some drunk guy yelling shit at him.
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Post by TomT on Feb 3, 2011 16:50:03 GMT -5
I remember reading that what...almost nine years ago now. Boy, time sure flies.
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Post by anarkissed on Feb 3, 2011 19:13:57 GMT -5
Yeah, remember reading this a while back. Enjoyed re-reading it. Well-written. Speculating on what could have possibly motivated this heckler, usually drew three conclusions: - Drunk - That's an easy guess... - Mentally disturbed... - Just an asshole... Later on, though, I started to think that maybe this guy was actually a big, albeit misguided, fan...He probably read and heard all those stories about the Replacements being drunk and obnoxious in public, and this was his way of replicating that behavior. Maybe he thought Paul would actually appreciate some "good-natured" heckling. "Hey, this is just the kind of thing Paul would have done..." I can easily imagine this clown actually thinking that. He probably thought he was being really cute and clever, and having Paul actually respond probably only reinforced this impression. He was probably thrilled that he was having some kind of "personal interaction" with his idol. After it was all over, he probably had a hard time understanding why other people were so irritated. No doubt he concluded that they must have all been latecomer fans whose favorite album was "Don't Tell A Soul". He probably went home, put on "Stink", and called all his friends to retell the story in blow-by-blow detail, only making it seem like Paul was only kidding when he went into the audience after him, and that rather than a choke and hand to the face, Paul gave him a friendly slap on the back...
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Post by GtrPlyr on Feb 3, 2011 21:11:40 GMT -5
Big thanks for all the articles FreeRider. A lot of these I've never seen before. There's been some interesting tidbits for sure.
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Post by FreeRider on Feb 4, 2011 10:13:30 GMT -5
Big thanks for all the articles FreeRider. A lot of these I've never seen before. There's been some interesting tidbits for sure. Hey, you're welcome! Yeah, I saved some of these just because there were some interesting things and insights into how he views the industry or songwriting or how he views himself as an artist, etc.... I am surprised though that the heckler went out of his way to visit Paul and came away unscathed. Knowing how Paul cherishes his privacy and being left alone when he's off duty from performing and all, I would have thought Paul's initial instinct would've been to bash this stranger's head in with a baseball bat for lurking at his front door. I mean, knowing the kind of mythos surrounding him, I don't blame Paul for being a little paranoid from fans when he's off duty and off stage, living a normal life!
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Post by FreeRider on Feb 4, 2011 10:32:43 GMT -5
This is another interview that Paul talks about kicking teeth down someone's throat, this was originally on the Vagrant website but later got yanked:
About Paul Westerberg
Like the groundhog looking for its shadow, like Dracula coming out of his grave, rock and rolls legendary semi-recluse, Paul Westerberg, is sticking his head up from hibernation in the hinterlands to release two albums on Vagrant Records on April 23, 2002. Both records were recorded at home in Minnesota by Paul in the best Prince "I'm playing it all myself" tradition. Stereo is filled with the sort of open-hearted ballads and late-night introspection that has made Westerberg one of the most influential songwriters of his generation. Mono, credited to his nom-de-rock Grandpaboy, is the type of balls-out rock n' roll that made his former band the Replacements revered -- out of all proportion to their record sales.
Cornered in his cellar studio while his young son was taking a nap, Westerberg explained why he was releasing two CDs at once.
"I've been hanging out at home for three years," he said. "As time passed I wrote more and more different kinds of songs and then the idea was to split them up. Do what I've never done, go back to the days of the LP and have rock and roll side and another side. I had to fight to get two individual discs. I want you to be able to put on this disc if you're in this mood and that disc if you're in that mood. It's just the luxury of having what I think are so many good songs. All recorded down here in the basement. Most of them were cut one thing at a time, live, one take. I'm a fan of that school. Fuck. I'm the head of the class. Jerry Lee is the professor. If you mean it, you do it once."
Asked about his low profile in the three and a half years since he became a dad, Westerberg said he saw no practical downside to being out of the public eye. "I started to see Mick Jagger promoting his record in mid-October," he explained. "I saw him five or six times on national TV, prime time. He did everything by the book, classic show biz event strategy. What did the thing sell? About fifteen copies? I'm no longer a believer that you have to do it that way. I think my way works just as well. I think there is as much interest in me now, just by not doing anything, as there would be if I were ramming it down people's throats."
Westerberg appreciates that the fact that he's made no public appearances and done no interviews has not interfered with his fans believing he has.
"I have people calling saying that they saw me perform at such and such and I was wearing a certain suit," he said. "Total rubbish! I haven't left the house since the last century. It's not like I've been itching to do a tour, but I stay at home because I want to be mysterious. I mean, I'm sick of it. I did it. I always claimed I'd stop when it wasn't fun and one day, bang zoom, it wasn't any fun. I stopped."
Asked if he will tour to support Stereo and Mono, Westerberg said, "I'll have to check my notes on that one: 'As soon as I get this blood out of my drugstream.' That's my stock answer."
He's quick to deflate his own myth. "I actually had the balls to watch a video of the Mats from fifteen years ago that I'd never looked at," he said. "First of all, I've got to say, 'God, I was good-looking,' and second, 'When I thought we were really smoking, we SUCKED.' So one illusion was shattered."
Even if that's true (and all Replacements fans know that the band could be as great one night as they were dire another), there's no disputing that the two tours Westerberg did after the Replacements ended are still talked about lovingly by those who saw them.
"Well, I feel like I paid my debt," Westerberg said. "I feel like I had my fun with the Replacements and then I had to go out and sort of pay back the people who might have seen one of those legendary Mats shows but didn't hear an actual song. So I did two tours where I went out and played the best songs I'd written as good as I could. I then felt like it was even-Steven and that was it."
Let's try this on: Paul Westerberg is like Clint Eastwood's character in "Unforgiven" - the notorious gunfighter who has changed his evil ways and settled down to raise a family, afraid that if he ever takes one step back toward his old life - if he straps on a pistol, steps in a saloon, takes a sip of whiskey - he will be sucked right back into a life of sin and corruption.
"There's a little bit of truth to that," he said. "I actually wrote out the words to Hank Williams, 'Lost Highway' last night. The whole life of sin seems like a million years ago? but it's still waiting. It's a monster, a deadly beast waiting out there for me. The word 'tour' scares me. Will I perform? That scares me. But I think this one calls for it. If it wasn't for the rock and roll stuff you'd have a harder time getting me out there with just an acoustic guitar by myself. I've never been a fan of that."
In the second half of 2001, rumors flew through the music business that the Replacements were reuniting. Westerberg admitted it was almost true - he and Mats partner Tommy Stinson (now of Guns N Roses) recently came close to doing a guerilla tour of the frozen Midwest, completing the dates left over when Buddy Holly's plane crashed on February 3, 1959.
"I had this wild idea," Westerberg said. "We would release the Grandpa Boy record on February third and retrace the twelve dates the Crickets were forced to maintain after the death of Ritchie Valens, the Big Bopper and Buddy Holly. The promoters didn't blow the tour off - they actually made them play! I suggested this when the guy who used to be our road manager was at our front door. And within a half an hour phone calls were going, we had the promoters, I had Tommy on the phone and he said he'd do it. Grandpa Boy was going to rise from the grave to avenge Buddy Holly's death, starting in Moorehead, Minnesota, February 3rd. They were gonna rush release the record. Then I got a call from Tommy three days later saying he couldn't do it. I guess Mr. W. Axl Rose needed his presence out west. So I pulled the plug."
Westerberg's willingness to reunite with Stinson and go careening though the Big Bopper's final itinerary says a lot about the anarchic spirit that animated all his best songs, from the Mats to today.
"The part of me that wanted to throw that last minute, Grandpa Boy/Buddy Holly thing together is exactly what I was to the Replacements," he said. "That's the same spirit that was intact the day I met those guys. It wasn't so much as a performer as it was a troublemaker with wild ideas. Fortunately for me, I had henchmen to egg me on. Tommy, more than anyone I ever met, really played that role. He would take on of my wild ideas and push me and run with it. That's why this thing almost worked with him. As soon as he was out it wouldn't have been fun."
Which is key to Westerberg's attitude: "Let's have fun, let's do things differently, let's break the rules. I'm doing that with Grandpa Boy. It?s not correct. It's confusing. It'll probably hurt me in sales and confuse the public and whatever. But it gives me a thrill."
Westerberg concedes that his new CDs are coming out on the indie Vagrant because he was fed up with the major label circus. In the mid-nineties he worked hard to get out of his long-term contract with Warner Brothers so he could accept an offer on a fresh start at Capitol Records with new president Gary Gersh. On the day he finished his Capitol debut, he got word Gersh had left the label.
"That did take a lot out of me," Westerberg said. "It wasn't that I thought I was being mistreated at Warners. I just knew I'd worn out my welcome and a fresh start would be good for me. Literally, the day my record was mastered I got a call from Gary Gersh saying he was no longer with the company. As soon as the record was done, he was gone. Gary had encouraged me to make a non-commercial record. Suddenly the new people are saying, 'Hey, there's no single!? Well, that was the plan, wasn't it? I'm dead sick of auditioning my songs for people to say if they're good enough to release. There's a time that I would just do what my gut tells me. When it's done it's done, and I'm not going to change a note.'
While he has been out of the spotlight, Westeberg's influence has grown. From Soul Asylum and the Goo Goo Dolls to Wilco and Ryan Adams, he has gotten into the DNA of rock and roll. The British magazine Select recently cited the Replacements "All Shook Down" as a seminal influence on the Alt-Country genre. All of which got a reaction from Westerberg, typical of a man who never wanted to belong to any club that would have him as a member.
"It's driven me back to the basement!" Westerberg snapped. "I turn on the radio and I hear something that sounds vaguely reminiscent of me and I think, 'That's not how it goes, you dumb fuck! THIS is how it should go!? I heard myself in so many different forms that I was not sure if I'd gone crazy or not. Before I started making records nobody sounded like me. Now I hear myself in everything. Am I nuts or is it true? My ego can't accept it, so it makes me paranoid, like I'm crazy. Like, 'It can't be! I'm nuts.' But when I see the haircuts and I see the way they're standing - then I want to kick their teeth down their throats. I mean that. There is a part of me that wants to be Chuck Berry at the airport if you know what I mean. That's the same part of me that put that little garage band together 20 years ago. That part of me will never go away."
Westerberg calmed down, turned philosophical, and said, "But you know, Johnny Thunders never hit me." Then he smiled. "He had the chance. He missed."
Westerberg was fired up now. The Unforgiven had smelled gunsmoke. Daddy Paul was receding and Grandpa Boy was coming out.
"I almost got my teeth fixed," he suddenly declared. "I always told myself that when I was done, when I hung up my rock n' roll shoes, I would get my teeth fixed so I'd look like a regular human being. I was almost to the point where I was gonna have it done and something wouldn't let me. I've got to keep my rock n' roll teeth until they fall out of my head. I need 'em. I can't gloss 'em over."
Which pretty much sums up where Paul Westerberg finds himself in 2002: Clint Eastwood strapping on his six-gun. Doctor Jeckyll cooking up a cocktail in his basement lab.
"I'm not lost in a little fog here. I kind of know what I'm doing. I'm gonna go back and do what I started out doing in the beginning with a little less energy but a lot more knowledge."
"I'm proud of this new record. Don't say it's anything fresh or new. It's not. It's not going to get stale, it's not the pick of the week. It's not rock and roll. You can hear the very first record I ever played and you can hear this one and you?ll hear a lot of similarities. I am what I am goddammit."
Westerberg smiles with his crooked rock and roll teeth and explaines, "Let's face it, if I was filthy rich I wouldn't be talkin' to you."
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Post by GtrPlyr on Feb 4, 2011 10:43:28 GMT -5
I am surprised though that the heckler went out of his way to visit Paul and came away unscathed. Knowing how Paul cherishes his privacy and being left alone when he's off duty from performing and all, I would have thought Paul's initial instinct would've been to bash this stranger's head in with a baseball bat for lurking at his front door. It's even more surprising when you find out the heckler was Ryan Adams... Seriously though, that seems pretty crazy to go all the way from SF to Minnesota just to apologize to Paul and ask for his forgiveness. Plus the guy would have had do some investigating to find out where he lived, again that's going a bit too far. It reminds me of a scene in a Lennon doc I saw where a guy shows up at his door at his English manor. I guess a lot of people in the public eye have to deal with these little surprises on occasion.
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Squaw
Star Scout
You're the only one that you are screwin' when you put down what you don't understand~ Kristofferson
Posts: 544
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Post by Squaw on Feb 4, 2011 18:38:48 GMT -5
It's even more surprising when you find out the heckler was Ryan Adams... Oh no you didn't!!!!! LOL!!! Nice jab GtrPlyr!
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Squaw
Star Scout
You're the only one that you are screwin' when you put down what you don't understand~ Kristofferson
Posts: 544
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Post by Squaw on Feb 4, 2011 18:41:05 GMT -5
FreeRider, these are all great articles. Thanks for taking the time to share them. I've gained a lot of insight from reading them. Keep on posting!
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Post by FreeRider on Feb 5, 2011 8:44:02 GMT -5
It's even more surprising when you find out the heckler was Ryan Adams... ha! good one! ;D oh, i agree, that's a little over the top. he's lucky he didn't get a baseball coming at him! And true, I guess once you achieve some sort of celebrity or fame status, strangers showing up at the door and invading your privacy is part of it. Reminds me of a funny story Pete Townshend said in some radio interview about how that kind of thing has always happened. he said one day he was looking out his window and saw two people at the back gate of his estate going crazy that the two of them had spotted Townshend, screaming, "Look! Look! It's him!" And he wondered what the hell was going on. So he goes down there to get them out of there and he finds out they were overzealous fans going nuts when he came out. They tell him that they had been camped out for two weeks waiting to see and meet him because he's meant everything to him blah blah blah. And Townshend says, to them, "Didn't you know? I was on holiday for the last two weeks. We just got back last nite! Now go away, you silly people!"
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