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Post by bobstinsonsghost on Jan 5, 2012 15:17:58 GMT -5
when i get into a band i try to listen to the people that influenced them and i've discovered alot of good stuff that way.
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sivad
Star Scout
Posts: 323
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Post by sivad on Oct 12, 2012 19:01:56 GMT -5
Found an article from 96. It's been awhile since this thread has seen the first page....
A classic interview from my archives – Paul Westerberg
by Alan Paul
The Replacements were a very important band to me. I saw them in September, 1984, at the late and lamented Joe’s Star Lounge, weeks after arriving in Ann Arbor as a freshman. Per Hoffman – now one of my oldest friends, then a new and exciting acquaintance – told me that his friends were talking endlessly about the Replacements and we had to go. I was sold by the Village Voice quote on the poster which was plastered all around town – something like, “the dream flannel amalgamation of CCR and the Ramones.” Sounded good, and they delivered.
It was my introduction to a whole other world of music, and it helped open my eyes to a burgeoning alternative world. I turned away from most of it and back towards blues and other roots music before long, but the best Replacements music has stuck with me, because I think it transcends its time and genre, and that’s because Paul Westerberg wrote some really great songs.
I consider this 1996 interview with Westerberg something of a lost classic – lost even to me. I was very happy with it at the time, but sort of forgot about it and when I came back across it I was honestly taken aback by how good it is. I’m really pleased to have found it and to have the opportunity to share it again. And I’m proud to have been the one to get Westerberg to tell his secret – he always wanted to be a blues guitarist. I knew there was something different in his music.
Last spring, Paul Westerberg and Brendan O’Brien entered an Atlanta studio to record Westerberg’s second solo album. Some observors hoped that working with O’Brien, the über-producer who has worked with Stone Temple Pilots, Pearl Jam and the Black Crowes, might bring Westerberg the hit record which has always eluded him. Two weeks later, the former Replacements’ frontman was on a plane home to Minneapolis, with most of the tracks he and O’Brien had worked on left to gather dust.
“It just wasn’t shaping up to be as good a record as I knew it could be,” Westerberg says. “Sometimes you just have to know when to pack it in and try over.”
Once an iconoclast, always an iconoclast.
Westerberg enlisted Lou Giordano (Goo Goo Dolls, Sugar, Smithereens) to help him finish up. The result is Eventually (Reprise), the title apparently a reference to the three years that have elapsed since his solo debut, 14 Songs (Sire/Reprise). Despite the start and stop recording process, the album sounds spontaneous and fresh. Westerberg is again the sole guitarist, and the instrument comes more to the fore here, with a chiming 12-string on “These Are The Days,” careening fills on “Century,” layers of acoustics and electrics on “Love Untold” and a pretty, liquid-toned lead line on “Once Around The Weekend.”
Some of his rockers now sound formulaic—even he admits, of Eventually ‘s “You’ve Had It With You,” “I’ve written that same song about 15 times now.” But Westerberg’s touch with subtler fare remains deft, as evidenced by acoustic-based gems like “Hide N Seekin,” “Angels Walk,” “Time Flies Tomorrow” and “Good Day,” a moving tribute to Replacements guitarist Bob Stinson, whose 1995 death seemed sadly inevitable.
The strength of the new album’s mellower tunes isn’t really a departure for Westerberg. For, while the Replacements were known for their drunken antics and unpredictable live shows, what actually set them apart in the early-Eighties alternative scene was their knack for balancing careening rockers with Westerberg’s aching, vulnerable ballads. This yin and yang was fully realized on albums like Let It Be (Twin/Tone,1984), Tim (Sire, 1985) and Pleased To Meet Me (Sire, 1987), landmark albums which largely failed to find a larger audience.
But just because the band never became stars doesn’t mean they didn’t leave a mark. Their melding of punk aggression and pop hooks became a touchstone for legions of alternative bands. Kurt Cobain, for one, was a major acolyte, taking much of his frayed flannel vulnerability, as well as the pained, nicotine and vinegar singing, from Westerberg. (He also borrowed the title of Nirvana’s Geffen debut, “Nevermind,” from a Replacements song.) All of which has left Westerberg with a strange niche in the rock world, someone who skipped stardom on the way to becoming a legend. It seems to be enough for him.
“I don’t have anything to prove these days except that I can still make meaningful music,” Westerberg says. “I can’t get hung up about how they’re going to sell anymore. Whatever happens, I’ll just tour for a while, then record another one. That’s what I do.”
GUITAR WORLD: Did you start out intending to be a guitarist or a songwriter? PAUL WESTERBERG: A guitarist. I spent years sitting in my room listening to stuff with hot guitar players, like Duane Allman or Mick Taylor, trying to learn riffs. I fancied myself a lead guitar player until I was 19. Then I realized I sucked and that being a lead player just wasn’t going to get me where I wanted to go.
GW: Did playing with Bob make you realize that quicker? WESTERBERG: Not really. When the Replacements asked me to join, it was expressly to be the lead guitarist. Things developed as they did somewhat out of necessity. Bob couldn’t sing a lick and he couldn’t write a song. I knew where to steal from and looked kind of reasonable standing in front of a mic, and we took it from there. Bob became the lead guitarist simply because he could not sing. Nor could Tommy [Stinson, bassist and Bob’s brother], who was 13 and whose voice hadn’t even changed yet. I learned to do what I do because I had to. If I didn’t do it, they would have gotten someone else to do it…and I liked their sister. [laughs] GW: So it was the Stinsons’ sister that drew you to them? WESTERBERG: That was a big part of it. I definitely wouldn’t have come back a second time if it wasn’t for her. GW: Did being a frontperson come naturally to you? WESTERBERG: Hell, no. It still doesn’t. My knees shake before every performance. It didn’t come naturally at all. I was terrified. I commanded the basement for a long time before we ever confronted an audience. Then it was like starting over again—with people responding to your singing by throwing things at you.
Fear of performing was quickly exchanged for fear of the audience. We were thrust into the punk scene, where if you weren’t good and weren’t sure of yourself, you would literally be physically attacked. So we had to get good real fast. Our survival instinct took over.
GW: Actually, listening back to Sorry, Ma, Forgot To Take Out The Trash [Twin/Tone, 1981], I was struck by how tight you guys were on your very first album—much more so than the reputation indicates. WESTERBERG: That stemmed from utter fear. We didn’t know what we were doing, and we were really scared of failure. We practiced really, really hard before recording the first album. We learned our parts and we learned complementary parts, and we made sure that everything meshed. It wasn’t until two or three albums later, after we had toured quite a bit, that we realized not everyone cares so much about notes, that your attitude and what you say and wear on stage is a big part of it too. As we learned to put on a show, the meticulousness of the songs and the playing tended to change—or suffer, depending on how you see it.
GW: Did the Replacements’ reputation for inspired drunken mayhem become a trap? WESTERBERG: Of course it did, though we didn’t realize it at the time. We drank to give us courage and once we had courage we did zany things to make people remember us. And once they remembered us we started to write good songs and play better but it always seemed to be overshadowed by the zany things we did. We just couldn’t up the ante that last time. We didn’t know where to take it because we had created this albatross. That’s why the band broke up—there was nothing left to do.
GW: Why do you think critics liked the Replacements so much? WESTERBERG: Because we never made it. If we had sold a million records, most of them would have abandoned us real fast. I know that they still like U2, but we didn’t have that kind of integrity or sophistication. We were just a good fuckin’ time. Then we started taking the whole thing seriously and that was the kiss of death.
GW: You guys were very different from the type of acts that a major label was used to working with in 1985. Do you feel that you were sort of put into a slum there? WESTERBERG: To a certain extent, but to be fair, they did give us a chance with Pleased To Meet Me. But no one really spelled out what was required of us. A few years later bands like Guns N’ Roses promoted themselves on a major label with our style of behavior, but we were still of an era where misbehaving was not something that the label could tolerate or promote. I think they thought we were just pretending to be what we were and what we really wanted to do was sell a million records and live the good life. I think they were kind of shocked when they realized that we were what we were.
GW: Are you saying you didn’t want to sell a lot of records? WESTERBERG: I’m saying we wanted to do what we were doing. If that sold a million records, wonderful. But they wanted us to change and toe the line and that tore us apart. Each individual band member went through this trauma: “Do we change what we do?” The problem deepened because we began to realize that our behavior had become old hat and we had to change, but we felt trapped that if we did change, it would look like we did it because the label told us to, and we’d lose credibility and everyone would say we sold out. We suffered a lot for that.
GW: That seems somewhat silly now, but at the time, many considered the mere act of signing with a major to be an act of treason. WESTERBERG: You resent where you’re going because it means you have to leave where you came from behind. I’ve often wondered how our music would have been effected had we never signed to a major label, and I really think it would have gotten slicker quicker. I think if anything we tried to keep it as rough as possible for as long as possible because we felt somehow dishonored by being on a major label. I mean, we always loved pure pop music. We would have made that kind of music from day one, had we been capable of it.
GW: Did Bob love that stuff, also? WESTERBERG: Oh sure. You shouldn’t confuse what Bob liked with what he was capable of playing as a guitarist. He was great at playing one style, but he loved lots of other music.
GW: Were your ballads immediately accepted by the others? WESTERBERG: Rarely was there a song that we all thought was great. There was tension pretty much every day over everything. [laughs] And, yes, as a rule, Bob preferred the high voltage stuff but I knew that sticking to that was going to lead us to a quick end, because we weren’t the best at it. Black Flag, Hüsker Dü and Minor Threat were our contemporaries, whether we wanted them or not, and they did that better than us. There was also R.E.M. I think it was very good for us to see a band that could retain their credibility while playing softer music, but we were more often slugging it out in clubs with genuinely scary rock bands, not writing pretty songs to compare to R.E.M.
GW: There was a time when you and R.E.M. were on equal footing, the two great hopes of bringing underground music aboveground. Have you reflected on that much? WESTERBERG: Of course. I’ve had to mention them in every interview I’ve done since 1981. The problem is, they don’t have to mention us anymore. You’d think I would learn my lesson and never mention their name again. They simply don’t have to acknowledge us anymore. They won.
GW: Why have you not used another guitarist on either of your solo albums? WESTERBERG: I never think that my songs need guitar embellishment. I tend to think of them as simple tunes which can pretty much be carried by the chord structure and vocal melody. If your interest is maintained by a little guitar or horn flavor, great, but I don’t really think that my songwriting generally calls for flashy guitar work. And if it’s not flashy, I can handle it.
GW: You use different tones to create a full guitar sound yourself. Do you utilize different amps to do that? WESTERBERG: No. Years of performing have taught me to control things from the axe. I’ll just roll off the high end or play with the volume at two or three. I’m not an effects person and I don’t have an arsenal of amps at my disposal, but I am picky about my sound. I don’t like sustain and I don’t like a lot of compression. I prefer a sound that’s right in between dirty and clean and doesn’t have that 10-second sustain when you hit one chord. I’m pretty much lost when the tone gets over-saturated and there’s no distinguishing between one chord and the next. You need to be able to hear me change chords. But I just keep it simple—amp, guitar. Besides, I hate music stores—I never go into them.
GW: Why do you hate music stores so much? WESTERBERG: They’re just jam packed with guys who don’t have it, guys who spend their lives learning how to play the instrument but don’t have anything that people want: no personality or life about them. I see a lot of bitterness in music stores and I always have. I remember trying to buy a saxophone at the band instrument store and even that place had a total loser vibe. The guy picks up the horn and blows this Coltrane-esque run with me, who can’t play at all, looking for help and getting really pissed. I was like, “Fuck you. I’ll go find one at a garage sale and teach myself.” And I did.
GW: Eventually sounds very organic and relatively raw, so why did it take you three years to record? WESTERBERG: Most of the songs are essentially live—my parts and the main rhythm parts are live takes. That’s the case for “These Are The Days,” “Once Around The Weekend,” “Trumpet Clip,” “Love Untold” and probably a few others. But sometimes it takes a long time to get a really good first take.
GW: You began to record the album last spring in Atlanta with Brendan O’Brien, then pulled out after a few weeks and only three songs from those sessions ended up on the album. What happened? WESTERBERG: When you don’t spend a lot of time overdubbing, what you’re really going for is a performance and sometimes you’ve just got to admit, “Hey, I’ve got the wrong mix of people. Maybe I should write some new songs and try it again in six months with someone else.” That’s just what needed to happen. It would not have been as good a record had I finished it all in Atlanta.
GW: Are there any specific songs that benefited from the change? WESTERBERG: The prime example is “These Are The Days.” Brendan really wanted that song to be a ballad and I felt it had to be rerecorded with more of an uplifting lilt, and I think the results prove I was right. But, look, the sessions with Brendan weren’t a disaster by any means: “Love Untold” is the first single and whatever it took, we got one magic, live take. We thought we were going to make a great record, but it didn’t work out that way. We ended up with one great song and two really good songs. That’s not a bad two weeks.
The producer’s role is at times an unenviable one. If things aren’t going well, he has to make suggestions, but he doesn’t know what’s deep in me. He saw something that wasn’t working and he tried to make it work, but I knew that direction we were taking it was not right. GW: And I suppose that one of your reasons for going solo was to be able to do things your way without having to run it by other people. WESTERBERG: [pauses] That’s very astute of you. Sometimes I really miss not having a band because if a song needs tension, it’s hard to provide it by yourself. But I willingly give that up in order to be the final vote on everything I do because I think I know what the feel should be—and I’m the one who has to live with it forever.
GW: This may sound strange, but “Time Flies Tomorrow” has sort of an Allman Brothers vibe. WESTERBERG: It’s not strange. You’re probably thinking of “Melissa.” I didn’t dodge it sounding like something else, but I thought it was more reminiscent of [The Rolling Stones'] “Moonlight Mile.” I think some of the best songs sound instantly familiar. When you choose to work in the arena of simple chords, what you are basically saying is, “This is a I-IV change. You’ve heard it in a million pop songs, but I’m going to give it to you again with my own lyrics.”
GW: You use several bassists on the album, including yourself. How do you decide when to bring someone in and when to play it yourself? WESTERBERG: Every once in a while, I want an aggressive bass part, and I can’t do that, but if it’s a loping, folk-pop thing I’ll just do it. A lot of bass players frown on that style, but sometimes you’re better off when you don’t know a lot, and I only play the root note. To me, rock and roll is drums, rhythm guitar and vocals. Lead guitar and bass are almost superfluous if the drummer is great and the rhythm is tight. I’ll usually cut live with the drummer and if there’s a bass player there, I’ll have him take a crack at it. When I listen back, if the drums aren’t doing it for me, I usually blame the bassline and redo it, simplified, myself. The bass playing that I like is minimal, ever-so-slightly behind the beat, and played with the kick drum.
GW: Do you still consider yourself a punk at all? WESTERBERG: Was I ever or will I ever not be? Somewhere in between lies the answer. I am a musician and an artist, which is something I couldn’t have said back then ’cause we would have been laughed at. We were anti-artists. We were punk rockers, but I think the connotations the word has these days are very predictable and silly. I would be more happy to say I’m a well-rounded adult. That’s much more dangerous than being a punk these days.
GW: Who were your primary guitar influences? WESTERBERG: The usual suspects from the school of crash and burn guitar playing: Keith Richards, Johnny Ramone and Johnny Thunders. Everything sort of comes from those three, at least in terms of rhythm. Lead-wise I listened to a good deal of blues, anyone from Albert and B.B. King and Eric Clapton to Mick Taylor and Mick Ronson. Plus Neil Young—and Bob, who influenced me a lot.
GW: That may cover the hard rocking stuff, but there is another, very different side to your music as well—the ballads. Who were some of your main songwriting influences in that regard? WESTERBERG: There’s someone I always think of, but hesitate to say and I’ll just say it: Burt Bacharach [composer of such pop hits as "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head" and "Do You Know The Way to San Jose"]. My ear has always been pulled to piano chords, which I think is largely what set the Replacements apart; we were a garage band playing at extreme volume, yet I was playing things like sixths and major seventh chords, which immediately made people say, “Well, that’s the Beatles.” Yes, the Beatles used those chords, but so did every other pop songwriter. Top 40 pop radio of my youth was my songwriting guide.
GW: Were you scared to sing ballads when you first started writing them? WESTERBERG: Yes. And to this day I’m never charged with courage when I write them and, especially, when I present them to the first person. I’m always a little sweaty palmed. I have learned that the ones I am most afraid for anyone to hear are usually the ones that will strike a chord with people. But the fear is real and true—those are also the ones someone will laugh at. You just can’t be afraid of sounding wimpy or of someone pointing a finger and laughing at you.
GW: Your songs tend to be very personal. Have you ever written a song that was just too personal to record? WESTERBERG: Too shit! [laughs] “Too personal” could be a euphemism for too whiny, too maudlin or too self-centered. I think I’ve reached the point where I know when I cross the line into masturbation.
GW: Why have you never included lyric sheets on an album? WESTERBERG: Two reasons: growing up, my favorite records never had the words in them, and whenever I see lyrics written out, I always think that a good song doesn’t necessarily make for good poetry. It’s the marriage of melody, lyrics and rhythm that makes a song. And that’s what I do. I don’t write poems.
GW: Do you hear your influence in other bands often? WESTERBERG: Not often enough. I hear my influence in a whole lot of people who profess to never have heard us, which bothers me a little. It’s fine when people acknowledge where they got it. You’re welcome to anything—borrow, lift, steal it all, as long as you admit it, because I’ve always been honest about where I took things, whether it be Eric Carmen or Hüsker Dü.
GW: The Goo Goo Dolls have always sounded a lot like the Replacements and they had a hit with “Name,” which sounds like one of your outtakes. WESTERBERG: What can I say? For seven years John Reznick had to talk about me. Now I have to talk about him. The Goo Goo Dolls obviously fall into the category of a band that listened a lot to the Replacements, learned from us and took from us, but have made no bones about it. So they have my blessing.
GW: Have you heard Wilco or Son Volt? WESTERBERG: Ugh. No comment. I’m always mystified when I hear my own voice on the radio. I never know who it is and it’s really weird when I realize, “Oh my God, this is me.” Well, I’ve thought I heard myself a few times when it’s been them, and that makes me very uncomfortable. They’ll swear up and down that I’m full of shit and they never listened to us. I guess we listened to the same people growing up then.
GW: Legend has it that the Replacements stole your masters from the Twin/Tone offices and threw them into the mighty Mississippi. Is that true? WESTERBERG: As many as we could carry. [laughs]. I think we took about five reels, and I don’t even know what they were. We thought we were taking outtakes, which we were convinced they were going to release because we had signed with Sire. We didn’t think it was fair for our outtakes to become a record.
GW: Another Replacements legend is that your first gig was at an alcoholic halfway-house. Is that apocryphal? WESTERBERG: No. That was our first performance, though we didn’t play a note. We were physically ejected from the building for being drunk. All of this stuff that sounds like a bold-faced lie is the truth. The only myth I’ve ever heard was the thing about the vomit dripping off the ceiling in Memphis while we were recording Pleased To Meet Me. Someone made that up.
GW: Has your opinion on videos changed at all since you attacked them in “Seen Your Video” [Let It Be, Twin/Tone, 1984]? WESTERBERG: I thought I was waving a flag saying, “This is real rock and roll and that isn’t.” I was probably masking my fear of the medium. I no longer fear making a video, but I honestly don’t like them. I never have and I never will. I like film and I understand that a filmmaker has a right to interpret and fulfill his vision, but not on my song. I have given the lyrics all the visual that is necessary. I want people to think of the time they met their girlfriend to this song, or had a fight, or went for a ride, not some guy with no teeth, and a midget dancing with a hot babe.
GW: Do you write on an acoustic? WESTERBERG: I used to. More and more, I’m writing on piano, then adapting it to acoustic. The melodies are born on piano, then I just play the simpler, nut-position chords on the guitar. The piano helps me sing melodies that I wouldn’t come up with over a G and D chord. I hum up the melodies and adapt them to my basic three chords. Of course, the rockers, like “You’ve Had It With You” I write on electric guitar. I just tune to an open chord and bang out the riff.
GW: You guys were always associated with Hüsker Dü, but did you ever identify with Prince as a local guy? WESTERBERG: Sure. We experienced the same weather and a lot of the same things growing up. Minneapolis audiences are mighty reserved, and learning to command an audience in a place where people are notorious for being quiet will either make you a wallflower, quiet artist, or it will make you really boisterous, aggressive or flamboyant, which is what it did for both of us. I really think a lot of his flamboyance came from the suppression of the place that we live. It’s a cold place to live in more ways than one.
GW: A lot of people thought “World Class Fad” [14 Songs] was about Kurt Cobain. WESTERBERG: I know for a fact that he did. I feel bad that he died, if that’s what you want to know. I feel real bad, because he was a major talent. But more than that, I feel happy that he was born and that he heard the shit that he did.
GW: Did you recognize things in his life and think that his path is one that you or someone on the Replacements could have followed? WESTERBERG: Yeah. I think the eventual death of Bob illustrates that perfectly. That could have and probably would have happened a lot sooner if we had had a lot of success and become really popular before we developed any semblance of maturity. And he might not have been alone, either. Let’s leave it at that, please. We knew that what happened to Bob was gonna happen one day, which didn’t make it any less shocking or tragic.
GW: What do you think is your greatest strength as a guitarist? WESTERBERG: My understanding of yet inability to play the blues. I approach my rock and roll or pop music the way someone else would approach blues. I try to keep it as bare, simple and real to life as possible. Because my true desire, my dream in life—which I have never before revealed—is to be the greatest blues guitar player in the world. There, I said it.
GW: I think your description of what you try to do on the guitar could apply to your songwriting as well. WESTERBERG: Absolutely. A lot of people wouldn’t understand that. They’d say, “But you use more chords and sing songs that sound like the Monkees. That’s not the blues.” Well, that’s like saying the blues always have to be about waking up this morning and feeling bad. That’s not what makes for great blues. It’s the honesty is what it is. And there’s another thing to be learned from the blues: once you realize that playing guitar is mainly about what kind of shirt and shoes you’re wearing, it all falls into place.
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Post by FreeRider on Oct 12, 2012 19:49:59 GMT -5
thanks for posting, sivad....I never get tired of hearing what he has to say.
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Post by TomT on Oct 13, 2012 8:21:09 GMT -5
Wow, that was a good one. Thanks for posting!
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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 Oct 16, 2012 6:37:48 GMT -5
Nice. I hadn't seen this one.
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Post by wecantgetanybetter on Nov 3, 2012 15:06:49 GMT -5
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Post by TomT on Nov 3, 2012 20:49:16 GMT -5
Very nice. I never saw that one before.
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Post by FreeRider on Sept 28, 2013 11:27:55 GMT -5
Interview on MTV with Allison Stewart, transcript:
June 7, 1996 -- The Replacements may be a part of punk-pop history by now, but band-leader Paul Westerberg is back on the scene with his second solo album, called "Eventually" -- which is out exactly 3 years after his first solo album, "14 Songs." Alison Stewart welcomed him back.
STEWART: Drifting away from his garage guitar past, Paul Westerberg has returned, looking dapper and daring to release a pretty pop record called "Eventually."
PAUL WESTERBERG: I think I would have liked this record when I was in my teens but I would have been afraid to tell everyone that I liked it. But it has that quality of, like, old Carly Simon records or something that... I've always loved that stuff but I had to pretend for a good ten years that that wasn't cool. It was like, ah no. Those records went way to the back of your collection.
ALISON STEWART: So many people describe pop songs. They always put the word "little" or "silly."
WESTERBERG: A silly little pop song.
STEWART: Why be so dismissive of the pop song?
WESTERBERG: It depends where you are. I think in England they have a better perception of what pop is. To me, pop embodies it all. You know, rock and roll is part of pop. I think people are afraid to make a catchy tune.
STEWART: What are the elements of a catchy tune?
WESTERBERG: For me, it gives me goose bumps. I mean, that's how I know if I've got something that's good, and you want to hear it again as soon as it's over. I mean, you ever bought records like that? You listen to one song and its like bang, bang, bang, again and again and again.
STEWART: The Replacements, Westerberg's former band, wrote many of those kind of songs and often played them stoned drunk -- but now at thirty six, Paul's left both the band and booze behind. (To Westerberg) May I ask you about your sobriety?
WESTERBERG: Sure.
STEWART: Did it change the way you wrote?
WESTERBERG: No, but it changed... I was able to tell if I wrote a piece of crap really quick. When you're drunk, you can't tell. You think it's good and you might be drunk the next day when you hear it again, and you might be drunk every day when you record it, and then one day you sober up and six years later... and it's like, "That's no good."
STEWART: Unfortunately, founding member of The Replacements, Bob Stinson never sobered up and died last year of substance abuse. He is remembered in Westerberg's ballad "Good Day." (To Westerberg) Is "Good Day" written about Bob?
WESTERBERG: Well it... Bob helped me finish it. Let's just leave it at that.
STEWART: "Eventually" is Paul Westerberg's best work yet. That according to Paul Westerberg who makes this offer to those listeners who might not agree with him.
WESTERBERG: You're gonna like it. You know, if you like it now, great. If you don't, hang on to it, in five years play it again. It' s like, ya know, if you don't like it by then, I'll come and give you your money back.
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Post by FreeRider on Jul 1, 2014 10:39:19 GMT -5
thought I'd bump this thread in light of virtually zero interviews by the band on the reunion gigs...
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Post by FreeRider on Aug 4, 2014 15:37:33 GMT -5
The following appeared in the fall issue of Pop Culture Press magazine: By Rachel Leibrock
Paul Westerberg is pissed.
Standing on a tiny, makeshift stage at San Francisco's Virgin Records store one late afternoon, the former Replacements front man has just finished making his way through nearly an hour of songs - both old and new.
Everything has been going OK up until this point. Sure he's fumbled with tunings, muffed a few chords and forgotten lyrics, but the audience - more than 200 strong - is friendly and indulgent.
Except for one guy who has now spent the better part of the set calling out needling jabs such "play something you know."
Westerberg has taken it all in stride -until now. He's just launched into "Someone Take the Wheel" when the heckler yells out "Sonny Bono!" and Westerberg snaps.
One. Two. Three.
Just like that. In a blur - half of a blink of an eye, if you will - Westerberg's guitar is on the ground and the musician is in the audience, his hands around the neck of the offender.
He pulls his arm back as if to throw a punch but then, just as fast as he arrived there, something snaps again and Westerberg settles for a light slap across the guy's face. In another half-blink Westerberg returns to the stage and then makes his way to the escalator - his back turned away from the scene. But, as he rides the steps to the store's second floor the crowd beneath him erupts in applause and Westerberg turns back to look, flashes the peace sign and then disappears.
He will emerge again, some 30 minutes later - flanked by his manager and store personnel - sit down at a table in a corner on the second floor and spend the next two hours signing autographs, chatting with fans and posing for photos - all with a seemingly unfailing politeness and cheer.
If you think there are two Paul Westerbergs you are only partially right.
There are several Paul Westerbergs: the legend, the musician, the father and the man who prefers to make music alone in his basement.
"It's the essence of why I chose to do this in-store tour," Westerberg explained earlier in the day while relaxing in a San Francisco hotel room. "I wanted to ensure that I'd at least be in front of people who were aware of me or knew me and liked me and would forgive me if I couldn't play a song all the way though."
Wearing a hot pink shirt, navy blue vest and smoking a cigar - his hair tousled to rock'n'roll perfection, Westerberg, 42, appears comfortable and cheerful despite having spent the last week on the road. There's a small duffel bag tucked into a corner of the room (Westerberg won't be spending the night here, it's merely a resting place between gigs), a Jelly Roll King CD spinning and an Anne Sexton biography on the dresser.
Inside the book - a gift from a fan - is an inscription that reads "To Paul, who saved my life."
Westerberg shakes his head and laughs when he reads it aloud.
"It's a horrible feeling," he says ruefully. "I almost think 'God - I saved you? Can you save me?"
He's used to the feeling. After more than 20 years of writing songs (both with the Replacements and as a solo artist) that on one level are gut-wrenching, primal rock songs and, on another level, naked and painfully honest, Westerberg has amassed a legion of devoted fans and a musical legacy that's still slowly steeping its way into the mainstream.
Now, with the release of not one but two new records on Vagrant - the solo "Stereo" effort and "Mono" (recorded under Westerberg's Grandpa Boy moniker) - Westerberg has a chance to amplify his legacy - if not necessarily prove something.
Westerberg, whose last album "Suicane Gratification" was released on Capitol, says he went with the label for two simple but important reasons: they offered him the most money and they agreed to take the albums as is.
"I wanted to find someone who would release it exactly as it is - as two records," says Westerberg. "I didn't want to shop it around and say 'oh listen to the potential here'."
To some however, the choice of Vagrant - a Southern California-based upstart indie label best known for its emo punk bands - the decision might seem odd. After all, Westerberg had already made his way around the rock'n'roll block several times before members of other Vagrant bands such as Dashboard Confessional and Saves the Day even started high school.
Perhaps, but Westerberg isn't above admitting that he's enjoying his new elder statesman status.
"It's fun, it feels natural because it makes me feel old properly. I'm not so wise but I could teach them a thing or two," he says. "They've never dealt with a full-fledged creep before. They've never dealt with an artist who has 15 records and knows the difference between doing an in-store - most people who have 15 records don't do in-stores."
It's not that Westerberg didn't want to do a full-on tour. He just couldn't round up the right players.
With rumors swirling around the Internet about the possibility of a Replacements reunion Westerberg confirms that he's talked with a couple of his old cohorts - Tommy Stinson, Slim Dunlap, Chris Mars to be exact - about the hitting the road for a fast-and-furious tour.
The initial idea, he explains, was to recreate the infamous -and fatal - Buddy Holly tour of 1959 - date for date, town for town.
"I called Tommy up saying 'listen, I've got this crazy idea'," recalls Westerberg. "I (told him) I've got these songs we should play and we should just wing and go out raise hell."
At first it seemed as if Stinson was game but at the last minute he pulled out - claiming obligations to his current band, Guns'n'Roses.
"With Tommy it would have made a world of difference because he is the other half of my brain," says Westerberg now. "He functions where I can't."
As such, Westerberg won't rule out a future Replacements reunion. He can imagine, he says, a scenario where he and Tommy gas up the van, drop by Chris's house and say "come on - we're going out for a week."
Nothing long-term, he says - not that the Replacements ever needed long-term.
"We made 'Stink' in a night so we could conceivably play Madison Square Garden, make a movie and make a record," he says. "We could do it all - it's possible."
"I'm not done with the notion that I might play in the Replacements again," he continues. "(But) I'm not done with the notion that I might form a brand-new rock'n'roll band."
In the meantime Westerberg is content to make music alone in the basement of the house he shares with his partner Laurie Lindeen (formerly of Zuzu's Petals) and their three-and-a-half-year-old son Johnny.
Both "Stereo" and "Mono" were written and recorded there - over the span of two years - in rough, sometimes hurried takes.
"No effort was made to fix what some may deem as mistakes," read the album's liner notes ("Stereo" / "Mono" comes packaged together.). "Tape running out, fluffed lyrics, flat notes, extraneous noises, etc. Many were written (or born, if you will) as the tape rolled."
The resulting records are a mix of raw emotion, frenetic energy and rough lyrical gems. The albums have received mostly positive reviews in the press and among Westerberg's peers and fans - producer / singer-songwriter Jon Brion even covered a track - the emotionally incendiary "Eyes Like Sparks" at a recent show.
"Stereo" is the quieter of the two discs - filled with melancholy numbers such as poignant "Boring Enormous" ("Here with my headaches and cigars, my love for you has finally scarred.") and the haunting "We May Be the One."
Conversely, "Mono" - recorded with full instrumentation - is a spirited rock record that defiantly wears its emotions on its tattered punk rock sleeve - much in the vein of an early Replacements record. (Despite rumors to the contrary - Tommy Stinson went as far to release a statement denying any participation on the record - Westerberg insists he played all the instruments on "Mono"),
In particular, the album's closer "AAA" is a teeth-gritting outburst of seething rage and resentment grounded on one simple refrain "I ain't got anything to say to anyone anymore."
"The reality of it was just the depressing nature of just sitting around by myself and saying it for myself - 'I have nothing to say to anyone anymore," says Westerberg of the song. "It was me realizing that 'I have nothing to say ...'. But I guess I have some things to hide. It's like, maybe the point is 'why do I have to have something to say?' - and then I follow it with something to say."
If that sounds confusing and contradictory it's because the song -as with all the songs on the two discs - were born out of a quasi nervous breakdown.
Following the release of 1999's "Suicane Gratification" - a vastly underrated album that received minimal exposure due to shakeups at Capitol - Westerberg says he seriously contemplated the end of his career.
"I came home to have a nervous breakdown but all I did was bend," he says of the last few years. "The experience taught me that I don't break. I'm resilient."
"I'm fragile - I am a flower," he continues with an apologetic laugh. "It's a cliché -but I'm not the strong oak tree, I'm the delicate flower."
Westerberg credits much of this resilience to the birth of his son.
"I was ready to quit music - son or no son," he says. "I think it was a matter of having reached the end and wondering what to do next. I was encouraged by someone to become a father - it was the best thing I ever did."
Parenthood, however, hasn't changed his approach to songwriting.
"Fatherhood hasn't edited me much," he says. "First of all I put a picture on the (Grandpa Boy) album cover that would horrify him. I didn't do it for that reason but it was like, 'I can't not do this just because I have a little boy. I have to teach him that these things co-exist. Daddy plays catch and does real things and then Daddy goes and wears funny clothes and plays rock'n'roll."
For the future Westerberg is turning back to the past. He's working on a covers record and says he spends a lot of time listening to old blues records.
"While I was at home I recorded 'Nowhere Man'. I got to the point where I thought whey don't I record my favorite songs of all time," he explains. "I thought, if I don't do it now, maybe I never will. I don't feel like I'm going to die, but I would I be lying if I said I felt like I could see myself a long time from now."
As for the blues records, Westerberg says he's drawn to the roots of rock'n'roll - both out of a love of the music and as a defense mechanism against the latest breed of Replacements imitators.
"The way I can compete with my competitors is to go back to places they don't know about," he says.
Over the years a number of Westerberg doppelgangers have appeared on the scene - everyone from the Goo Goo Doll's John Reznick to this year's model, Ryan Adams. Westerberg says he bears none of them any ill will but "I think it's about time people started looking at it through my eyes."
"I'm here, I'm staying. I'm the original," he says, taking careful pains to explain that he understands what it's like to look up to a musical idol.
"I certainly sought solace in my records," he says. "(But) I'll never be Bob Dylan, I'll never be Keith Richards, I'll never be Pete Townshend and I don't give two shits about any of the other guys who sound like me."
The following interview took place in San Francisco in April of 2002:
Paul: I was going to give you the good seat…. You're going to transcribe?
Rachel: I'm not going to rely on my memory…
Paul: Sometimes memory is ….
R: Well, I like to rely on it for other things…
PW: (laughs) I always have a hard time with my memory…it failed me magnificantly last night
R: during the performance?
PW: Yeah
R: what happened?
PW: well I couldn't remember a damn thing….it's the essence of why I chose to do this because I wanted to ensure that I'd at least be in front of people who were aware of me or knew me and liked me and would forgive me because I can't play a song all the way through. And I never really could..but I could fake it with a band, but it's hard, my memory is shot
Cory: A friend of mine interviewed you a few years ago when the "All Shook Down" record came out and you said "I'll never play acoustic"…it's pretty surprising that you decided to do it.
PW: I figured, I kind of count it as a grown-up consolation for the fact that Vagrant signed me and they were sort of clueless as to 'what do we do next?' and I thought, well, what's the least expected thing?
R: When you say consolation, what do you mean?
PW: They give me money…and see I look at it like I give them music and they give me money and it's a fair deal but they don't look at it like that, they figure if they don't make their money back in this time and then make a profit in this time then they failed. The fact is that in 10 years they'll make a 100 times what they paid me. But I just wanted to let them know that I was willing to participate and do television shows.
R: Show them that you're a team player?
PW: it's kind of like it's a team that I could damn nearly lead.
PW: It's hard to say without sounding condescending towards any of them. They're all young and energetic and it's like…I instantly know when I'm being lied to. I've been lied to by the best.
R: How did the deal with Vagrant come about?
PW: They gave me the most money. Two reasons: they gave me the most money and I gave them what is the record - I call it 'the record', "Stereo / Mono" - I gave it to Darin who used to play bass with me who I hired as my manager / valet / henchmen / partner-in-crime, and said 'find someone who will release it exactly as it is - who is not going to change anything."
R: To release it as two records.
PW: Yeah, I mean, not like shop it around like 'oh listen to the potential here'. It's like we have a done record would you like to release it? If not we'll release it ourselves Rich jumped at the chance. Then he got hooked up with Interscope which held the whole thing up. He was totally independent and then he did the song-and-dance between Warner's and Interscope and I had to nine months wait and see. Not that it would really matter in the end, but that's what held it up.
C: So it had been done for that long?
PW: Yeah, I initially expected it to come out in October.
R: So what's it like being on Vagrant? With bands that are young, upstart punks…
PW: It's fun, it feels natural because it makes me feel old properly. I'm not quite so wise. I think I could teach them a thing or two - I can already tell. It will help them somewhere down the line with their bands. They've never dealt with a full-fledged creep (laughs). I say that cravenly but they've never dealt with an artist who had people who - I mean, I have 15 records and that's the difference between doing an in-store - most people don't do an in-store who have 15 albums. That's where it's very difficult and confusing to me to kind of go and be prepared to play anything when I can barely remember three of the new ones. People are calling out requests and I'm at a loss, I'm winging it every night, it's kind of tough. I'm not, I've got this hotel full of lyrics that make me cry…it's like three lines of a lyric on one page. It's too much. I'm ready to shut a lot of that - I made some headway today. I dropped a few and added a few. And the horrible thing I really loathe the modern aspect of technology. I did the first night and it was great and I talked to a Philadelphia reporter and he pretty much ran down what I did, it's like that instantaneous where the next show in Portland - I just had to shoot from the hip last night and shot myself in the foot half the time. But I'm determined not, to keep them guessing. It used to be easier but it required wits and wit and I'm running out of wits.
R: You still have your wit…
PW: Yeah, it came in handy last night.
C: I saw the Seattle set list, like you said…technology. I had to see is he playing two songs? We drove like two hours to get here.
R: And got a ticket on the way.
PW: (laughs) Cool.(gives the thumb up)
C: You did like 13 or 14 songs in Seattle
PW: Someone said 'it's an almost an hour..' I could have done three - I am truly enjoying myself.
C: Do you miss playing out?
PW: I am - now. It's not like we can't even put it in terms - I am out, I'm playing, I'm standing there. It's the nakedest I've ever been and it's amazing how quiet they are. I don't blame them - for one they're not drunk and neither am I. There's that magical thing called drums When there are not drums people kind of drums, I've got to stomp my foot for rhythm (demonstrates). Inevitably a lot of the choices - I end up playing a set of dead people songs. Here's one about a guy who killed himself and here's one about someone dying - but they seem to be everybody's favorites. (Laughs). Sad but beautiful.
C: I saw an interview with you on a Warner promotional thing and you were talking about playing live with the Replacements and you said you'd love to have the chance to play "Skyway" because yeah you were playing all the rowdy songs but there was that one lonely soul in the back of the room dying to hear that song.
PW: I try to, I tried to last night for about 10 minutes and people yelling out the next line for me and I don't even know the next chord. It's truly-without the humor it could be slightly pathetic. It's, I'm not embarrassed because I've made a fool of myself before. It's beyond that. It's almost, you're seeing something happen before your eyes - like change in the way. I equated it to something vulgar last night. I equated it to being something like sleeping with your sister. I don't know why I said that but it was the vilest thing I could think of. But I'm sure somebody does it. This record was made by - I would sit down and make the drum go and I would just entertain myself and sometimes it would be really really good and then to think two-and-a-half years later I have to remember how to do that … that part of my brain is thoroughly damaged. I've lost my ability to .. part of it's the anti-depressants. I'm on all kinds of medication that pretty much evens it out. You wouldn't know the difference because I'm 42 and I wouldn't swing from a chandelier anyway. And I'm probably a little bit more even-tempered anyway than I once was. I play at home with Michael Bland and Jimmy Anton and we play like this. And OK, Paul wrote all these songs and stuff .. I'd do it for free.
.C: I can't quit listening to the new Grandpaboy record.
PW: You can't?
C: Somebody at Vagrant sent us the advance of the solo record and I was digesting that and I was blown away by the Grandpaboy record.. They're two different things altogether.
PW: But you said you can't listen to it…
C: No, I can't quit listening to it…
PW: Oh..thank you! I was sitting here thinking…
C: No, I can't…there's not a bad song on it, the whole thing just flows…
PW: I like it and that's the key…no one's going to say 'oh do it again Paul, change that". Every single one I liked.
C: Were there any other musicians with you on that?
PW: I created all those alter egos to the point where I would literally change clothes to play the different parts. We've already had to send statements, Guns'n'Roses had to release this statement saying Tommy Stinson did not play ..That's starting to become a game where I think they're actually realizing that 'hey, it's not hurting Axl's career to be talked about"
C: Nobody else is talking about him.
R: That's why people are talking about him…
PW: I think if anything Tommy would be the most offended because he thinks my bass playing is fairly rank and I've always thought the same of his.
C: So talking about doing something maybe completely different…
PW: Well, completely different … no
C: Well, Vagrant signing you seemed to me like they were doing something like maybe Epitaph is doing in signing a Tom Waits or a Merle Haggard, a Joe Strummer. I put you in that category, for them it was a big step.
PW: They started with one, it's similar to like when Sire - Madonna was already a star by then, but once a label has a core of bands that are (successful) then the owner goes out and gets their hero if they can. Maybe they sign Jimmy Scott, or they had Lou Reed just because he's Lou Reed and he should be allowed to be heard.
C: Do you think that all these artists who were on majors who are now on indies - is it the state of the industry that's causing that? Or is it artists wanting more control and freedom. Or a little bit of both?
R: Do you feel better being on an indie?
PW: Right now I'm more comfortable with Vagrant -. That Suicane record to me was really good and I wasn't going to tour with it and I knew that and I knew that and I knew that Rich was going to be gone after that. And to me it really felt like it was the end of an era and something was coming full circle. But as far as hiring guys to show me how to do it, I came to the conclusion that it doesn't pay off - the high priced management and producers like Don Was who I really really liked and had fun with. But it's like, I don't think there's anyone who could have - at least with this record - there wasn't anyone who could make it better. I know a lot of people who could have made it worse. I don't know if I'm going to make this record again.
R: What was behind the decision to release them both together at the same time?
PW: It was sort of an elaborate ploy on my part for two reasons. One to ensure that - well first people don't know they're separate albums - if they did retailers would charge $24. We're taking a hit because we don't want - I wasn't out to make a big-priced record, I just wanted to give you as much music as possible. And I was adamant about separating the actual discs so if you felt like Grandpa Boy you could listen to that and if you were more into listening to lyrics or whatever you could listen to the other record. But that's one reason. There's interchangeable stuff - they hold together. I look at it as one double album. If it was vinyl it would be one double record for the price of one - which cant be done. I'm screwing myself but I'm not because I own the publishing to the songs and I'm looking at it from the standpoint of it's best for me to have 23 songs out even if the record costs $2 - it only cost me a thousand dollars to make. I spent more money - it was cheaper than the 'Mats first record and I never made any money from that. I've learned a few things.
C: On the new record, your choice to use the Flesh for Lulu cover, was there any sort of "out on the ledge again / ready to jump again", was there any sort of connection with "The Ledge"?
PW: It certainly fit!
C: It's a great song …I love Flesh for Lulu
PW: I didn't know who it was, it was on a road tape trip that we used to listen to in the van and it had a bunch of different things. And that song came on and it was like 'oh yeah!' But I didn't know who it was. I just recorded it, we had to hunt it down - I thought it was like Gene Loves Jezebel…
C: Yeah, they were kind of clumped in with that …
PW: Oh they wanted me to take that off (the album) so bad. And I told them it's going on
C: Who did? The band?
PW: No, Vagrant, because they're too young to understand that it's cool. It's hard to explain.
R: Well it doesn't fall into - there are some things that are older that are cool but there's older and not cool too.
PW: (laughs) It's not old enough …that's why it's cool. And that's why it's there.
R: It's very unexpected.
PW: Exactly. And it was not my idea to make it a hidden track. And they messed up, apparently there are 12 songs on Stereo - that's bullshit, there are 14. They blew that …it was like "how dare Paul play this new wave thing". It's me trying to say, three songs earlier it was "Mr. Rabbit" - a traditional folk minstrel song that probably goes back to 1896. Then you have a blatant commercial new wave song - I love them both.
C: Yeah they're both songs.
PW: Exactly.
C: I actually went back - I have that Flesh for Lulu record and hearing their version - it was very slick.
R: It's still a good song …
C: Mentioning the "Mr. Rabbit" - initially I didn't know that was a cover. It was the one song that stuck in my head, I was singing it around the house for weeks…I didn't think about it initially, it was later that I realized it was the second rabbit reference. You had mentioned in "Once Around the Weekend"
PW: Right…
C: I didn't realize it was a traditional song until I got the actual package and saw it.
PW: The irony is that the program director in Chicago went and out and got the record and what song does he choose to play but "Mr. Rabbit"? It's like wouldn't it be nice if all these years of writing songs
R: And your hit is this song you covered…
PW: Yeah, it was probably written by Blind Lemon Jefferson
C: And the royalties are probably not going to his family…
PW: Well, I don't know how that works - if it's traditional, if it's public domain.. I think it's a vaguely familiar negro spiritual minstrel song.
C: How did you first hear it?
PW: I got it from a Burl Ives record…That's what I'm guessing. It's about, the metaphor for the rabbit that's dying it's like your turn to die…the gray…it might have gone back to the Civil War…the blue and the gray…I was digging it in the car with my little boy, (sings) "Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Rabbit …"
C: How has your fatherhood affected your playing
R: Or songwriting?
PW: It hasn't edited me as much…I probably bent over backwards, hence the Grandpa Boy thing - first of all put a picture that would horrify on him. Which was not done for that reason, I would have done it anyway and it was like "I can't not do this just because I have a little boy." I have to teach him that these things co-exist. Daddy plays catch and does real things and then Daddy goes and wears funny clothes and plays rock'n'roll and does funny things.
C: Is that why you took some time off?
PW: I was ready to quit before - I don't know if it was before he was born or mentally conceived - I was ready to quit son or no son. I think it was a matter of I reached the end and what do I do next. It seemed like the next, I was encouraged by someone that you should become a father. It's the best thing I ever did.
R: How old is he?
PW: He's three-and-a-half, he'll soon be four. What it really really does, is it makes you feel like a son. I never felt like a son before and then suddenly it's like 'oh, I love you Dad'. I never did the shit he wanted, I cowered away, I never listened to him. All of that came roaring back. And the fact that he was on death's door -just to see the little boy. There's no one in my family that has any children, not my brothers and sisters. It sort of brought me back to life. To see the little dude who to me looks like my father. I (now) believe in God - that made it. I will admit it's the last time my temper actually came in handy because she was going into labor and Johnny was strangling the cord and the doctor was going to come back in four hours because that's when he's supposed to come back in and the baby was in distress and my mother was there saying prayers in the hallway. I ran out in the hallway and just let it rip to the nurse: get that motherfucking doctor off that goddamned golf course. And he was there in a half hour and they cut her open and they pulled him out.and he was purple. They whacked him and he didn't cry for two days but he was OK. So I will maintain to the day I die that my temper was good for something.
C: Is he your biggest critic?
PW: (laughs) He tells me I play the piano too loud. We play rock'n'roll games where he likes to act things out. We play Johnny-the-Ripper where he puts on a top hat and runs around. He likes rock'n'roll, he likes loud, fast rock'n'roll but he doesn't actually like to hear me play loud stuff.
R: He likes to keep it separate?
PW: Yeah, he already wants center stage - how dare you steal the spotlight?
R: Does he have a drum kit?
PW: He jumps on the drum kit - it's amazing, he picked up the trombone - I've got everything laying around and he grabs everything. He actually blew some notes on the trombone - I mean, I can't blow anything. But I don't think he'll be a musician, I don't know what he'll be. Probably an actor or something because he's very a pretender. (Notices his interviewers looking at each other)-- What was that look for?
R: It was a married couple look
C: It was 'are you going to ask something or am I going to ask something?'
PW: Are you two going to have a baby?
R: It wasn't that look!
C: Not yet
R: Not yet..
PW: Well have one! I wish I had five kids. He wants a sibling now but his mom is 40-years-old with multiple sclerosis. I'm 42, my dad was 42 when I was born…I don't know, we'll see…maybe I'll knock up the babysitter …don't write that please. You guys are young… how old are you?
R: 32
C: 30
PW: That's perfect, it didn't start to haunt me until I was 36.
R: You knew you were ready when the time came?
PW: I knew I wasn't ready at 24. I would not have been ready - I would have been way too selfish. I was already at point where I didn't go out at night, it didn't cramp my style. I didn't do anything anyway. Being rock'n'roll and staying up all night, I was fine with staying up all night to give him a bottle. I used to put him in this little backpack and play the guitar and walk around.
R: I was reading the Vagrant bio - and you wanting to do that (Buddy Holly) tour with Tommy. Even though it's hard to remember songs do you still want to do it? With or without Tommy?
PW: With Tommy it would have made a world of difference because he is the other half of my brain, he functions where I can't. That's where we work really well as a team. The (tour) was literally four days away. I said 'I've got this crazy ideas, I've got these songs we should play, we should just wing it. We'll get Big Mike to play drums and Chris Robinson or someone to shake the tambourine - or Axl (Rose) if he wants to do it. And we'll just go and raise hell.' And then he called back and had changed his mind. He had obligations. I can't blame him - he might have thought 'do I really want to ride in the van in February? Be in Iowa for five nights?' And after I thought about it, frankly I didn't want to do it either. But it was my way to force (Vagrant) to get the Grandpaboy record out on the 2nd of February. They were dragging their heels and it was pushed back - I wanted to do something to make them release it and that was the first thing I thought of. Then a couple of promoters in Chicago got a hold of the idea and then it started to stink like 'well it's a Replacements reunion' and then the rooms started to get bigger and then it started to get scarier.
R: It took on a life of its own?
C: I've heard tons of rumors since then - that Dave Pirner was involved, the rumors kept going.
PW: It was going to be David Carl and Michael Bland and then Peter Wolfe wanted to be on it. It was the kind of thing where if people think we do it, then it will be better than if we actually do it. It was just something to get the record. I told them 'if you can get the record out in three days then I will be bottled - which is kind of what I'm doing now." I told them if you can get this record out by the day that Johnny Thunders died then I will go and do in-stores.
R: Is that what this is?
PW: I lost the bet
C: It sounds like you're having fun though
PW: Well…Rich is a gambler
R: Have you met Axl Rose?
PW: I went out of my way not to the time he played with Tom Petty and I would imagine we're in similar in many ways. Tommy says we're very much alike. I understand his situation. Very much. If I had left the Replacements - I mean the Replacements left me. I then put the name in a drawer and carried on. Had I chose to keep the name and hire new guys, I would be in a much more nail-biting situation. He's no fool. It's a cash cow, the name, but I can see where he's hurting. He's got to come back and whatever he does they're going to slay him mercilessly. Unless, maybe they got somebody really different. My theory is that they're trying to be so 'tomorrow' - that's it's going to be electronic-hip-hop-metal. Who knows.
C: I have a copy of that last Perfect record that never came out - it's great..
PW: Is it? I never listened to his stuff much. Satellite is the one song of his that to his day is stuck in my head.
C: How do you feel about the Replacements legacy?
PW: I don't know. I don't know if I talk about it that I take the wind out of its sails. By going away for four years and keeping my mouth shut - it's been the best move I've ever done. I wonder how many times does Bob Dylan cringe when he hears guys who learned from him say that. Same with Pete Townshend or Mick Jagger. Considering that, me from this other era, call it punk / post-punk. I have a hard time with that. I'm not going to mention "R.A." but they're not going to talk to him and say "Husker Du". Each time I come up there's a new person
R: A new person who's imitating you?
PW: Yeah.
R: Do you cringe when they make the comparisons - even when it's just the journalist making the comparison?
PW: I think it's about time that they started looking at it from my eyes, a little bit like - I'm here, I'm staying, I'm the original. I don't know what to say - I'll never be Bob Dylan, I'll never be Keith Richards, I'll never be Pete Townsend - that's how I look at it. I don't give two shits about any of the other guys who sound like me. But I don't bear them any ill will. I wanted to be Johnny Thunders and he knew it and he was nice to me.
R: Are you satisfied with your place in rock history?
PW: Satisfied is a bad word I actually tried to play that song the other night - and it was like forcing myself to hotwire a car. It felt illegal, like something some hood used to do. It's like 'oh yeah, I screamed over an F chord for four or five minutes … yeah, that was a riot." My place isn't done. My place is…does it seem like I'm falling asleep?
R: Are you?
PW: Part of my brain is. But there's a part of me that's coming alive at age 42. To be able to release it artistically. I don't think it's going to be writing, I don't think it's going to be prose. I don't have the skills to put out coherent writing and I wouldn't want to put out some free verse piece of rubbish. I'm not done with …three things…I'm not done with the notion that I might play in the Replacements again. I'm not done with the notion that I might form a brand-new rock'n'roll band and I might just go away and do what I really want which is write songs. And one of these days someone's going to record one and it will be a hit and it at least it will pay for the..
C: And retire nicely?
PW I couldn't. I went home to relax and I couldn't relax for one minute. I couldn't relax for four years. I went home to have a nervous breakdown - all I did was bend. Which was nice. It taught me that I don't break - I'm resilient. I'm fragile, I am a flower. It's such a cliché but I'm not the strong oak tree, I'm the delicate flower. I'll tell you one thing, I've talked to Slim - I called him up last week to sort of say 'OK, here you go - we're going, do you want to come?" And in five minutes, after not talking to him in five years, I got such a sense of negativity. He came up with every conceivable thing that could go wrong and why it shouldn't be done and what could be expected …" And it was like 'you old fucking man…." I just didn't have the heart to meet with him the next day.
R: Is that just the place he's in right now?
PW: He's always been like that - he's older than the rest of us, he's eight years older than me. He's turned into a crotchety old man but it's like don't you want to tour and raise some hell? He didn't. He works at a music store and he plays solo acoustic. He said something to the effect of 'I'll help you out again this time Paulie if you really want me to." And I thought 'help me out?' I've seen tapes and we were a band of three-and-a-half guys as far as I'm concerned. I'm saying do you want to go and have fun and ride the bus and listen to music? Go break some rules and whoop it up - even if we both end up in the hospital - which we both have. It's not out of the cards but he wasn't there.
C: How is your relationship with Chris?
PW: See, there you go. Chris is so well-adjusted to being a clean and sober successful visual artist. I think he works in film and backdrops - I don't think he would have, I don't think he would want to play the drums or have the stamina. He passed by my house by accident. He was driving by - I thought who's this creep and he came up 'how ya doing!?' Happy as can be, smiling. I said, "what do you think, should we put it together?" He goes "for a week." He was serious and he laughed but I really think that's all he can take. If it ever does come to be, we would have to do it - me and Tommy would have to do it - gas up the van. Get ready, go to his house and ring the bell and say 'come on, we're going for a week". And he would do it but it wouldn't be…
R: A long-term thing?
PW: No, we made "Stink" in a night. So we could conceivably play Madison Square Garden and make a movie and make a record and do it all. It's possible.
C: It's good that you are least talking to those guys….
R: You say he's too well-adjusted to want to go out…does that mean that you're not well-adjusted?
PW: Uh, good question. Um, yeah, I'm more comfortable right here (indicates hotel room). I mean they've been running my ass ragged and I'm more comfortable doing this then watching my son and for an hour-and-a-half - cuz that knocks me out. He's already broken his arm and cut his head open. I've already been in the emergency room with him several times. It's gotten to the point where I'm (lunging) to catch him from falling into the radiator - he takes a lot of out of me. This is easier - but I've got to talk to him on somebody's crappy cell phone and it's the first time I've been away and it's "I miss you! I love you!" And he's crying and then there's something about Thomas the Train and then he's gone. -hey, are you sure I can't get you something to drink? I mean as long as we're here….
C: Is tonight's show going to be as long as the others?
PW: It's happening so early and apparently it's downtown in this business district…I'm preparing to wear my most hideous outfit of the tour.
C: Dusting off the plaid suits?
PW: Well you saw me the last time when I wore the nice suits out of my closet - I've been painting but not necessarily canvases. I paint things - guitars or clothes. So that's what I've got. Talk about stripsearch and stuff - going through my clothes and my clothes are wet with paint. It's like "but I'm Grandpaboy!" They made me take off my shoes and they scanned the bottom of my bare foot. It's like what? Like I've got something under my skin? Tonight's going to be the piece de resistence because I will have no luggage. I'll have a carry-on.
R: All the red lights will go on.
PW: Yeah, I've been red-lighted from day one.
R: So how many shows will you do total?
PW: Tonight and then Friday have dinner with Johnny and Mar and then go to New York and we're going to try and rehearse.
C: Are you doing Letterman with a band?
PW: I've been calling all kinds of guys. It's going to be Michael Bland and Jimmy Anton in the rhythm section and I talked to one guy today and invited him to be the guitar player and I'm still holding out for Keith Richards. It's not out of the question. But you can't write that because if it doesn't come true …but just watch.
C: First reaction when someone asked me what the Grandpaboy record sounded like - I thought, it's kind of like "Paul and the Expensive Winos". It had that - It has a different feel to it.
PW: It's two-fold. The thing is in mono for one, you listen to Stones records and a lot of things are in mono - I bought an old 330 hollow body that I've always wanted to get and that's what gives it that real honkey sound. The problem is all the songs are open tuning so I can't play any of the solos - it's like what in the world. It's me imitating Keith. It's like asking Keith "would you come play me imitating you?" Because he's there. He's in New York writing songs - he's there with Charlie Dreighton writing songs. And Michael Blande is good friends with Charlie Dreighton and I play with Charlie Dreighton and he's mad at Mick for doing the movie and the Lenny Kravitz thing - he's not going to do a record. He's going to do one last record and then the band is going to be over. And then there's this whole thing with Ron Wood - he's dying. He's concerned. There's been communication. There's a one-in-10 chance rather than a one-in-zillion chance.
R: What was it like writing songs for this record? There are some people who have been writing songs for years and say it gets harder…
PW: They come in manic phases - I'm sort of manic depressive. I've got six books going at once and things like that. I write six songs at a time. I rarely sit down and labor on one thing but while I'm crafting the six, out of sheer frustration I'll sit down and bang out "Kicking the Stall" and then maybe go back and work on the other six. And then maybe after getting more of those instantaneous ones that will become "Let the Bad Times Roll". When you're afraid you do aggressive things and when you're anxious you'll fly off the handle. And I've hurt people's feelings - other musicians, drummers and things simply because I'm terrified. Soon as I stopped and did it myself and went home and didn't burden other musicians with saying "no man, do it like this"…It brings it full circle to where I want it to sound like the Replacements - more metal. Like Bob - I didn't like it…but I fell in love with Tommy and I wanted Chris to do ?? so Bob and I formed a kinship which…..
C: The end of the record - is that for the critics, the repeated line …
PW: Yeah you could take it that way. The reality was the depressing nature of just sitting by myself and saying it for myself. I have nothing to say to anyone anymore. Realizing it out loud…I have nothing to say….I guess I have some things to hide. It's like, why do I have to have something to say is maybe more the point? And then follow it up with something to say…(laughs)
R:What's next for you after this?
PW: While I was home - I recorded "Nowhere Man" …. I got to the point where I thought why don't I record my favorite songs of all time - if I don't do it now maybe I never will. I don't feel that now - like I'm going to die. I'm not paranoid that someone's going to shoot me. But I don't know…I would be lying if I felt, I don't see myself a long time from now, I don't know why. But I'm not worried - I feel like something's around the corner that's really good and monumental and I'll just turn my back for good and then I won't have to…
C: What other songs have you recorded? Did you do a handful of covers?
PW: (unintelligible …. Goes to his knapsack and gets tape, starts reading off titles). Times in Trouble.
R: (notices Ann Sexton biography on dresser) )Are you reading that book?
PW: ….(a fan) sent me the book and dedicated it to "Paul who saved my life" (laughs). I'm not the stable one anymore …. You are.
R: Don't you get a lot of that from people when they talk about your music …that savior….
PW: It's a horrible feeling because I almost think 'Oh God, I saved you? Can you save me?"
C: Have you ever felt that way about another artist's record?
PW: I certainly sought solace in my records - my Stones records and Faces as a really young kid and my punk records gave me an identity that I didn't have. I do get (something) listening to Dylan…it makes me think that no matter what, somehow brains and spirituality will win out and you can be an old cripple who can't carry a tune…
C: Are there any new artists?
R: What are you listening to now?
PW: Jelly Roll King I'm listening. I'm driven to listen to more rootsy stuff because I almost feel like there's some competition - I won't compete with my competitors, but the way I can compete with them is I can go back to places they don't know about rather than listen to them. That's what Bob does. I heard two minutes of his new record and it's like he's playing music that his mom would have liked…he's got to go back to get something new.
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sivad
Star Scout
Posts: 323
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Post by sivad on Sept 25, 2014 12:55:43 GMT -5
We need to keep our archives up to date
Rolling Stone
The Replacements: The Greatest Band That Never Was
The Replacements were the most exciting rockers of the Eighties to not hit it big. Can they survive a reunion?
By Jon Dolan | September 22, 2014
There are days when time can get a little abstract for Paul Westerberg, and his schedule gets squishy. The 54-year-old alternative-rock icon might wake up in his home in suburban Edina, Minnesota, rake wet leaves, then take some Percocet and lay on the couch to ease his bad back. He might change outfits a few times ("Prince is like that too," he jokes, "it comes with the craziness"). Or, just to avoid the anxiety of picking out clothes, he won't change at all (he claims to have worn the same socks for two weeks straight). If he has to make a trip to the local food co-op to stuff his Army backpack with groceries, he'll do it on a bike, even during the brutal Minnesota winters. Westerberg doesn't like to drive "Speaking as one of the five most nervous men in the world," he says, "I'd prefer not to die behind the wheel."
Today, however, Westerberg only had time to put on one outfit, because he has practice with the Replacements, who are playing a run of shows this fall. "It was good to wake up and go, 'God, I'm late,'" he says. "'I have somewhere to go.'"
Here, in a South Minneapolis rehearsal studio, Westerberg, wearing a black vest over a white T-shirt and black jeans, fiddles with guitars on a green sofa. Bassist Tommy Stinson, a very youthful 47, is pacing around the room, gabbing about the night before with Josh Freese, a Southern California session vet who is the band's third drummer. Stinson ducks into the kitchen off to the side of the room, pouring himself a "dose of courage." "Top of the morning!" he says, raising the cup.
After a couple of vague jokes about needing performance enhancers ("Want to freshen up? Step into my office!"), Freese counts in and they rip into one of their most beloved songs, "Alex Chilton," a tribute to the co-founder of Big Star, who died in 2010. Westerberg starts bouncing and swiveling at the mic, his thick, raspy voice straining at the chorus: "What's that song?/Yeah, I'm in love/With that song." Stinson wheels his low-slung bass; they end on a dime, surprising even themselves.
"Fuckin' great!" shouts Stinson.
"Fucking splendid!" counters Westerberg.
"Never sounded better!"
"Fucking fucker!"
"-!"
From 1979, years before Nirvana, to 1991, the Replacements had the best shot at bringing the fury and values of punk to a mainstream audience. The four records they made for Minneapolis' Twin/Tone Records, culminating with the 1984 classic Let It Be, balanced trashy jokes and heart-splitting brilliance, chaotic thrash and aching melody – from the ranting hilarity of "I Hate Music" ("It's got too many notes") to the proud-underdog zip of "I Will Dare." They influenced a generation of rockers, from Kurt Cobain, who sang as though he had listened to their anthem "Bastards of Young" on a loop, to Jeff Tweedy and Billie Joe Armstrong, who said that "if it wasn't for [them] I might have spent my time playing in bad speed-metal bands."
Live, they careened toward the edge of self-destruction. "There were these really powerful and beautiful songs," says Craig Finn of the Hold Steady, who saw them half a dozen times while growing up in Minnesota, "but there was this other chaos always threatening to derail that." Some shows had Ramones-like velocity and reckless intensity; others were tragicomic affairs where they would drunkenly attempt Black Sabbath and Jackson 5 covers, rarely from start to finish.
Their self-sabotaging attitude didn't change when they got their first hints of stardom. At their only Saturday Night Live appearance, in 1986, the Replacements drank all day, swore onstage, swapped clothes between songs and fumbled through "Kiss Me on the Bus," earning the ire of Lorne Michaels, who, as legend has it, banned them for life from the show. "When they were good, they were very, very good, and when they were bad, they were awful," says Seymour Stein, who signed them to Sire Records. The band's partying "was scary then, and in retrospect it's even scarier now."
The embodiment of the band's genius and limitations was Tommy's older brother Bob Stinson, the original lead guitarist. Offhandedly virtuosic, the round-faced, balding Bob would play shows wearing a dress or a diaper or a garbage bag. "He would be onstage in a trench coat and nothing else," says Dave Pirner of Soul Asylum. According to R.E.M.'s Peter Buck, a friend, Bob seemed to barely know the names of the songs (Westerberg would just tell him to play "the fast one, or the sort-of-fast one"). Bob hung on through the band's excellent 1985 major-label debut, Tim. But his unreliability began to get in the way of Westerberg's ambitions, and he was kicked out of the group the following year. "It was the hardest fucking day of our lives," says Tommy. In 1995, Bob died at age 35 of organ failure related to years of substance abuse. He had been sober for two weeks. "When he was ready to stop, his body gave out," says Tommy. "That kind of sucked, didn't it?"
Westerberg asserted himself as the band's songwriting auteur on the Replacements' final albums – 1987's Pleased to Meet Me, 1989's Don't Tell a Soul and 1990's All Shook Down – but the band wasn't quite sure how to mature. All three had great moments, but they lacked the fire of the group's earlier punk records. "You're the young new thing," says Westerberg, "and then you're not. So you try to grow, in kind of a juvenile way – you think you're the Beatles or whatever."
After the band split up in 1991, many expected Westerberg to find success as a kind of alt-rock elder statesman. He had a modest splash with the song "Dyslexic Heart," which appeared on the 1992 soundtrack to Cameron Crowe's movie Singles. But his 1993 solo debut, 14 Songs, sold poorly, and subsequent releases continued the trajectory.
Westerberg says he thought about working as a producer or trying his hand as a Nashville songwriter, but he has learned over the years that he "doesn't work well with others." "He was doing stuff in the basement by himself, instead of making records with other people," says Stinson about Westerberg. "The artistic palette just kinda dries up. But I think he's gotten around that corner."
Last summer after watching bands from Pavement to the Pixies re-form, and after turning down some "ridiculous" offers, the Replacements became one of the last of the great indie-rock titans to reunite. That turned into a series of high-profile (and lucrative) gigs with Freese and guitarist Dave Minehan, including two headlining shows at Coachella in April. Westerberg says it hasn't been a huge windfall, because the band had some old financial obligations. "We owe the Mob," he says. "Dead rats in the mail."
Certain performances have been excellent, others less so. ("If I could remember every song and how to play them, I would choose to do that," says Westerberg, who often forgets lyrics onstage. "When I forget, it's fun to have the crowd continue the song with the proper lyrics.") The first Coachella show was indifferently attended, and between that appearance and their second performance a week later, a recurring problem with Westerberg's back flared up. He played lounging on a couch onstage with longtime fan Armstrong adding vocals and a third guitar. "He kept saying it was a dream come true and all of that," says Westerberg. "We were glad to have him around." (Armstrong stayed with the Replacements for the next few shows, and suggested working together in the future.)
Playing the shows themselves has been a thrill, but Westerberg hasn't relished life back on the road. "We spent four days in Seattle," he says, "and by the second day I was gripped with a sort of agoraphobia, afraid to go do anything."
Before practice, Westerberg is hanging out smoking cigarettes on a small ground-level deck behind the rehearsal space. We're surrounded by a small-city urban idyll of modest homes and sleepy streets. Stinson strolls up, cutting quite a figure amid this tableau, wearing a dark coat, a red shirt, a fedora, black jeans and bright-green socks with black polka dots, a Mean Streets look accentuated by the trace of Bronx-Irish grittiness that seems to have slipped into his Midwestern accent.
"Dapper Dan!" Westerberg shouts as Stinson plops down next to him. After 35 years, the two have a buddy-comedy chemistry: Westerberg is the grumbly wiseacre, and Stinson, who joined the band at age 13, is the eternal punk-rock kid. Last night, Stinson stayed up reading the Bible. "A lady friend gave it to me," he says. "I've been meaning to read it. It's sort of the Dr. Seuss version."
"Many is the time I've been like, 'I'm going to open the Bible, and this pertains to me!' " says Westerberg. "And, instead, it's 'Aesop's sandal was pointing to the seventh donkey.' It's like, 'Fuck!' You know? You want it to say, 'Turn down thine amp!'"
In the Nineties, after the split, there were a couple of years when the two were barely in touch. Since 1998, Stinson has been a full-time bass player in Guns N' Roses; after living in L.A. for years, he moved to Hudson, New York, "a great little sort of gay art community," where he lives with his six-year-old daughter. (Westerberg, who is recently divorced, has a 16-year-old son.)
For years, Westerberg seemed set against a reunion, as a point of pride. But in 2012, Slim Dunlap, who played guitar in the Replacements from 1987 to 1991, suffered a severe stroke. Dunlap had been essential in stabilizing the band after the split with Bob Stinson, and is a beloved figure in the Minnesota music scene. Westerberg and Tommy Stinson came together in Minneapolis to record Songs for Slim, a five-song covers EP that included two of Dunlap's songs, with sales going toward raising money for their former bandmate's medical care. "He's been in and out of the hospital maybe 40 times," says Westerberg. After that, the reemergence of the Replacements didn't seem so crazy. "We were talking to Slim when he was in the hospital," says Westerberg. "And I was like, 'Should we play?' And he said, 'Yeah, play.'"
Now, the Replacements say they'll likely make an album at some point in the future. Westerberg, who often writes on piano as well as guitar, has plenty of songs in the hopper. One candidate for inclusion might be called "Are You in It for the Money?"; another is titled "Dead Guitar Player" (which he says was written before Dunlap's illness). This fall they'll play their first show in New York since 1991, at Forest Hills Stadium in Queens, and their first Minnesota gig too, which will happen at a minor-league baseball park.
And unlike many rock reunions, which are pure business, this one has actually brought two far-flung old friends back together, perhaps for good. "We'll call each other up when things go south, because we know we can get a laugh out of each other," says Westerberg. "How many people do you know that you can call up and get a guaranteed gut-wrenching laugh? Sometimes it's worth all the money and kissing and hugging in the world."
And then, on cue, Westerberg and Stinson let out a simultaneous "awwww" and throw themselves at each other in an over-the-top hug that looks like a wrestling hold. "I think," says Stinson, "we got to realize we might need each other a bit."
From The Archives Issue 1218: September 25, 2014
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Post by FreeRider on Sept 25, 2014 13:27:46 GMT -5
sivad, thanks for keeping this thread up to date!
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gravy
Tenderfoot
Posts: 9
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Post by gravy on Oct 2, 2014 7:39:52 GMT -5
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Post by bobstinsonsghost on Oct 2, 2014 11:45:45 GMT -5
I was going to keep this under my hat for awhile til I was finished uploading and organizing stuff but what the hell. On the Facebook Page I've been uploading old Interviews that I'd saved from the 90s but the newsfeed goes by so quickly that a lot of them were getting buried.So I decided to give them a permanent home,along the way I uploaded the replacements bible and more recent interviews as well. Its a work in progress(I've got more to add and I need to figure out how to organize whats there already)right now theres 5 or 6 pages of stuff and if you get to the end theres a few videos you might find interesting. When You get to the bottom of one page click 'older posts' at the bottom of the page....if anyone has anything they'd like me to add just let Me know. nowhereismyhome.blogspot.com/
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Post by derailpb on Oct 2, 2014 12:54:50 GMT -5
Thank You !
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Post by bobstinsonsghost on Oct 5, 2014 0:48:42 GMT -5
I'm up to 73 links on that blog...added a ton tonight!
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Post by FreeRider on Oct 5, 2014 21:50:01 GMT -5
bsg, nice work on the archives! The site looks like a great repository and reference guide on the Mats in their own words.
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Post by bobstinsonsghost on Oct 6, 2014 16:03:04 GMT -5
I'll be adding a few things every week...I've got to figure out a way to organize everything better. I think a website might be the way to go. That way I could arrange everything chronologically...or all the westerberg stuff in one place all the stinson stuff in another etc.
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jeastman
Tenderfoot
If it floats, it's deadwood.
Posts: 17
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Post by jeastman on Nov 26, 2014 8:08:39 GMT -5
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Post by FreeRider on Nov 26, 2014 13:31:13 GMT -5
Good find...interesting article; but is it really a legendary show in pop culture or legendary just for the fan base?
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