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CREEM—September 1986
by Bill Holdship So "Who’s Hot?" If you believe the image of Michael J. Fox standing behind a crystal ball on the cover of Rolling Stone, the Replacements are "The New Stars In Your Future"—and that almost makes ’em legitimate and respectable. But Rolling Stone was hardly the first to sing the praises of the Replacements. There’s been a big critical buzz ever since the band cut their first hardcore-meets-roots-rock records for (their hometown) Minneapolis’s Twin/Tone label five years ago. Critics placed the band at the forefront of their "American Rock Renaissance" hype, and voted two of the band’s LPs number four and number two respectively in the 1984 and ’85 Village Voice national rock critics’ poll. The Voice thought so much of The Replacements that it put the band’s picture on its cover and had RJ Smith write a major feature on them before they even signed with Warner Brothers. Almost every Replacements article makes them sound too "good" to ring true. In fact, like the Ramones before them, the Replacements would make a terrific cartoon show or comic strip—sorta like an ’80s punk version of the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers (even though Fat Freddie is probably upwardly mobile and buying designer drugs and cats in the ’80s). They’re street punks. They’re amateurs who can’t really play their instruments. They like to get drunk. They’re stoopid and obnoxious. And some would call them "the greatest rock ’n’ roll band in the world."  Yet if you’ve ever seen them live—opening for, say, X or sandwiched between R.E.M. and the Three O’Clock—you may wonder about this claim. The band is loud, obnoxious and occasionally funny onstage. They trade instruments right in the middle of a song, while other numbers reach total entropy. But it often sounds like they’re purposely trying to sound bad. You may see flashes of brilliance in their covers of, say, "Lawdy Miss Clawdy" and "Black Diamond" (which you always hated by Kiss but they make sound great) or a familiar song from one of their latter LPs—but "greatest rock band in the world"? Nah. The joke is already getting old by the third time you see them. And yet their last two LPs, Let It Be and Tim, were classic rock ’n’ roll records, deserving to place as high as they did in the polls. The playing illustrates and induces excitement. Singer Paul Westerberg writes wonderful songs. And anyone who can write lyrics as poignant as those in "Bastards Of Young" or as humorous as those in "Answering Machine"—well, he’s definitely not stoopid. Can it be that The Replacements are trying to be the punk band for those who missed "punk" the first time around? Could it be that they’re a bit contrived?
On our way into the band’s dressing room, J. Kordosh and I pass lead guitarist Bob Stinson in the hall. He looks like a cartoon character (really!), his eyes already like cherries in a vat of buttermilk at 6 p.m. We greet him, he grunts—and I realize he also looks like a character you’d be afraid to meet in a dark alley late at night. Inside, Westerberg offers Kordosh a beer, and bassist Tommy Stinson gives me his "special favorite"—100 proof vodka on ice. Let it be said at the onset that Westerberg impressed me as one of the most charming guys I’ve ever interviewed—honest, frank, funny and definitely not stoopid. Stinson is OK, too, and far from dumb. But being 19 years old, he seems to feel he has an "image" to uphold—and almost appears schizophrenic in how he reacts to us as the interview progresses. But what the hell—they give us lots to drink, and, before long we’re having one helluva good time! We discuss a lot of the typical things: heavy metal (PW: "Well, I can take it as a joke, but it seems the bands that do it don’t see it as a joke. They take themselves seriously") and rock ’n’ roll music in general. Their finances (PW: "We’re making money, but we don’t see it because you got like lawyers and accountants and fuckheads.") And life on a major label... PW: They see it as there’s a hundred bands like us who would die for our chance, who are starving hungry and would do whatever they’re told. And they don’t understand that we want to go as far as we can, but we don’t want to be like A-Ha and shit. We’re not like The Cult. We don’t have a strong, hip image that’s going to sell right now, and they don’t know what to do with us. TS: They think we’re trying to piss them off, but we’re just being ourselves. This isn’t like a job. Or a big thing to make us popular and pick up chicks. We just like doing this—it’s fun. They just sit there and go, "You guys are just trying to piss us off. You want to be the bad kids of the rock business."
They discuss their hard drinking image... PW: We drink heavily, not all the time, though. TS: We’re such outsiders to say this again, but we get onstage, all our amps are far behind us, and you got a crowd that’s real far in front of you, and you feel weird because you’re standing there in the middle of nowhere with a guitar in your hand. You don’t know what to do with it. Still, to this day, and we’ve been like in the band for five or six years. And you can’t get up there and be nervous. BH: So do you get drunk before you play? PW: No, we’ve never been drunk before we play. Ever. BH: That’s the image that’s been painted. TS: Sometimes it takes a drink to loosen up, to just be able to say "OK, this feels weird, but..." PW: And if it’s a small crowd, it helps sometimes because you see double—and then you can fill the joint.
And songwriting... BH: So you just decided you could write songs and then did it? PW: Sure. Honestly, I couldn’t sing anyone’s else’s. I have a terrible voice. I have no range. We tried to do covers, and I could never do them. We do covers now, but we do them like Jerry Lee Lewis does them—we make them ours. We used to try to do shit note-for-note. TS: It’s been more of an honest thing since then. PW: I mean, Christ, they tried to make me sing "Roundabout!" TS: Except it was real fast.
They talk about critics... TS: When I was a kid, most of the kids didn’t even read magazines about bands... PW: I did. See, that’s where you’re too young. He’s 19, and I’m 26. I grew up like reading Rolling Stone and CREEM. BH: Does it matter to you personally? Do you really care what the critics think? PW: I’ll be honest. It does. I’d like to lie and say it means nothing. Not that we think we’re great or anything. We know exactly what we are. We get a giggle out of it, but it makes you feel good. TS: When it’s someone big and they say we’re good, it makes you feel good—but I never really read any of that stuff about us. Unless someone’s got something bad to say and it’s funny or clever. I get a kick out of someone saying we suck because we’re arrogant little pricks. PW: You do until they single it out and say you look like a fucking fake rock star. You can take the general bullshit but... TS: I can take it all. PW: Yeah, until they say something... you know what I’m saying. TS: I know what you’re saying.
And they discuss their amateurish "bad" shows and stoopid image... JK: I think you’re giving us a little shuck and jive here. A band doesn’t get signed to a major label without having some drive and ambition. And you guys are trying to project a total image of drunkeness... PW: You saw through it. Would you like to manage us?
BH: Your shows seem contrived, like you’re trying to be "bad." PW: You saw us in some weird circumstances. When you open for a bigger band, you’re sort of treated like baggage, and it’s almost like "Well, you’re damn lucky to be on this bill." And we don’t like being told what to do. So in those events, we would rather blow a show completely to flip them the bird than play the game. We’ll come out and give them a circus... TS: And we could make the pussiest record ever, but we’re still a loud, obnoxious rock band in a live environment. We couldn’t play pussy live. BH: Well, the other thing is that your songs are really fucking great. JK: Are they just "great" or "fucking great?" BH: Some are "fucking great" and some are just "great." PW: You guys are fucking unbelievable. OK, go ahead. BH: And it’s like onstage, you try to act stupider than you really are. PW: Uh, huh. There’s a fear of not being able to reproduce something we did in the studio. In the studio, we can say this is good, and then we get up there and go, "Huh?" And if we can’t make it that good, we don’t want to look stupid trying to, because then we’re just gonna come off like every other band. If we feel it’s in our grasp, we’ll go for it. But if we feel like this ain’t gonna fly tonight, we’ll take a more casual attitude toward it. TS: We’re afraid of looking too good. JK: Do you guys have a massive stage fright or what? PW: Yeah. We’re unprofessional. I’m still as scared as I ever was. TS: And the hype and all the bullshit that goes along with it, that’s scary. BH: It puts pressure on you? TS: We try to ignore it just so we won’t get consumed by it. PW: Lately, we’ve been trying to get a happy medium. We get a lot of people coming now to see us for the image and shit. And it’s not something we contrive, it’s what we are. But we’ll try to play some of the songs good. It’s like we won’t try to purposely mess up. But there are some songs we’ll just wing... And sometimes we’re going for like a big kamikaze thing. I’d rather have them hating our guts in some circumstances, so they can at least go "Who the fuck was that band?" TS: But the people are here to see us tonight. The fucking Replacements. The fucking Mats. JK: Let’s see how many "fucks" we can get in this sentence. TS: You should have a couple more beers. You’re starting to sound good. (To BH) How about you? Let’s see you slur a few. C’mon fuckers, we can really talk now!
They discuss "punk" rock. PW: We were heavily influenced by that. We weren’t punks. We tried to be, but we realized that... It’s the attitude. We’re as rooted in that as the Beatles were in Chuck Berry. We can’t shake it if we tried. I mean, we were punks. We weren’t punk rockers, but we’ll never be... TS: We’re assholes. PW: ...anything slick or show bizzy. And that’s what punk rock was. It was amateurism, for yourself, for fun. That’s what we were. And then we heard punk rock and said "Yeah, this is cool. This is easy."
And we drink a lot more—and seem to make Tommy angry... TS: A musical instrument is like our drinking prop. No, no, no. PW: "No, no, no?" That ain’t gonna fly—"No, no, no." Too late now. TS: We’re gonna dig ourselves in, man. This bottle of 100 proof vodka is almost gone. What can we do? (To JK) You’re wearing a polyester jacket... JK: Well, you got a problem or what? TS: No, I like it. I was just looking at your clothes. You can tell that this guy (BH), he’s got a little extra money, he likes looking at his clothes and thinks he’s all tough. But you just put on whatever’s in your closet. BH: Just in the last year, though. I used to dress just like you guys do. TS: We think we’re all fucking tough. JK: You guys are some bad looking dudes! TS: (smashes bottle against the wall) JK: Aiieeeeee! BH: You’re not going to scare us. This guy once asked Blackie Lawless if he was a "homo." TS: (laughing, picks up recorder) Ever see us break a fucking tape recorder? PW: Ah, that’s old hat.
JK: Why do you guys have such a self-deprecating attitude? TS: Because we can’t live down anything that’s been said. We can’t live down the fact that... PW: We’re assholes. TS: We’ve tried to run from the articles about how drunk we were this night, and how lousy we were. It’s just pointless to try to live that down, though. If I read about a bunch of drunks in a rock band that I hated, I wouldn’t want to... oh, forget it. (laughter) I just realized that I better shut up for awhile. It’s about that time. BH: Nah. TS: Yeah, you fuckers. BH: We’re not out to do a hatchet job on you guys. TS: Ah, you fuckers don’t know how many writers we’ve had say that to us. You guys are great guys, you remind me of Siskel & Ebert, but I still don’t trust you worth a... BH: Oh, c’mon!  JK: You slime! That’s it, man! TS: You can’t trust writers, I swear to God! We had RJ Smith pal around with us for a week, and we thought he was our friend. Then he turns around and writes all the bad things about us and makes us look like a bunch of fuck-ups. JK: We don’t think you’re fuck-ups. TS: We are fuck-ups! JK: Well, I bet I can drink as much as you guys. In fact, I know I can. TS: Wanna try? PW: No, let’s not. BH: Did you see that Dave Marsh recently did a hatchet job on you in Rock & Roll Confidential? PW: I didn’t have the pleasure, no. TS: That’s why I don’t read... PW: Dave Marsh sucks. He thinks The Who are the greatest band of all time. BH: (Begins reading the RRC item in which Marsh takes Westerberg to task for saying he likes Reagan for "looking good.") PW: Mmmm, hmmmm. I read that. It proves the point that rock ’n’ roll has nothing to do with politics. Bands that try to... I mean, fuck them. It’s like rock ’n’ roll has nothing to do with the President or someone starving in China. In my opinion. Dave Marsh can blow it out of his ass. JK: Well, see, what we’ve got here is a writer who actually wants something from you. He wants you to be what he wants you to be. TS: Well, what are you going to write? If you hadn’t talked to us... PW: These fuckers don’t care. Don’t you know that yet? JK: I don’t care. I got three kids to take care of. You guys can take care of yourselves. TS: You guys actually look like you don’t give a damn.
At this point in the interview, Tommy abruptly leaves the room, without a word to any of us. BH: Are we making him mad? PW: No. He’s probably going to look for a girl. It’s been half an hour. Paul introduces us to drummer Chris Mars, a mild and quiet type of guy. When he exits, we discuss an assortment of topics, including whether or not Paul considers himself a splendid lyricist ("I try not to think about it ’cause it’s like thinking about how you look in the mirror. If you don’t like it, you can’t change it") and mutual favorite movies. Old Yeller is passionately being discussed when Tommy reenters the room. TS: Fuck. Shit. Ass. Hell. Fuck. Hole. Shit. PW: You’re back? TS: I’m back. I’m not saying a fucking word. I think we’re fucking god-like. JK: I think you can be described as Dionysian. TS: How would you describe our band? And then we’ll tell you how screwed you are. PW: I think they’ve already got the title of "asshole." TS: If you guys are the kind of guys you claim to be, then you’ll write a good article. You can tell what we’re like. I’m just skeptical of any writer. JK: Look, Bill’s gonna write it, and he’s not a mean writer. I’d be more inclined to do a hatchet job. Not on you guys, though, because you’ve given me so many beers without bitching about it. TS: We’ll give any writer an extra beer if he says the truth. JK: Well, it’s hard to know what the truth really is here, you know? TS: We told you the truth. JK: OK, then we’ll print it. BH: Well, that thing RJ wrote in the Voice... TS: It wasn’t altogether bad. There were things he said that he didn’t need to say, things that made us look bad... PW: I wasn’t upset because I understood he had to use the angle he took to get the story printed. He wrote the bad stuff. But he took the sympathetic angle, and I can see that. TS: But see, it’s people like that who create a bad image for us that we have to try to live down. Or just say "fuck it" and don’t even try to live it down. Might as well try to live up to it for that matter...
Before concluding the interview, Paul tells us that he’s "as happy now as I was when we started—we don’t have any money, but we’ve been at the bottom and it doesn’t scare us at all." We tell him we can appreciate his attitude. He thanks us, adding "I think we’re doing something that no one did before. The Sex Pistols pretended to do this. But this is just naturally us. We don’t want to be stars and shit–but we’re sort of slipping into it." What if the money becomes real good? "I don’t think so..." That’s a powerful incentive. "No. It really isn’t when you see the ramifications that are going to come along with it. Because we are uncomfortable now with the little tiny stardom of signing autographs. That’s cool, but I would not like to be... even like Michael Stipe or something..." By the time we re-enter the auditorium, we are both seeing double (and maybe even triple). The place is packed.
"We can’t find Bob," Paul says into the microphone. "Has anyone seen Bob?" (Bob is actually sitting with some fans in the audience–but no one knows this until much later.) "Oh, well, this might be fun..." The Replacements begin playing, replacing the lost Bob with a roadie—and later an usher–during the opening part of their set. They begin with a dynamic "Color Me Impressed," followed by an incredibly sloppy "Johnny B. Goode" that couldn’t have been any more powerful if it were Chuck Berry playing it in ’58 or the Stones in ’66. "Bob! Bob!" chants the audience. "Bob?" asks Paul. "Fuck Bob!" He is obviously a bit perturbed. Chris is a terrific drummer. Tommy is a terrific bass player (though he wouldn’t want to admit it). They play Alex Chilton’s "September Gurls," the intro riffs to "Sweet Home Alabama" and "Substitute," and a great "Unsatisfied" before Bob rejoins them in the middle of "Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out." "He’s late. Don’t clap for him," says Tommy. Bob looks apologetic. Paul still looks perturbed, but says "Now we got it..." They wail through "Bastards Of Young," "Left Of The Dial" (one of last year’s best rock songs), "Waitress In The Sky" (pssst... Westerberg’s sister is a "flight attendant") and a whole bunch of other songs from Tim and Let It Be. They cover "Black Diamond," "Takin’ Care Of Business," "Polk Salad Annie," a snippet of "Folsom Prison Blues" and "20th Century Boy." Maybe to compensate (maybe not), Bob is playing some fine guitar licks, interplaying with Paul. They sound "awful"—sloppy, hitting wrong notes everywhere, missing cues—and positively, absolutely wonderful. "I’d like to mention that the band is breaking up and we’ll never be back again," Paul says at the end of the show. The Truth: On this particular night, the Replacements are one of the greatest rock ’n’ roll bands in the universe.
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Photos: (Tommy & Paul) by Greg Allen, (Paul on stage) by Robert Matheu, Cover of CREEM Sept. 1986 by Ross Marino |
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