The Replacements, hard rock`s critically acclaimed hellions, are surprisingly sedate convened behind a table atop a makeshift platform in a New York record store. The line of fans waiting for autographs snakes out the door and down the block.
Paul Westerberg, the band`s snake-thin singer, likes his clothes as loud as his music. Today, he`s a noisy symphony in green, with lime pants bleeding into a shirt of verdant paisley. As he stretches across the table to sign a female fan`s T-shirt one fears a stray cigarette ash will torch his polyester frame.
But for bass player Tommy Stinson, who quit the tenth grade to hit the road with the band–they play this Friday at the Riviera Nightclub–it is all a bit too orderly for rock and roll. He starts beating his feet in a leaden tattoo.
”I got a case of happy feet,” he cries, his knees bouncing off the bottom of the table and nearly toppling the champagne and tall beers balanced between ashtrays and elbows. ”Sorry,” he says, calming down, ”I just can`t help it.”
The Replacements, too, just can`t help it. They make wonderfully raucous records that reflect primary writer Westerberg`s effective synthesis of punk thrash, pop hooks, and the lyrical attitude of the perpetual outsider. They became underground favorites with 1984`s ”Let It Be” and critical darlings with last year`s ”Tim.” Now, with their new, digital LP, ”Pleased to Meet Me,” they`ve come up with the best hard-rock record of the year.
Everybody says they`ll be big, but the last thing the Replacements want to be are run-of-the-mill rock professionals. ”We`re not a tight band, and at times we`re average,” explains Westerberg, accurately, ”and we take the chance of being great or average on a particular night. We`re not willing to shoot for average consistency. We take chances–we`re willing to muck it up.” Unfortunately, the nights that fans seem to remember the most are the ones that the Replacements forget. The group, you see, is more familiar with fifths of alcohol than fifth-notes.
”There`s a slice of our fans who want to see us inebriated and fall down,” agrees Westerberg. ”We`ve done it in the past so many times that people come wondering who`ll fall off the stage. We no longer cater to that
–it`s become an albatross. We`ll do it if we feel like it, but we don`t ever go out with a plan to blow this one.”
Sometimes it just works out that way. After their promotional stint at the record store, the Replacements arrive for the evening`s scheduled concert with minutes to spare. Their manager heaves a sigh of relief. Once the band is on stage, he knows, what will be, will be. They stumble onto the stage to play a set that Westerberg later calls ”not so hot.”
Typical of the Replacements, the show is a motley collection of original tunes and cover songs that defy ordinary logic. Tonight, the covers include the Rolling Stones` ”Honky Tonk Women,” Edison Lighthouse`s ”Love Grows
(Where My Rosemary Goes),” and Bruce Springsteen`s ”Born in the U.S.A.”
On the latter, Springsteen`s ”cool, rocking daddy” become`s Westerberg`s
”big, obnoxious baby.”
The unqualified highlight of the night, however, is a riveting encore of
”Alex Chilton,” a powerful new pop-rocker dedicated to the musician whose cult status rests on his long-ago work with the Box Tops and Big Star. The song`s a celebration of the timeless pleasures of the right pop song–”I`m in love, what`s that song?/I`m in love with that song!”–and with an authority that belies their studied sloppiness, the Replacements make that magic their own.
Then again, according to Jim Dickinson, the Memphis record producer of
”Pleased to Meet Me,” the band`s best moments are often accidents. ”It`s trite to say somebody`s a rock poet,” he says, ”but Westerberg is, because he stands at the microphone and makes it up. `Alex Chilton` is a perfect case in point–every time he sang the lyrics they were different. He wrote the song about a creature from space and then realized that Alex Chilton had the same amount of syllables.”
The Replacements have improvised their way to the brink of stardom. The band was launched in Minneapolis during the heat of the late-`70s punk explosion because, well, it beat high school and working for the minimum wage. Westerberg, who was used to playing guitar in his bedroom, couldn`t help but hear the thunderous din coming out of a neighbor`s basement. So he introduced himself to Stinson, his guitarist brother Bob, and drummmer Chris Mars, and became the irreplaceable Replacement.
Traveling the country in a beat-up old van, the Replacements were dependably undependable. Some nights, sets would disintegrate into drunken revelry, with songs stuttering to a halt long before they were over, and guitarist Stinson performing in either a dress or his underwear.
Last year, while touring in support of ”Tim,” the ragged Replacements began to butt against the logic of a Bob Dylan lyric: ”There is no success like failure, and failure`s no success at all.” The elder Stinson, whom Westerberg describes as ”pretty much the party man of the band,” was fired. After the trio recorded the new LP, he was replaced with Slim Dunlap.
Which is not to say that the Replacements have reformed. ”They get up on stage,” explains Dickinson, ”feel all the years behind them, and whether they are or not, they`re drunk. But they`re more in control of it than they play; they know what they`re doing. There`s not a driver`s license on the stage. That`s called self-preservation.”
Still, Westerberg admits that they`re a contemporary anomaly. ”We don`t possess any of the usual concert trappings,” he says, ”like lighting effects and big solos. That`s the stuff we flip the bird to. We have no time for show business; we`re into rock and roll.”
According to Dickinson, that devotion is the Replacements` ace in the hole. ”They`re survivors, that`s for sure,” he says, ”and they`re classic musicians. It`s like the Rolling Stones–when they come in a room they add up to more than their parts.” What`s more, he adds, the band understands that
”Attitude is what rock and roll music is all about, and at this point in time, it`s the only original thing a band can offer.”
So yes, the Replacements want success. ”We would prefer to get bigger rather than to slip back into obscurity,” acknowledges Westerberg. But no, don`t expect them to repeat their New York cover of ”Sweet Home Chicago” at the Riviera. Predicts Westerberg, ”We`ll probably play `Going to New York.`
” That, in a shot glass, is the Replacements.
