Sorry Ma, I took out the tracks

Often tripping on the shadows of others when it comes to timely cultural appreciation, I find myself suddenly inexplicably (well, thanks to Mrs. B) able to offer a timely review of a cultural artifact. The book is the new Replacements oral history. I didn't really grow up with that band as an integral part of my psycholgical or aural development (concept dramas like "Quadrophenia" did the trick for me), but have appreciated them since the mid '80's. But I was a dilletante: I have fragmented versions of "Trash", "Stink", and "Hootennanny" where I excerpted the cuts I found pleasing, leaving much of their punkness out in the cold. Thus was the state of my classic rock-infested musical tastes.

A couple weeks ago, I hauled out "Trash" and spun it on the turntable- it rocked! It has a jagged spin art sonic madness that I never noticed before. I can't even remember buying the album.

Then I read the book and love its compendium of gushing fan notes, august puffery from rock aristocrats, and loose chronology. Lacking a strict chronology, it has the uneveness of tone and timing, but devotion to passion, that a recording of a drunken wake of the band would possess.

The dramatic center of the book is the character of Paul Westerberg. He comes off as a cranky inscrutable genius and posterchild of punk petulance. He is a figurehead of an unresolvable tension that the band represented: the choice between respected permanence (music career, bulky catalog of recorded material) and blazing comet ephermality (frenzied live shows that owe all to the moment).

The band itself could not figure where it stood in this matter. In their history they vacillated between the poles: Say Yes to a Saturday Night Live performance but piss off Lorne Michaels; kick out the founding guitarist for being fuckup but continue to revel in beer-soaked live sets; make a video but it is a guitar amp still life portrait.

In the end I felt a little dirty after reading the book. I can't say that I personally liked the main protagonist (Westerberg) but found the book compelling. And now I'm on the hunt for recordings of live shows from different eras and am having fun with what I found.

I especially like this photo of the Placemats on the abandoned couch on the rail line. That particular rail line has been revamped to be a bike trail (part of my route to work) and sadly has lost the ability to be a backdrop for a punk band publicity photo. Makes me nostalgic for blight I never knew.