Caught in the Carousel

CITC head cheese Alex Green and I talk often (though not often enough) about music, and one of the main topics we keep returning to are classic albums and whether or not there are fewer of them than there used to be. I think there's probably more great music being made today than at any time in the rock and roll era, but it's harder to find and more spread all over the map than before. With so many artists and bands able to make their own recordings with current technology, the machinery is more in the hands of the artist than at any time in history. This, of course, makes for more crap. Any time more work is being produced/recorded/documented, the numbers inevitably say that more mediocre work will be produced. More total work, more crap. BUT, it also means there's more GOOD work, too, however hard it may be to find.

However, there are some downfalls to the home recording revolution and the new(er) technologies. One of the biggest problems, I think, came with the introduction of the CD as the dominant format for music (I'm not sure if it still is). People now had a potential to fill 70+ minutes on their albums and too many fell prey to the bad impulse to fill the entire disc. Just because you have 70 minutes of potential space to fill doesn't mean you SHOULD fill that much. Most classic rock albums fall in the 35-45 minute range (because of the limitations space-wise and fidelity-wise of vinyl 33 1/3 records), and that's what our ears got used to for a whole recorded document from bands. This, of course, doesn't count double albums...but, then again, how many double albums from the vinyl era are classics without filler? Exile on Main Street, for my money, and London Calling, but not many more...In the CD-era, I could add Wilco's Being There to my list of classic double-discs, but there aren't so many for me (other than compilations, boxed sets and greatest-hits, which don't count as albums or single documents, if that makes sense).

But I'd argue that putting the means of production into the hands of labor is always a good thing—and the music world is richer for many of the non-professional studio productions throughout the rock and roll era. Whether it's in the form of mad basement genius recordings by the likes of Joe Meek in the 60's, or the "demo as album" realization popularized by, among others, Guided By Voices, music recorded in non-professional studios has a great and varied legacy.

Paul Westerberg

Which brings us to this month's example: Paul Westerberg's Stereo, released in 2002. From the start, there have been two sides to Westerberg—the rocker and the folkier side. This was evident from the get-go for those paying close attention, when the Replacements' first single was backed by a classic basement boom box recording of Westerberg solo doing the tear-in-my-beer weeper "If Only You Were Lonely." From that point on, the Replacements were something of a schizophrenic band—the high-octane pranksters who could ignite with genius or idiocy on stage, alongside the sensitive, melodic genius of Westerberg's quieter side. For a while, these two personalities co-existed in the same band, with goofy rave-ups like "Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out" sitting on vinyl next to Westerberg heartbreakers like "Sixteen Blue" or "Unsatisfied" on 1984's classic Let It Be.

From there on, though, the two sides of Westerberg's writing, the rocker and the acoustic balladeer, seemed to be at odds with the frenzied, up-tempo hard rock stylings of original guitarist Bob Stinson, who was dismissed following the band's major label debut, the still underrated Tim.

From there, the Replacements began to sound more and more like Westerberg's backing band. The albums, though still packed with classic hooks and great writing, started to turn more completely introspective and quieter, until the band fizzled in the early '90s.

Paul Westerberg

They are remembered by many (me included) as, if not THE best, one of the best bands of the '80s. But Westerberg wasn't done just because the "Mats called it a day (and, to be fair, neither were Tommy Stinson, who's done some fine work (solo and with Bash and Pop and Perfect, or original drummer Chris Mars, whose solo debut Horseshoes And Hand Grenades is a minor classic and pretty great record in its own right). Westerberg has been doing great work, albeit without as much fanfare as when the Replacements were making headlines through their heyday, since the band broke up. And nowhere is that more evident than on Stereo.

The album is actually a double CD that welds the two dominant sides of Westerberg's musical personality. Disc one is largely (though not entirely) acoustic based. That's not to say it doesn't rock—as the Rolling Stones proved from Let It Bleed on, you can rock quite a bit playing the acoustic guitar. Playing unplugged does not automatically make one James Taylor. Disc one is Westerberg playing almost everything himself, and recorded over the course of two years on his home studio equipment. It's a remarkable document.

Several tracks ("Baby Learns to Crawl", "Got You Down" and "Boring Enormous") show Westerberg's two great skills—his incredible melodic ability coupled with one of the greatest voices in the history of rock and roll (up there, for my money, with early Bob Dylan, John Lennon, Kurt Cobain, Mick Jagger, Jeff Tweedy and Tom Waits—all singular and incredible voices that no one else sounds quite like). Plus, the man knows how to turn a phrase—as evidenced by the wonderful hook in the chorus of "Let the Bad Times Roll," and the heartbreaking and wonderfully sustained metaphor of "Dirt to Mud." This is a record that manages to somehow be spontaneous, loose, and incredibly accomplished and effortless at the same time. A tough combination to pull off, yet he does it here with a casual greatness that has always marked Westerberg's best work.

Paul Westerberg

Along with the quieter tunes on Disc One, there are some electric guitars and drums and, again, hooks galore, on cuts like "No Place for You" and the groove-driven "Call that Gone" which then segues into an excellent hidden track, a cover of Flesh For Lulu's "Postcards from Paradise."

All of this would have been a great post-Mats Westerberg solo album, but the fun is only halfway over. On Disc Two, Westerberg takes on the moniker "Grandpa Boy" and then proceeds to deliver the hardest rocking music he's done since the end of the Replacements (actually since a good deal BEFORE the end of the Replacements). Once in an interview, Westerberg claimed that the Faces were his favorite band—and you can really hear that here. With electric guitars that would do Keith Richards and/or Ron Wood proud and drums driving the songs, this disc is full of high octane rockers (yet, still full of hooks and melody) like "High Time" "Let's Not Belong Together" and "Between Love and Like."

Either one of these discs would sit comfortably alongside of the best of the Replacements' high water marks on Hootenanny, Let It Be, Tim and Pleased To Meet Me. However, this quietly, and somewhat under the radar work, is probably more consistent than any of those albums. If you loved the Replacements, this is a great album to get. If you never quite understood what all the fuss was about when guys like me were telling you in 1985 that they were the best band on earth, well, this is a good argument. It's Westerberg with all the spontaneity and looseness that made the Replacements so special, but without the sophomoric stupidity to undermine the greatness.

Is it a classic? It might be. It might just be a great rock and roll album. It's close—full of everything that makes rock and roll matter, including the lack of polish and the low-tech basement production. Classic? Maybe, maybe not—but if it's not, it's REALLY close. And sometimes close is good enough.

Paul Westerberg

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