In the fall of 1987, I was dating a great girl who happened to be much younger than me. Considering the age difference, the Venn diagram of our music interests had a surprising amount of overlap, but it definitely wasn't a single circle, heh.
One crisp September night, I took her to the Col Ballroom in Davenport, IA, where my older sister had seen Hendrix 20 years earlier, and our mom had danced to Guy Lombardo 20 years before that. We were there to see a band she loved, a band I hadn't even heard of before meeting her, called The Replacements. She'd played a couple of their LPs for me, and I liked them quite a bit. What they lacked in complexity and virtuosity, they made up for with sheer energy and a refreshing who-gives-a-shit attitude. I figured it would be a fun night, but I never expected what we got. That show was the best live performance I've ever heard. It was also the worst. All in one night! I've never experienced anything quite like it.
This was during one of their tours behind the
Pleased To Meet Me album. Slim Dunlap had just joined the band, replacing Tommy Stinson's brother Bob on guitar. Along with this major personnel change, the band was evolving musically as well during this period.
No longer just a bunch of punks from the Twin Cities, the Replacements were trying, in their own half-assed way, to grow up. It was happening in fits and starts, and as I look back on it, their live show that night seems like a spot-on dramatic interpretation of what the band must have been going through at the time.
They were infamous for drinking a lot - like, a LOT. They looked pretty hammered when they first walked on stage, and kept right on downing beers throughout the show. There were times when they couldn't or wouldn't even finish a song - one of these was a cover of "Dedicated to the One I Love"(!) which was greeted with a hail of spit from the safety-pinned, diehard punks down front. Another time, Paul Westerberg stopped everything to complain that one of the kids had stolen his beer from the edge of the stage! He seemed genuinely disappointed - "What kind of a man does something like that?!" he asked, peering morosely at the small crowd. But
then! Then there were the
other times! Every now and then, completely at random and without any warning, from out of nowhere this raggedy-ass band would just pull it all together and commence to make this amazing, perfect
NOISE.
Holy shit, I wish I could describe it. Maybe if I took the 10 best songs I ever heard, cooked them up and shot them directly into my veins, it might come
close to how this felt. I remember two songs in particular where this happened; one was "Bastards of Young," but the one I'll never forget was
"Left of the Dial." My girlfriend could hear it too - I was standing behind her, we were just a few feet from the stage. She pulled my arms around her, and we just floated away...