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Those who followed cycling feats in the early 90s will certainly remember the melancholic and defiant frown of Gianni Bugno. One of the most dazzling, complete, and inconsistent stars in the recent history of cycling. Someone who, when the road ascended beneath his wheels, "pedaled on velvet", as the late De Zan put it: a two-time winner on Coppi's mountain, Alpe d'Huez (as only Pantani and Armstrong did after him), but who in other long stages managed to reach the finish line with Cipollini and the other sprinters. Someone who won world championships and major classics in sprints with ease, allowing himself the luxury (and the risk) of celebrating 5 meters from the finish line despite his opponents being serpents like Indurain, Jalabert, or Museeuw, but who lost other races to underdogs like Jaermann or Gianetti. A fundamentally romantic hero, a Hector who had the misfortune to cross swords with the unbeatable Achilles of stage races, Miguel Indurain. The inscrutable Navarro, an enigmatic mask hidden under the white Banesto cap and dark Hidalgo sunglasses, who in the climbs would attach an invisible string to Gianni's wheel, only to inevitably thrash him in the time trial and finally allow himself a smile, draped in yellow, on the Champs-Élysées.
For those who love drawing parallels between music and sports, one cannot help but compare Bugno to Paul Westerberg. They share the same cheeky face, the brilliant talent (the ease of Gianni's pedaling and posture in the saddle find a counterpart in the melodic virtuosity of the Replacements' leader), the recklessness with which they managed their talent (Gianni often reckless in reading the race, Paul author of a solo career not up to his achievements), and above all, an unfavorable temporal circumstance for both. For Bugno, it was the Navarre nemesis, for Westerberg it was being overshadowed by Stipe and Mould, coming, moreover, too early to the explosion of indie rock, unable to hop on the "Nevermind" bus as his talent had already been exhausted.
"Pleased to meet me" is among the most precious trophies in Paul Westerberg's showcase. The album created by the factotum after the ousting of Bob Stinson, the final piece in which the path traced by "Hootenanny", "Let it Be", and "Tim" culminates in the mosaic of a mature post-punk, classic and more confident with a fluid and personal writing, much like the contemporary major albums of cousins Hüsker Dü. Thus, we face an eclectic wall of sound of power-pop, eleven shifting shards of adolescent spleen, an authentic gold mine for a generation of alternative rockers in the following decade. The loss of Stinsonian burns on the six-string is mitigated by the production of Jim Dickinson, already behind the console with Big Star: the Memphis native expands the Mats' sound fabric, enriching it with solutions like keyboards or sax (even touching jazz in "Nightime Jilters") that enrich a Westerberg songbook in a state of grace, without losing tension and credibility.
And that the band of "Third/Sister Lovers" is the grey eminence of the Mats in 1987 is evident from the irresistible harmonies of "Alex Chilton": homage to His Majesty of power pop, whose shadow also extends in the r&b pastiche "I Don't Know" and in "Can't Hardly Wait" (watch for the horns!) where the author of "Thirteen" is a guest. Not to mention "Valentine", brightened by the white heat of a delightful organ and a Westerberg never so sensual (Evan Dando must have listened quite a bit). The more traditional Replacements emerge in the stones-like riffs, curare-laden, of the opener "I.O.U.", in the brash clarity of "Never Mind" and in the usual hooligan assaults: "Red Red Wine" and the harsh "Shooting Dirty Pool", the only ones where Bob's absence truly feels noticeable.
And then two shining diamonds in the songbook of the now-former kid from Minnesota. "The Ledge", suffocating anticipation of the existential surges of the 90s. Guitars as dry as whiplashes, the rhythm section pounding and hypnotic, and a Westerberg at the throat's edge painting a slice of teenage angst as sharp as a Gus Van Sant film. And the soft and fatalistic jingle-jangle ballad "Skyway", an ideal conclusion to the "Byrds vs Velvet Underground" triad opened by "Sixteen Blue" and "Unsatisfied" in the masterpiece "Let it be". But back then Stinson was still there to shape its forms with dark and desperate fate. Here Paul is alone - just a thread of mellotron added by Dickinson floats like a celestial vibration - beyond the dark skyline of Minneapolis, where "It don't move at all like a subway/ It's got bums when its cold like any other place/It's warm up inside".
In flight towards the summit, like Gianni Bugno.
Tracklist Lyrics Samples and Videos
01 I.O.U. (02:59)
Get me out of this little stinkin' fresh air
Ninety days in the electric chair
Step right up son
Gonna show you something ain't never been done
You're all fucked
Listen, it don't cost much
I lay down the line that you touch
Never do what you're told
There'll be time, believe me, when you're old
You're all wrong and I'm right
Please be on your honor
Please be on your side
(Back in here)
Listen to the story all right
I'm losing all I own on that dotted line
Step right up son
Gonna show you something ain't never been done
You're all wrong and I'm right
You see I want it in writing, I owe you nothing
I want it in writing, I owe you nothing
I want it in writing
02 Alex Chilton (03:15)
If he was from Venus, would he feed us with a spoon?
If he was from Mars, wouldn't that be cool?
Standing right on campus, would he stamp us in a file?
Hangin' down in Memphis all the while.
Children by the million sing for Alex Chilton when he comes 'round
They sing "I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song."
Cerebral rape and pillage in a village of his choice.
Invisible man who can sing in a visible voice.
Feeling like a hundred bucks, exchanging good lucks face to face.
Checkin' his stash by the trash at St. Mark's place.
Children by the million sing for Alex Chilton when he comes 'round
They sing "I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song."
I never travel far without a little Big Star
Runnin' 'round the house, Mickey Mouse and the Tarot cards.
Falling asleep with a flop-pop video on.
If he was from Venus, would he meet us on the moon?
If he died in Memphis, then that'd be cool, babe
Children by the million wait for Alex Chilton when he come around
They sing "I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song."
I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song.
I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song.
03 I Don't Know (03:22)
Do we give it up? (I don't know)
Should we give it hell? (I don't know)
Are you makin' a fortune? (I don't know)
Or don't you wanna tell? (I don't know)
Should we give it up? (I don't know)
Or hang around some more? (I don't know)
Should we buy some beer? (I don't know)
Can I use your hairspray?
One foot in the door, the other foot in the gutter
The sweet smell that you adore, yeah I think I'd rather smother.
Should we top it off? (I don't know)
It's startin' to smoke.* (I don't know)
Who's behind the board? (I don't know)
They tell me he's a dope. (I don't know)
What the fuck you sayin'? (I don't know)
Our lawyer's on the phone. (I don't know)
How much are you in for? (I don't know)
What did we do now?
One foot in the door, the other one in the gutter
The sweet smell that they adore, I think I'd rather smother
One foot in the door, the other one in the gutter
The sweet smell that they adore, well I think I'd rather smother
(4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12)
Are you guys still around? (I don't know)
Whatcha gonna do with your lives? (Nothin'!)
One foot in the *fuckup*, the other one in the gutter
The sweet smell that you adore, hey I think I'd rather smother
One foot in this door, the other one in the gutter
The sweet smell that they adore, oh I think I'd rather smother
04 Nightclub Jitters (02:45)
Nightclub jitters, I take a drink before I hit the town
Night life critters scurry to that sultry, smoky sound
Hurry now the sun is goin' down
To the nightclub jitters, only thing that scares me is the dark
The night life critters: "What's the cover? Where should we park?"
Stay at home just once for a lark.
They say "Now don't be a stranger."
It really don't matter to me
I'd be willing to wager
That it don't matter much if we keep in touch
Nightclub jitters, I take a drink before I hit the town
Night life critters, they scurry to that sultry smoky sound
Oh hurry now the sun is goin' down
They say "Now don't be a stranger."
Hell, it really don't matter to me
I'd be willing to wager
That it don't matter much if we keep in touch
Don't matter much because I got a touch
In the nightclub
In the nightclub
05 The Ledge (04:07)
THE LEDGE (4:04)
All eyes look up to me
High above the filthy streets
Heed no bullhorn when it calls
Watch me fly and die, watch me fall
I'm the boy they can't ignore,
For the first time in my life, I'm sure
All the love sent up high to pledge
Won't reach the ledge
Wind blows cold from the west
I smell coffee, I smell doughnuts for the press
A girl that I knew once years ago
Is tryin' to be reached on the phone
I'm the boy she can't ignore
For the first time in my life, I'm sure
All the love sent up high to pledge...
(Repeat)
Priest kneels silent, all is still
Policeman reaches from the sill
Watch him try, watch him try his best
There'll be no medal pinned to his chest
I'm the boy they couldn't ignore
For the first time in my life, I'm sure
(Repeat)
I'm the boy for the last time in my life
All the love that they pledge
For the last time will not reach the ledge
***
08 Shooting Dirty Pool (02:23)
Rock 'n roll loudmouth, shoot 'em off black
Stroke another one now, right behind my back
Do us all a favor, get yourself a spine
Everybody's chokin' on the grapevine
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
I heard it on the airwaves, I've seen it in my glass
Get your money on the table, get your head out of your ass
You're the coolest guy that I ever have smelt
I ain't a notch on nobody's belt
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
Why don't you get a haircut, sister?
That's it!
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
09 Red Red Wine (03:01)
A bottle of Chablis, hey now, that ain't no stuff for me
Chateau Timberley, as long as I can't see
Gallo or Muscatel, either one would be just swell
I didn't come here to fight, hey just as long as that ain't white
Now I ain't no connoiseur cat - the conno-sewer/kinda sewer rat
Red red wine on Sunday
Always tastes so good
Red red wine
Red red wine
Red red wine if you would
Hey now as long as it is red, oh set 'em up until we're dead
A Saturday sippin' beer is just a jug without a year
Now I ain't no connoiseur cat, I think you guessed that
Red red wine on Sunday
Just like Martin said
Red red wine
Red red wine
Set us up 'till we're dead
I ain't no connoiseur cat, conno-sewer rat
... on Sunday
Just like Martin said
Red red wine
Red red wine
Set us up 'till we're dead
10 Skyway (02:06)
You take the skyway, high above the busy little one-way
In my stupid hat and gloves, at night I lie awake
Wonderin' if I'll sleep
Wonderin' if we'll meet out in the street
But you take the skyway
It don't move at all like a subway
It's got bums when it's cold like any other place
It's warm up inside
Sittin' down and waitin' for a ride
Beneath the skyway
Oh, then one day, I saw you walkin' down that little one-way
Where, the place I'd catch my ride most everyday
There wasn't a damn thing I could do or say
Up in the skyway
Skyway
Skyway (sky away)
11 Can't Hardly Wait (03:03)
I'll write you a letter tomorrow.
Tonight, I can't hold a pen.
Someone's got a stamp that I can borrow;
I promise not to blow the address again.
Lights that flash in the evening
Through a crack in the drapes--
Jesus rides beside me;
He never buys, and he smokes.
Hurry up, hurry up,
Ain't you had enough of this stuff?
Ashtray floors, dirty clothes and filthy jokes.
See you're high and lonesome,
Try and try and try.
Lights that flash in the evening
Through a hole in the drapes--
I'll be home when I'm sleeping;
I can't hardly wait.
I can't wait, hardly wait. (5x)
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