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Rating:
Reviewing the Replacements is as difficult as reviewing the Sex Pistols or Nirvana.
It's difficult for me, as I'm used to focusing on the technical analysis of the tracks rather than the "emotional" component. Not that the Mats' songs (as we like to call them) lack interest from a formal point of view, but it seems clear that their compositional creativity and execution elegance were always subordinate to conveying strong, intense, and immediate feelings. Like the Sex Pistols and Nirvana, the Replacements favored substance over content.
Their imagery wasn't dissimilar to that of many other fellow adventurers, dealing with the need to express the joys and pains of American youth of their time (even though the greatness of these bands lies in the universality of their message): Adolescents, Descendents, Husker Du, Soul Asylum, Lemonheads are just some of the bands that contributed to making the fateful step from hardcore to indie, in the heart of the '80s, shifting the focus of interest from the public dimension to the private one, from social issues to existential ones, from historical pessimism to cosmic pessimism, from anger to resignation, from action to contemplation. The more superficial part of the criticism tends to assert that the Mats were the twin group of Husker Du (they both came from cold Minneapolis), placing the two bands at the helm of a fictitious "pop-core" branch. Let's clarify a bit: there's not just one way to combine pop (melody, catchiness) and hardcore (noise, speed). There's the Californian way (Bad Religion, Descendents, Adolescents, Pennywise), the Chicago way (Naked Raygun, Pegboy, Screeching Weasel), the New York way (Ramones, Misfits), the Minneapolis way (Husker Du, Replacements, Soul Asylum) and so on ... And even within the same local scenes, there were many differences.
Among all these bands, the Replacements turned out to be the most traditionalist: their models ranged from Chuck Berry to the Rolling Stones, from Big Star to Kiss. The rock of the old guard, revisited with searing melancholy. It took me a while to appreciate "Tim." At first listens, it left me puzzled: I found it too predictable at times, too sugary at others. Even today, if I have to find a flaw in Westerberg's band, it's in the more passively revivalist tracks, more calligraphically reproducing the noisy rock 'n' roll of the '50s, the one of various Little Richards and Jerry Lee Lewis: "Dose Of Thunder" and "Lay It Down, Clown" (like "Gary’s Got A Boner" from the previous album "Let it be"). I prefer the Mats when they knew how to give rock 'n' roll a new guise, adapting it to the anguished and desperate mood of the '80s. Anyway, after the initial indifference, I fell in love with this album. And it couldn't be otherwise: "Tim" hits straight to the heart and each listen unleashes a series of minor soul movements, palpitations, shivers, and memories.
It's impossible not to visualize, before the tremors of "Kiss Me On The Bus" or the trance of "Hold My Life," scenes of high school life, belonging to a more or less recent past (in my case): it thus becomes natural to speak of "college-rock" to somehow define Replacements' music. They are tracks where the band (formed by Westerberg, Mars, and the Stinson brothers) accompanies the leader's confessions with delicate instrumental weavings, convolutedly intertwined serpentine lines, dreamy textures that seem to replicate the ebb and flow of thoughts that crowd Westerberg's mind; thoughts, doubts, reminiscences, enthusiasms, unease that are conveyed to the listener with a unique effectiveness. For much of the album, this climate of suspension, enchantment, magic reigns. As daring as this comparison may seem, "Tim" sometimes seems like a recall of "Pet Sounds," with which it shares a bittersweet mood.
I have my own theory: Buddy Holly/Brian Wilson/Alex Chilton/Paul Westerberg, one for each decade, forming the tetrad of introverted-adolescent rockers. How can one not think of the introverted and sensitive Buddy Holly when faced with the jovial acoustic nursery rhyme of "Waitress In The Sky" or the rockabilly dizziness of "I’ll Buy"? And how can one not feel the sorrow of the mature Brian Wilson once immersed in the endless nostalgia of "Swingin’ Party"? “Bring your own lampshade, somewhere there’s a party/Here it’s never endin’, can’t remember when it started”, sung in a subdued tone, and then, in a sudden and illusory burst, “If bein’ afraid is a crime, we hang side by side/At the swingin’ party down the line”... well, the effect is that of an end-of-summer party, lived apart, with a drink in hand that's hard to swallow, and the head elsewhere ... or, it’s like seeing from the outside the romantic scene of a "Don’t Worry Baby," with Westerberg showing that, to a troubled soul like Brian Wilson, the Beach Boys were really tight...
But there isn’t just self-pity, suffering, regret in "Tim": there is also room for revenge, for release, for the cathartic scream, like the one that opens "Bastards Of Young," one of the underappreciated masterpieces of '80s rock (on par with "Girl Who Lives On Heaven Hill" by the Huskers). An anthem, one to be sung at the top of one’s lungs, with heart in hand and head high. “God/What a mess/On the ladder of success ... We are the sons of no one/Bastards of young": with these lyrics, Westerberg takes his destiny in hand, unleashes his hoarse voice, and gives life to a generational anthem, not as destructive as "Anarchy" nor as self-destructive as "Smells Like Teen Spirit," but vital, energetic, rejuvenated, albeit with the usual veil of despair and bitterness.
The last part of the album continues in the spirit of a vivid power-pop, with the sighs of "Left Of The Dial" and the heart-tugging of "Little Mascara" (“You and I/fall together”), before the final ballad, that "Here Comes A Regular" that many even consider to be Westerberg's masterpiece, but which in my opinion isn't worth as much as a "Swingin’ Party" or as much as the three great ballads of "Let it be" ("Androgynus," "Unsatisfied," "Sixteen Blue"): it still remains, in its heartfelt Springsteenian classicism, a worthy end to an album to be counted among the most exciting musical experiences of the '80s.
Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
01 Hold My Life (04:21)
Oooo well, well, well
I bought it
Down on all fours
Let me crawl
If I want I
Could die
Oh by
My hand
Time for decisions to be made
Crack up in the sun
Lose it in the shade
Razzle dazzle razzle droll
Time for this one to come home
Razzle dazzle razzle die
Time for this one to come alive
And hold my life
Until I'm ready to use it
Hold my life
Because I just might lose it
Because I just might lose it
Because I just might lose it
Well, well, well
Anyone could tell
Classic awe
A lucky shot
Ooo-leh-do
Hate 'em
Someday soon
Face 'em
Time for decisions to be made
Crack up in the sun
Lose it in the shade
Razzle dazzle razzle droll
Time for this one to come home
Razzle dazzle razzle die
Time for this one to come alive
And hold my life
Until I'm ready to use it
Hold my life
Because I just might lose it
Because I just might lose it
Because I just might lose it
Just my, just my, just my
We might crack up in the sun
But we'll lose it in the shade
Razzle dazzle razzle droll
Time for this one to come home
Razzle dazze razzle die
Time for this one to come alive
And hold my life
Until I'm ready to use it
Hold my life
Because I just might lose it
Because I just might lose it
Hold my life
Hold my life
Hold my, hold my, hold my, hold my, hold
02 I'll Buy (03:25)
Cruisin' in the sunshine, ain't yet been to bed
I could hear the motor whistlin', something's off the wall again
Give my regards to Broadway, tell 'em I got change to spare
Want big bucks? Gonna have to suck up air.
Anything you want, dear, is fine, fine, fine, fine, fine
Everything you say, dear, I'll buy, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy, goodbye
Talkin' about some pictures, now wouldn't that be a scream
Movies are for retards like me and Maybelline
Give my regards to Boston, ask 'em who'll buy the beer
Don't wanna get pop, find yourself a rockin' chair
Anything you want, dear, is fine, fine, fine, fine, fine
Everything you say, dear, I'll buy, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy
Never get passed the dice dear, goddammit, I'm gonna roll
People that pick your nose clean, so what we owe, owe, owe
Give my regards to Broadway, tell 'em I don't really care
If you want a good joke, why split? You'll go broke right here
Anything you want, dear, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine
Everything you say, dear, I'll buy, buy, buy, buy, buy
Anything you want, dear, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine
Everything you say, dear, I'll buy, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy, I'll buy
03 Kiss Me on the Bus (02:54)
On the bus, that's where we're riding
On the bus, okay, don't say "hi" then
Your tongue, your transfer
Your hand, your answer
On the bus, everyone's looking for it
On the bus, I am looking for it
And everything ain't okay
I might die for money
They're all watching us
Kiss me on the bus
Kiss me on the bus
Oooo, if you knew how I felt now
You wouldn't act so adult now
Hurry hurry, here comes my stop
On the bus, watch our reflection
On the bus, I can't stand no rejection
Oh and let's make a scene
Oh baby don't be so mean
They're all watching us
Kiss me on the bus
Kiss me on the bus
Oooo, if you knew how I felt now
You wouldn't act so adult now
Hurry hurry, here comes my stop
Oooo, if you knew how I felt now
You wouldn't act so adult now
They're all watching us
Kiss me on the bus
Kiss me on the bus
Kiss me on the bus
Kiss me on the bus
04 Dose of Thunder (02:19)
Goin' down to the pool hall
Lookin' for the eight ball
When it comes, when it comes
Only want a little, you need a ton
Gimme one good dose of thunder
Gimme one good dose of thunder
Gimme gimme in a hurry
Texas added to Missouri
When it comes, when it comes
Only takes a little 'til you want a ton
One good dose of thunder
Gimme one good dose of thunder
I can feel it start to rumble
When it comes, when it comes
It only takes a little 'til you need a ton
Gimme one good dose of thunder
Gimme one good dose of thunder
And I can feel it
Gimme one good dose of thunder
Gimme one good dose of thunder
I can feel it start to rumble
05 Waitress in the Sky (02:02)
1, 2, 3, 4
She don't wear no pants and she don't wear no tie
Always on the ball, she's always on stride
Struttin' up the aisle, big deal you get to fly
You ain't nothing but a waitress in the sky
You ain't nothing but a waitress in the sky
Paid my fare, don't wanna complain
You get to me, you're always outta champagne
Treat me like a bum, don't wear no tie
Because you ain't nothing but a waitress in the sky
You ain't nothing but a waitress in the sky
And the sign says 'Thank you very much for not smoking'
My own sign says 'I'm sorry I'm smoking'
Don't treat me special, oh don't kiss my ass
Treat me like the way they treat 'em up in first class
Sanitation expert and a maintenance engineer
Garbage man, a janitor and you my dear
A reunion flight attendant my oh my
You ain't nothing but a waitress in the sky
You ain't nothing but a waitress in the sky
You ain't nothing but a waitress in the sky
Ohhhh
06 Swingin Party (03:51)
Bring your own lampshade, somewhere there's a party
Here it's never endin', can't remember when it started
Pass around the lampshade, there'll be plenty enough room in jail
If bein' wrong's a crime, I'm serving forever
If bein' strong's your kind, then I need help here with this feather
If bein' afraid is a crime, we hang side by side
At the swingin' party down the line
At the swingin' party down the line
Pound the prairie pavement, losin' proposition
Quittin' school and goin' to work and never goin' fishin'
Water all around, never learned how to swim now
If bein' wrong's a crime, I'm serving forever
If bein' strong's your kind, then I need help here with this feather
If bein' afraid is a crime, we hang side by side
At the swingin' party down the line
At the swingin' party down the line
Bring your own lampshade, somewhere there's a party
Here it's never endin', can't remember when it started
Pass around the lampshade, there'll be plenty enough room in jail
If bein' wrong's a crime, I'm serving forever
If bein' strong is what you want, then I need help here with this feather
If bein' afraid is a crime, we hang side by side
At the swingin' party down the line
[mumble] at the swingin' party down the line
Catch you down at the swingin' party down the line
07 Bastards of Young (03:38)
God, what a mess, on the ladder of success
Where you take one step and miss the whole first rung
Dreams unfulfilled, graduate unskilled
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgotten
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sons
Clean your baby womb, trash that baby boom
Elvis in the ground, there'll ain't no beer tonight
Income tax deduction, what a hell of a function
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgotten
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sons
Unwillingness to claim us, ya got no word to name us
The ones who love us best are the ones we'll lay to rest
And visit their graves on holidays at best
The ones who love us least are the ones we'll die to please
If it's any consolation, I don't begin to understand them
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sons
Young...take it, it's yours...
09 Left of the Dial (03:44)
Read about your band in some local page
Didn't mention your name, didn't mention your name
Sweet Georgia breezes, safe, cool and warm
I headed up north, you headed north
On and on and on and on
What side are you on?
On and on and on and on
What side are you on?
Weary voice that's laughin', on the radio once
We sounded drunk, never made it on
Passin' through and it's late, the station started to fade
Picked another one up in the very next state
On and on and on and on
What side are you on?
On and on and on and on and...
Pretty girl keep growin' up, playin' make-up, wearin' guitar
Growin' old in a bar, ya grow old in a bar
Headed out to San Francisco, definitely not L.A.
Didn't mention your name, didn't mention your name
And if I don't see ya, in a long, long while
I'll try to find you
Left of the dial
10 Little Mascara (03:36)
You and I fall together
You and I sleep alone
After all, things might be better
After one, and there's one that's long gone
For the moon you keep shootin'
Throw your rope up in the air
For the kids you stay together
You nap 'em and you slap 'em in a highchair
All you ever wanted was someone to take care of ya
All you're ever losin' is a little mascara
Little mascara
Little mascara
Afternoon, things are quiet
Settle back now if you can
Stations clip by like a rocket
Don't you worry if you wonder why he ran
All you ever wanted was someone to take care of ya
All you're ever losin' is a little mascara
Little mascara
Little mascara
That you cry, cry
That you cry
Your eyes out
That you cry
That you cry
That you cry
Your eyes out
All you ever wanted was someone Ma'd be scared of
All you're ever losin' is
A little mascara
Little mascara
Little mascara
That you cry
That you cry
That you cry
Your eyes out
That you cry
That you cry
That you cry
Your eyes out
That you cry
That you cry
That you cry...
11 Here Comes a Regular (04:45)
Well a person can work up a mean mean thirst
after a hard day of nothin' much at all
Summer's passed, it's too late to cut the grass
There ain't much to rake anyway in the fall
And sometimes I just ain't in the mood
to take my place in back with the loudmouths
You're like a picture on the fridge that's never stocked with food
I used to live at home, now I stay at the house
And everybody wants to be special here
They call your name out loud and clear
Here comes a regular
Call out your name
Here comes a regular
Am I the only one here today?
Well a drinkin' buddy that's bound to another town
Once the police made you go away
And even if you're in the arms of someone's baby now
I'll take a great big whiskey to ya anyway
Everybody wants to be someone's here
Someone's gonna show up, never fear
'cause here comes a regular
Call out your name
Here comes a regular
Am I the only one who feels ashamed?
Kneeling alongside old Sad Eyes
He says opportunity knocks once then the door slams shut
All I know is I'm sick of everything that my money can buy
The fool who wastes his life, God rest his guts
First the lights, then the collar goes up, and the wind begins to blow
Turn your back on a pay-you-back, last call
First the glass, then the leaves that pass, then comes the snow
Ain't much to rake anyway in the fall
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