Loose Ends: The Replacements

At a difficult time, my favorite band's reunion tour proved to be a needed salve

Note: I wrote this essay after seeing The Replacements, one of my all-time top bands, on their reunion tour at Forest Hills Stadium in Queens, N.Y., in September 2014. This version has been updated so the timeframe makes sense, and I’ve added a new postscript. If you want to know why music means so much to me, give this a read.

The first time I tried to see The Replacements, my grandfather died. The second time I tried to see them, almost three years later, my grandmother followed suit. Two years after that, the band broke up.

Given the seeming effect on my family’s mortality, I chalked it up to a curse, a weird piece of karma that seemed on the fringes of a fate that seemed to have befallen one of the most influential groups of my generation.

Of all the bands I listen to, and I listen to a lot, The Replacements are the ones that should have made it. They should have been playing to stadiums of 15,000 instead of clubs of 150 and small venues of 1,500.

On Sept. 19, 2014, they played in a stadium — one that held the U.S. Open for more than 50 years and, like the band, is making a comeback of its own as a neighborhood concert venue. Unlike the other times, I was there, despite some hurdles.

But no one in my family died — thank God. And the show was even better than I imagined.

Music in Context

As a writer and photographer, I love songwriters who capture life’s little moments and tell complete, visual stories with smart and clever turns of phrase in 2½ to 4 minutes. I greatly admire musicians — especially guitarists, piano players, and a good horn section — whose passion seeps through every chord change, whether you hear them live or in the studio. And even though I can’t carry a tune, I appreciate singers who can push the limits of their instrument to bring intense feelings of emotion and release to the songs.

My grandmother, who loved music of all kinds well into her 80s, believed strongly that the best songs are reflections of their time in a way that's somehow timeless. It’s through this lens that I hear music. How does it relate to a specific era? Does it sound dated, or is does it mean as much today as it did when it was first released?

I’m not nostalgic for my childhood or, even worse, my teenage years or my early to mid 20s when I hear music. I’m looking for timeless, and for the most part, Paul Westerberg’s songs are just that, just like the cover songs the band plays (some successfully; others not so much).

I did not become a Replacements fan until "Let it Be," then became obsessed when “Tim,” their major label debut, was released in 1985. At the time I was just really starting to get into contemporary music, having grown up on a steady diet of Elvis and the 50s groups and singers that my father and grandmother loved.

“Tim” was unpredictable, a mashup of different genres and styles that combined yearning and attitude, disenchantment and hope, anger and heartache, with a sound that ranged from acoustic to punk. You could never tell where the band was going next, but their diversity of styles shaped my tastes in a way that no group has done before or since.

Like too many of the great ones, The Replacements’ influence was much greater than their reach, with only one song approaching the Billboard Top 50 while they were active. They alternated brilliance with self-destruction, always coming this close to success before imploding on themselves in some way.

When they broke up in 1991, it felt right at the time, but wrong nonetheless.

“God, what a mess, on the ladder of success. Took one step and missed the whole first rung.”

Timing is Everything

I followed Westerberg’s career — in part because he was the chief songwriter and lead singer — the closest after the band drifted apart. I read the stories about the demise of Bob Stinson, the original lead guitarist who was fired from the band for erratic behavior and a Keith Richards-like habit (though, sadly, not professional constitution) of ingesting various legal and illegal substances. I followed Stinson’s younger brother, Tommy, as he struck out on his own before joining Guns ‘n Roses as Duff McKagan’s replacement.

Westerberg stopped touring in 2005 and, despite the reissue of The Replacements’ catalog three years later, stubbornly refused to get the band back together. It wasn’t until Slim Dunlap, who replaced Bob Stinson as the lead guitarist, suffered a massive stroke in 2012 that Westerberg and Tommy Stinson decided to resurrect the band’s name. They recorded a five-track EP to launch the Songs for Slim project, raised more than $100,000 to help pay for Dunlap's medical care, and — just as important — enjoyed it so much that they decided to play together again.

The tour — actually a series of one-off concerts at major summer festivals — coincided with my layoff in May 2013. The timing, along with the easy availability of concert tapes that surfaced as mp3s within days after each show, gave me a chance to listen to the group in a way I hadn’t since the mid 1980s.

I hoped Westerberg, Stinson, and the replacement Replacements would come our way at some point. In some respects, those mp3s from the reunion shows had become a lifeline as I faced starting over in my career, knowing viscerally that I had stumbled and missed that whole first rung.

When the Forest Hills concert was announced, I had my chance even though the show was five hours away. Short of family members passing away, I was determined to take it.

The Show and the Score

Forest Hills Stadium is in a residential section of Queens. It hosted the U.S. Open from 1924 to 1977 and, despite some renovations and the addition of some seating and a permanent stage, remains the same horseshoe-shaped concrete landmark befitting of the quiet neighborhood.

Concerts were held during the stadium’s heyday, with The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Barbra Steisand, Frank Sinatra, The Rolling Stones, The Who, and Jimi Hendrix and others performing there. The venue was reopened to live music last year, with a strict curfew of 10 p.m. to keep the residential peace. The ubiquity of camera phones has made it impossible to police the taking of stills and video, but Forest Hills had a strict policy of no professional cameras.

I tried to contact the promoter, the band, and the stadium, but was unsuccessful. Finally, I decided to say to heck with it, take my camera, and see what happened. Arriving an hour before the two openers — Deer Tick and The Hold Steady — began, I was promptly stopped by security and told I couldn’t take the camera in. Rather than take the train back to Manhattan where I was staying — the neighborhood stadium had no parking — I managed to convince head of security to let me in with the camera, but no battery.

The guard, a nice guy that I chatted with for about 20 minutes, had been a photographer and sympathized with my situation. He told me as I left that I could get the battery back if I could somehow manage to swing a VIP or press pass. Fat chance.

Walking in, I looked around the stadium and thought back to all the events and history that had occurred there. With time on my hands — it was still about 40 minutes before Deer Tick was scheduled to be on stage — I walked over to Guest Promotions and talked to the two women sitting at the table as the sun set. We discussed Forest Hills’ history, the musicians who performed there, and my desire to photograph my favorite band. They too were sympathetic but said they could not give me a press pass.

Instead, they did me one better, giving me a sticker that allowed me to go to the VIP tent and score free beer and food. I showed it to the security guard, noted my dumb fortune, and he fished the battery out of his pocket.

“I guess it’s your lucky day.”

Lucky, indeed. The pass allowed me to walk through the floor area and snap away, although I also wanted to experience the band from my vantage point in the lower bowl (which happened to be close to the VIP tent). When I returned to my bleacher seat off stage left, I had a stack of photos on my SD card and the feeling of finally being close to the band I could have seen almost 30 years before.

That allowed me to sit back (and stand from time to time) and listen to The Replacements perform their catalogue of should-have-been hits. This time, however, it felt like a valedictory lap as the crowd sang along to a band firing on all cylinders. Song after song, anthem after anthem, I found myself moved during each verse chorus verse.

Although I’m a writer, I could never be a music critic. I love what I love too much to pick things apart and I dismiss the stuff I don’t like with barely a passing glance. A flubbed lyric here, a missed chord there — it means little to me if emotion and passion are in its place. Watching The Replacements become the rock stars they once ached to be, seeing the faces and hearing sing-along shouting of fans old and new, was more than worth it.

You could not help but join in, too.

Postscript

The Replacements’ reunion, as you might know, was short lived. The group toured again in the winter of 2015 but attempts at recording fell through and the group broke up after a show in Europe that summer. I saw them a second time, with Jill at EchoStage in Washington, D.C., but the venue’s horrible acoustics and sound made for a lousy experience that in no way matched the magic of Forest Hills.

Westerberg and Juliana Hatfield released an album as the “I Don’t Cares” in 2016, but with the exception of some DIY online singles, he’s been silent since and appears to have retired. Tommy Stinson reformed his Bash and Pop group and released an excellent album, “Anything Could Happen” in 2017. He has a new album coming out under the Cowboys in the Campfire moniker with Chip Roberts this spring.

The Replacements were nominated for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2013, but have not been selected. However, a reissue campaign by Rhino Records has resulted in three expansive box sets, and the group continues to be rediscovered by generations old and new thanks to Bob Mehr’s excellent biography, Trouble Boys.

For more photos from this show, go to my Flickr album here.