Westerberg, of course, was the leading light of The
Replacements, a staple of roughshod Eighties alt.rock. But let’s not go there
at the moment—they’ll have their day in the sun eventually. Suffice to say that
the final Replacements LP, All Shook Down, coincided with my grad school years and lent itself well to those days. Maybe
too well. So that my fandom of Westerberg really took off from there and I
liked all his solo CDs, particularly Eventually,
1996. Yeah, have to delve into that a bit some time. But for now we’re in the
beginning of 2004 and I’d skipped Stereo,
his first CD of the new century. I was already spending more of my time
drifting back than going forward, that having to do with a big writing project
called “Between Days” that I was more or less constantly engaged in from 2000
on . . . til 2008 or so.
Anyway, I got back to Westerberg with this album because it
was playing when we were in Bert’s in Newark, DE (a moment of silence for Bert’s),
and so. Yeah. Westerberg. Guy’s about a year and a half my junior and always
struck me as the kind of guy everyone knew in high school. Bit of a fuck up,
but basically sincere and kinda bright, talented. Would be a hopeless case without rock’n’roll. I was never quite that guy, but, boy, didn’t
I want to be, sometimes. So, let
Westerberg live that thing for ya. And didn’t the little punk make it work . .
. .
This song is so nakedly emotive, it’s almost scary. I have
to say I’ve long since gotten used to it, but if you haven’t and you’re hearing
it for the first time, then brace yourself. “Plaintive” is the word that comes
to mind. And consider some of its synonyms: “mournful, sad, wistful, doleful,
pathetic, piteous, pitiful, melancholy, sorrowful, unhappy, wretched, woeful,
forlorn,” and (my favorite) “woebegone.” [The latter word reminds me of a plush
toy dog my youngest brother Eric used to have as a child: it was yellow with brown ears
and big stick-on plastic eyes; I would make it slide along the bed and raise
its head and emit its characteristic howl: “I’m woooooooeeeeebegoooooooone!”]
So, here’s Westerberg emitting the woebegone howl of the
mid-fortyish male. And not just any mid-fortyish males, no, the kind raised on rock’n’roll. The kind who might be apt to say “was that life?” Or, was that youth?” With his shakey voice (sort of the benign older
brother to Jeff Tweedy) and his slightly slurred diction, Westerberg usually
delivers songs like an everyman. But here he is going for a stabbing tone, a
wake-up call, in all its morose (hey, another synonym) glory. He wants to “breathe
some new life into me and you and yours and mine.” Well, amen, Paul, get it
done.
And there’s no way I don’t reboot my suburban daze when I
hear: “When we were young we never played / Out in the street / We’d only run
where we felt safe.” Yup, sounds like the guy wants to danger it up, even
though he’s going to keep asserting the truth that makes you both seek danger
and avoid it: “We ain’t too young to die.”
That’s the hard truth of the song. I mean, people drop off from your
cohort at any time and go to their early graves, but at a certain point you
look around and realize that you’ve beat the “under 40” rap. You’re in for the
long count, but. You’re also at that point of knowing that finitude is more
meaningful than it used to be.
But it’s that bridge that always stabs me. From the moment I
put on this song, I’m expecting it, it’s there ahead, coiled and waiting: “I
wanna be / Some new place / I wanna see / Something I’ll never see again.” Now there’s a line to live by. Make sure you keep seeing new
things, sure. But to see something you’ll never see again, we used to say,
meant it was very rare, once-in-a-lifetime. In aging, we find there are
many things, many people, many places we’ll never see again, no matter how many
times they may have been available to us.
In 2004, I was young enough to think there might be time to
see lots of things I’ll only get one chance to see. Maybe I did see some. But
not nearly enough. Mainly it’s the same things all the time, and yet. Even this
little nothing burg I live in has changed considerably in the last ten years.
Look around. Chances are you’re looking at something you’ll never see again.
I know I sure didn't, in 2004. Instead, I went deeper into my
computer. You know that song by Kate Bush, “Deeper Understanding”? Yeah, like that. And I went back in time, to
spend the glorious reign of W. “elsewhere,” as the surrealists used to say: “L’existence
est ailleurs.” Yeah, meet me ailleurs.
2004 |
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