From the archives: They're Coming Out

Gird your loins, The Replacements prepare the world for the Let It Be re-issue.

Aug 27, 2025

As those of us die-hard ‘Mats fans roll up our quarters for the Rhino Records reissue of The Replacements’ seminal 1984 album, Let It Be, in October, I felt this might be a good time to remix something I wrote about five years ago.

The band that never really made it beyond the eyes and ears of the misfits and the cognoscenti is preparing the world for the fifth installment in their series of reissues. As Let It Be is the universally acclaimed benchmark album in the artist's catalog, arguably, this has been the one most sought after.

Hell, everyone’s favorite intellectual curmudgeon Robert Christgau gave it an A+ rating.

Is Let It Be my favorite ‘Mats album? No, it’s not. That’d be Pleased to Meet Me (with the remixed version of Tim a close second), but there is no denying its unadulterated genius. From the pop sensibility of “I Will Dare” to the blistering “We’re Comin’ Out” to the cheeky “Gary’s Got A Boner”- and all points in between - perhaps no other Replacements album captures the true essence of what the band was.

I get it that some folks, at this point, might be tired of nerds like me professing the brilliance and significance of The Replacements - sorry, not sorry. Luckily, there is a large swath of people for whom this band is a bit of a bewildering name check in the history of rock and roll. With that having been said, they have no doubt heard the butterfly effect of the band.

The Replacements were, and I suppose still are, a straight-ahead rock and roll band …and about as welcoming a band as you could hope for …as long as you like songs about feelings with a healthy dose of sarcasm, snark, rebellion, and occasionally, love.

The Replacements aren’t some alienating music journo type of band (I’m looking at you, Robert Fripp). Oh sure, they had the press accolades, but struggled to grow their audience. They tried hard to be liked, yet somehow they never quite cracked the code. Perhaps because at their worst, they didn’t seem to give a flying fluck.

“Jesus rides beside me; he never buys any smokes.”

If you’re above a certain age and you’ve heard The Replacements and don’t understand them by now, odds are excellent that you never will.

And if you’ve never heard them? Well…

Listening to Paul Westerberg evolve from the wise-ass punk of Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash, to the pure pop powerhouse wordsmith he became is genuinely one of the greatest rewards in music.

To listen to the hilarious “I Hate Music” (it’s got too many notes) off Sorry Ma …to the way ahead of its time “Androgynous” off Let It Be to the bittersweet “The Last” off All Shook Down is transcendent. Even in an era that exploded with phenomenal songwriters, Westerberg’s wordplay stands out:

Well, you wish upon a star.
That turns into a plane
And I guess that’s right on par
Who is left to blame?
“Valentine” — off 1987’s Pleased to Meet Me

If being afraid is a crime
We hang side by side
“Swinging Party” — off 1985’s Tim

Look me in the eye
And tell me that I’m satisfied
Were you satisfied?
Look me in the eye
Then, tell me that I’m satisfied
And now are you satisfied?
“Unsatisfied” — off 1984’s Let it Be

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
“Bastards of Young” — off 1985’s Tim

And these prescient lyrics from “Androgynous” on 1984’s Let it Be:

Here comes Dick, he’s wearing a skirt
Here comes Jane, you know she’s sporting a chain
Same hair, revolution
Same build, evolution
Tomorrow, who’s gonna fuss

Mirror image, see no damage
See no evil at all
Kewpie dolls and urine stalls
Will be laughed at
The way you’re laughed at now

Well, you get the idea.

The Maslow Impact

The Replacements were never the drunken rubes they played up to be. Well, not all of the time. They were much more intelligent and clever than they let on.

If we define self-actualization as “the drive to become the most authentic version of yourself and to use your abilities creatively, meaningfully, and fully,” I might argue that The Replacements were one of the few truly self-actualized bands.

They knew exactly who they were. Need proof? Listen to “I Don’t Know” from Pleased to Meet Me. The album that followed the self-immolation of the previous album’s tour.

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 one in the gutter

Legends

The stories of the band’s drunken debauchery are the stuff of legend. But despite the folklore, history proves that The Replacements played straight more often than they played drunk; however, the straight gigs don’t necessarily weave a good yarn.

After having seen them a handful of times, I can say that their performances were always excellent.

They may not have always been good, but that wasn’t always attributable to booze or drugs. Sometimes they were just tired of being on the road and/or bored, so an entire set of Glen Campbell songs livened them up.

The Replacements are more than just the stories of being bratty hooligans.
They’re more than Paul Westerberg’s self-imposed exile in his basement.
They’re more than Tommy Stinson’s endless tour.
They’re more than Chris Mars’ paintings and artwork.
They’re more than Bob Stinson’s death.
They’re more than Slim Dunlap’s stroke and subsequent death.
They’re more than their history, real or embellished.

If you’ve ever felt alone, alienated, or like an outsider, the odds are, you’ll understand The Replacements.

Obviously, what makes The Replacements significant is the music, the songs. It’s always the songs.

The names of bands they have influenced is ridiculously long and ever-growing.

When people ask me about what The Replacements sound like, as a baseline, I will counter:
“You know the Goo Goo Dolls?”
Invariably, it’s a yes.
Then I follow with: “That’s The Replacements.”

That’s not a slag on the Goo’s; I like them too. Hell, Westerberg even wrote a song for the Goo Goo Dolls, “We Are the Normal,” off their album Superstar Car Wash. But the Goo Goo Dolls had the career, I think, Seymour Stein, the major domo at their record label - Sire Records - wanted for The Replacements. But for a host of reasons, and some of them by the band’s own doing, mainstream success avoided The Replacements.

That said, for the fans that The Replacements connected with, they connected. And the true beauty in being a fan is that whenever you meet another one, you’ve no doubt met a kindred spirit. There is a silent, understood bond, like you’re in on a secret.

Having that kind of intrinsic connection with fans is not something a band or artists can force. It’s either there or it’s not. I don’t want to sound too hippy dippy, but it’s magical where it exists.

The Replacements played the '80s major label record company game …but played using their own improvised playbook - which was apparently written in crayon and spray paint.

Their major-label debut, Tim, produced by Tommy Ramone (and, in 2023, remixed under the moniker Tim: Let It Bleed Edition by Ed Stasium), had a lot of heat behind it. It was 1985, and radio was king, there was the burgeoning “college rock” scene, and pop culture was experiencing MTV at its apogee.

Wanna guess how this played out for the band? They snarled at commercial radio, and in their own way, embraced “college radio.” But video? That was not their jam. At all.

The video for Tim’s single, “Bastards of Young,” was a single unbroken shot of a speaker. At the end of the song, the speaker is kicked in by the listener. Oh, and it’s in black and white.

You can imagine how that played in the era of multi-million dollar Technicolor Duran Duran videos.

The suits at Sire Records and the folks at MTV didn’t much like that video. At all. I don’t feel it’s because they hated the video (OK, they did); however, I think that hatred was born of frustration by all parties involved because everyone agreed that The Replacements were the kind of band that could define a generation — if only they would get out of their own way.

While promoting Tim, the band landed a plum gig on Saturday Night Live. In fact, in the very definition of irony, they were the replacement music guest; they stood in for The Pointer Sisters.

That did not go so well. The performance itself was on par for the band, loud and fast, but then Westerberg yelled to guitarist Bob Stinson, “Come on fucker” and this got picked up on his mic. It being a live show and swearing was generally frowned upon (and an FCC violation), this garnered the ire of SNL producer Lorne Michaels. He was so enraged that he put them on the same “banned for life” list as Elvis Costello; not shabby company.

One of the major notes they received about the “Bastards of Young” video was that the band wasn’t in the video. So when it came time to shoot a video for “Can’t Hardly Wait” from Pleased to Meet Me, they made themselves available to be in the video. And while they’re in the video, it’s just a series of close-ups ending with the band just sitting down. Oh, and it’s also in black and white.

Even today, these videos still make me laugh. Their beauty is the irony and the absurdity, and that they’re so typically Replacementsy.

Fortunately, The Replacements didn’t have to rely solely on video or television exposure because 1985 was the dawn of what was fast becoming a genre known as “college rock” — a story for another time.

Even though MTV and AOR radio stations wouldn’t play the band, college radio embraced them the same way they embraced Husker Du, R.E.M., The Minutemen, Black Flag, XTC, etc. (see Michael Azerrad's Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground, 1981–1991 for a good explanation of this era.)

As history has proven, The Replacements didn’t come to define a generation as everyone had hoped.

They did something better.
They influenced generations (and continue to do so):

Kurt Cobain, who sang as though he had listened to “Bastards of Young” on a loop. There is some hyperbole around the band's naming of their album Nevermind as an homage to The Replacements' song of the same name, although this has never been verified.
Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong: “If it wasn’t for them [The Replacements] I might have spent my time playing in bad speed-metal bands.”
Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy, before launching into a cover of the ‘Mats “Color Me Impressed”: “Everything we are is because of The Replacements.”

Why do The Replacements matter? They’re not good-looking. They have a reputation for being prickly. When they toured, they were far from a perfect live act; they’re not superstars. Of course, it’s the songs. It’s always the songs. Their catalog is one of pure artistic growth and some of the best songwriting of a generation.

They were never afraid to spit in the face of authority and wear their heart on their sleeves. They never bent the knee and, more often than not, bit the hand that fed them; and they never shied away from their foibles and missteps, usually embracing them.

So, what is it then that makes The Replacements matter?
They’re real.
They’re honest.
They’re human.
They’re me.
They’re you.

They’re The Replacements.