Neil Young insists that if the dog gets up and leaves, whatever you are writing stinks. There is truth here. Phony blues wailing or an ill-suited style attempt will send my own dog running. Yet when it’s so right it’s scary my four-legged audience is guaranteed though I must say he’s yet to come up with a decent bridge. No, the goose bumps do not lie.
Behind all the self-deprecating humor and guarded sarcasm, there’s a sense that Westerberg is at a point in his life where he desperately wants to be taken more seriously as an artist, instead of just the guy who fronted that band of lovable lushes.
Oh, I like that.