So to all readers, why should Westerberg have a place with other music legends?

The one who didn’t know who Paul Westerberg was until ‘Singles’ came out. The one who was listening to 1984 in 1984, not ‘Let it Be’. The one who looked vaguely uncomfortable at the ‘Come Feel Me Tremble’ shows because they weren’t in an arena. 

I am that guy. The one that you kinda sorta wished didn’t claim to be a Paul Westerberg fan because he smells vaguely of popular mass entertainment. And I guess I can’t blame you. But, hear me out, because for me a funny thing happened on the way to middle age. As I delved into the history of PW and  the Mats, and listened to the raggedy songs that veered from third grade humor to thirty-something disillusionment, I felt a bond with the music that had never existed between my multi-platinum selling heroes and me. On most days, I feel a little unsatisfied. Ready to ‘Rock Rock Til I Drop’? Not so much. 

Don’t get me wrong – I still love my glossy eighties tunes and their choruses sung by no less than a hundred voices. But sometimes when I listen to them I can’t help but feel a little . . . silly. So now they find their way into my CD player less and less, often shoved to the back of the line by a grumpy Minnesotan who could no more play Answering Machine than he could Uriah Heep. And when you see the man with a tie in the passing lane who looks like a card-carrying member of the unwashed masses but is singing ‘Soldier of Misfortune’, you’ll know that . . .

I am that guy.

There has been many moments where I have been emotionally affected by a performance. Here Comes A Regular in Milwaukee 2005 and Crackle & Drag at the 1st Guthrie night 2002 for example.

But what really got me was A Star Is Bored near the end of the 3rd night at the Guthrie in 2002. It was a song I had previously never gave much of a listen to. There seemed to be such a purpose to singing that song at that time. No flubs, no jokes, no giving up (as there was in many songs that weekend) There was a feeling and a message being relayed, and I felt it. Won’t forget it.

Thanks to whoever originally taped it, and to Blasty for posting the video….

Being sort of a lonesome loner, Westerberg’s music clicked inside of me like nothing else had before. But this is more than about the music. This is about what the music has brought to my life. Because with music, comes music fans.

My first ever Westerberg fan memory came when I had just very recently discovered The Replacements. I was alone at a bar, having arrived earlier than all my friends. I sat there with a beer and sang along with, I believe it was “I’ll Be You.”

“Are you singing The Replacements?” A guy asked me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I love them.”
“Wow, another ‘mats fan,” he said. “I think I need to buy you a drink.”

I had no idea that this kind of generosity and kindred spiritness was standard operating practice for ‘mats fans.

Not long ago a bunch of Westernerds gathered in St. Paul for 89.3 The Current’s Fakebook with Laurie Lindeen. Before the show, a few of us had gathered at Wolfdogg’s house for a few beers.

It was a gorgeous Minnesota day with sunshine and sweet Georgia breezes. Ohio, Wisconsin, and Oklahoma were all represented. We sat and ripped on each other, gossiped about other Westernerds who couldn’t attend, and reminisced about Westernerd Hootenannys past.

As we snarked and talked about what we hoped the evening would bring, a dark-haired man walked up the steps. All conversation stopped.

“Uh,” I said. “We have a guest.”
“RJ!” Heather, Wolfdogg’s wife, shouted.

He had flown in from LA as a surprise. Nobody had expected him to come, he hadn’t mentioned a thing. But here he was. The night had become magical and we hadn’t even left the yard. At that point any sort of Westerberg was going to be gravy. Really.

See, that’s what Westerberg’s music does. It quite literally brings people together. And I am sure I don’t need to mention to you that Paul Westerberg fans really are the most intelligent, sensitive, good-looking, creative people on earth.

Westerberg’s music has introduced me to a community of amazing people that I would have never known had Kelly McKnight not forced me to play “Merry-go-round” in the (very aptly named) Camaraderie all those years ago.